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By the same Author 
 
 uniform with this 
 
 THE WOMAN WHO DID, with title-page and cover 
 design by Aubrey Beardsley. 19th Edition. 
 Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 1 favoue que faime ce livre noble et triste, qui traite 
 chastement une question delicate, et qui est revHu (Tune 
 rielle beaute littiraire. Je Tai lu etj'e le relirai.' 
 
 M. Augustin Filon in the Revue de Paris. 
 
 THE LOWER SLOPES : Reminiscences of Excursions 
 round the Base of Helicon, undertaken for the most 
 part in early manhood, by Grant Allen, with title- 
 page and cover-design by J. Illingworth Kay. 
 Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
Copyrighted in the United States 
 All rights reserved 
 
 3rd Edition 
 
THE 
 
 BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 A HILL-TOP NOVEL 
 
 BY GRANT ALLEN 
 
 LONDON: JOHN LANE, VIGO STREET 
 NEW YORK : G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, 1 895 
 
Edinburgh : T and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Which every reader of this book is requested to read 
 before beginning the story. 
 
 THIS is a Hill-top Novel. I dedicate it to 
 all who have heart enough, brain enough, 
 and soul enough to understand it. 
 
 What do I mean by a Hill-top Novel? 
 Well, of late we have been flooded with 
 stories of evil tendencies : a Hill-top Novel 
 is one which raises a protest in favour of 
 purity. 
 
 Why have not novelists raised the protest 
 earlier? For this reason. Hitherto, owing 
 to the stern necessity laid upon the modern 
 seer for earning his bread, and, incidentally, 
 for finding a publisher to assist him in pro- 
 mulgating his prophetic opinions, it has 
 seldom happened that writers of exceptional 
 
 386977 
 
viii THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 aims have been able to proclaim to the world 
 at large the things which they conceived to 
 be best worth their telling it. Especially 
 has this been the case in the province of 
 fiction. Let me explain the situation. Most 
 novels nowadays have to run as serials 
 through magazines or newspapers ; and the 
 editors of these periodicals are timid to a 
 degree which outsiders would hardly believe 
 with regard to the fiction they admit into 
 their pages. Endless spells surround them. 
 This story or episode would annoy their 
 Catholic readers ; that one would repel their 
 Wesleyan Methodist subscribers : such an 
 incident is unfit for the perusal of the young 
 person ; such another would drive away the 
 offended British matron. I do not myself 
 believe there is any real ground for this 
 excessive and, to be quite frank, somewhat 
 ridiculous timidity. Incredible as it may seem 
 to the ordinary editor, I am of opinion that it 
 would be possible to tell the truth, and yet 
 preserve the circulation. A first-class journal 
 does not really suffer because two or three 
 
INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 formalists or two or three bigots among its 
 thousands of subscribers give it up for six 
 weeks in a pet of ill-temper — and then take 
 it on again. Still, the effect remains : it is 
 almost impossible to get a novel printed in 
 an English journal unless it is warranted to 
 contain nothing at all to which anybody, 
 however narrow, could possibly object, on 
 any grounds whatever, religious, political, 
 social, moral, or aesthetic. The romance 
 that appeals to the average editor must say 
 or hint at nothing at all that is not univer- 
 sally believed and received by everybody 
 everywhere in this realm of Britain. But 
 literature, as Thomas Hardy says with truth, 
 is mainly the expression of souls in revolt. 
 Hence the antagonism between literature 
 and journalism. 
 
 Why, then, publish one's novels serially 
 at all? Why not appeal at once to the 
 outside public, which has few such preju- 
 dices? Why not deliver one's message 
 direct to those who are ready to consider it 
 or at least to hear it? Because, unfortu- 
 
x THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 nately, the serial rights of a novel at the 
 present day are three times as valuable, in 
 money worth, as the final book rights. A 
 man who elects to publish direct, instead of 
 running his story through the columns of a 
 newspaper, is forfeiting, in other words, three- 
 quarters of his income. This loss the prophet 
 who cares for his mission could cheerfully 
 endure, of course, if only the diminished in- 
 come were enough for him to live upon. 
 But in order to write, he must first eat. In 
 my own case, for example, up till the time 
 when I published The Woman who Did, I 
 could never live on the proceeds of direct 
 publication ; nor could I even secure a pub- 
 lisher who would consent to aid me in 
 introducing to the world what I thought 
 most important for it. Having now found 
 such a publisher — having secured my moun- 
 tain — I am prepared to go on delivering my 
 message from its top, as long as the world 
 will consent to hear it. I will willingly 
 forgo the serial value of my novels, and 
 forfeit three-quarters of the amount I might 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 otherwise earn, for the sake of uttering the 
 truth that is in me, boldly and openly, to a 
 perverse generation. 
 
 For this reason, and in order to mark 
 the distinction between these books which 
 are really mine — my own in thought, in 
 spirit, in teaching — and those which I have 
 produced, sorely against my will, to satisfy 
 editors, I propose in future to add the words, 
 'A Hill-top Novel/ to every one of my 
 stories which I write of my own accord, 
 simply and solely for the sake of embodying 
 and enforcing my own opinions. 
 
 Not that, as critics have sometimes sup- 
 posed me to mean, I ever wrote a line, even 
 in fiction, contrary to my own profound be- 
 liefs. I have never said a thing I did not 
 think : but I have sometimes had to abstain 
 from saying many things I did think. When 
 I wished to purvey strong meat for men, I 
 was condemned to provide milk for babes. 
 In the Hill-top Novels, I hope to reverse 
 all that — to say my say in my own way, 
 representing the world as it appears to me, 
 
xii THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 not as editors and formalists would like me 
 to represent it. 
 
 The Hill-top Novels, however, will not 
 constitute, in the ordinary sense, a series. I 
 shall add the name, as a Trade Mark, to any 
 story, by whomsoever published, which I 
 have written as the expression of my own 
 individuality. Nor will they necessarily 
 appear in the first instance in volume form. 
 If ever I should be lucky enough to find 
 an editor sufficiently bold and sufficiently 
 righteous to venture upon running a Hill- 
 top Novel as a serial through his columns, I 
 will gladly embrace that mode of publication. 
 But while editors remain as pusillanimous 
 and as careless of moral progress as they 
 are at present, I have little hope that I shall 
 persuade any one of them to accept a work 
 written with a single eye to the enlighten- 
 ment and bettering of humanity. 
 
 Whenever, therefore, in future, the words 
 C A Hill-top Novel' appear upon the title- 
 page of a book by me, the reader who cares 
 for truth and righteousness may take it for 
 
INTRODUCTION xiii 
 
 granted that the book represents my own 
 original thinking, whether good or bad, on 
 some important point in human society or 
 human evolution. 
 
 Not, again, that any one of these novels 
 will deliberately attempt to prove anything. 
 I have been amused at the allegations 
 brought by certain critics against The 
 Woman who Did that it 'failed to prove' 
 the practicability of unions such as Her- 
 minia's and Alan's. The famous Scotsman, 
 in the same spirit, objected to Paradise Lost 
 that it ' proved naething ' : but his criticism 
 has not been generally endorsed as valid. 
 To say the truth, it is absurd to suppose a 
 work of imagination can prove or disprove 
 anything. The author holds the strings of 
 all his puppets, and can pull them as he likes, 
 for good or evil: he can make his experi- 
 ments turn out well or ill : he can contrive 
 that his unions should end happily or miser- 
 ably: how, then, can his story be said to 
 prove anything ? A novel is not a proposi- 
 tion in Euclid. I give due notice beforehand 
 
xiv THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 to reviewers in general, that if any principle 
 at all is * proved' by any of my Hill-top 
 Novels, it will be simply this : * Act as I 
 think right, for the highest good of human 
 kind, and you will infallibly and inevitably 
 come to a bad end for it* 
 
 Not to prove anything, but to suggest 
 ideas, to arouse emotions, is, I take it, the 
 true function of fiction. One wishes to make 
 one's readers think about problems they 
 have never considered, feel with sentiments 
 they have disliked or hated. The novelist 
 as prophet has his duty defined for him in 
 those divine words of Shelley's : 
 
 1 Singing songs unbidden 
 Till the world is wrought 
 To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not. 
 
 That, too, is the reason that impels me to 
 embody such views as these in romantic 
 fiction, not in deliberate treatises. 'Why 
 sow your ideas broadcast,' many honest 
 critics say, * in novels where mere boys and 
 girls can read them ? Why not formulate 
 them in serious and argumentative books, 
 
INTRODUCTION xv 
 
 where wise men alone will come across 
 them?' The answer is, because wise men 
 are wise already : it is the boys and girls 
 of a community who stand most in need 
 of suggestion and instruction. Women, in 
 particular, are the chief readers of fiction ; 
 and it is women whom one mainly desires to 
 arouse to interest in profound problems by 
 the aid of this vehicle. Especially should 
 one arouse them to such living interest while 
 they are still young and plastic, before they 
 have crystallised and hardened into the 
 conventional marionettes of polite society. 
 Make them think while they are young: 
 make them feel while they are sensitive : it 
 is then alone that they will think and feel, if 
 ever. I will venture, indeed, to enforce my 
 views on this subject by a little apologue 
 which I have somewhere read, or heard, — or 
 invented. 
 
 A Revolutionist desired to issue an Elec- 
 tion Address to the Working Men of Ber- 
 mondsey. The Rector of the Parish saw it 
 at the printer's, and came to him, much 
 
xvi THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 perturbed. 'Why write it in English?' he 
 asked. ' It will only inflame the minds of 
 the lower orders. Why not allow me to 
 translate it into Ciceronian Latin ? It would 
 then be comprehensible to all University 
 men ; your logic would be duly and deli- 
 berately weighed : and the tanners and 
 tinkers, who are so very impressionable, 
 would not be poisoned by it.' ' My friend,' 
 said the Revolutionist, ' it is the tanners and 
 tinkers / want to get at. My object is, to 
 win this election ; University graduates will 
 not help me to win it.' 
 
 The business of the preacher is above all 
 things to preach ; but in order to preach, he 
 must first reach his audience. The audience 
 in this case consists in large part of women 
 and girls, who are most simply and easily 
 reached by fiction. Therefore, fiction is to- 
 day the best medium for the preacher of 
 righteousness who addresses humanity. 
 
 Why, once more, this particular name, ' A 
 Hill-top Novel'? For something like this 
 reason. 
 
INTRODUCTION xvii 
 
 I am writing in my study on a heather- 
 clad hill-top. When I raise my eye from 
 my sheet of foolscap, it falls upon miles and 
 miles of broad open moorland. My window 
 looks out upon unsullied nature. Every- 
 thing around is fresh and pure and whole- 
 some. Through the open casement, the 
 scent of the pines blows in with the breeze 
 from the neighbouring firwood. Keen airs 
 sigh through the pine-needles. Grasshop- 
 pers chirp from deep tangles of bracken, 
 The song of a skylark drops from the sky 
 like soft rain in summer ; in the evening, a 
 nightjar croons to us his monotonously 
 passionate love-wail from his perch on the 
 gnarled boughs of the wind-swept larch that 
 crowns the upland. But away below in the 
 valley, as night draws on, a lurid glare red- 
 dens the north-eastern horizon. It marks 
 the spot where the great wen of London 
 heaves and festers. Up here on the free 
 hills, the sharp air blows in upon us, limpid 
 and clear from a thousand leagues of open 
 ocean ; down there in the crowded town, it 
 b 
 
xviii THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 stagnates and ferments, polluted with the 
 diseases and vices of centuries. 
 
 This is an urban age. The men of the 
 villages, alas, are leaving behind them the 
 green fields and purple moors of their child- 
 hood, are foolishly crowding into the nar- 
 row lanes and purlieus of the great cities. 
 Strange decadent sins and morbid pleasures 
 entice them thither. But I desire in these 
 books to utter a word once more in favour 
 of higher and purer ideals of life and art. 
 Those who sicken of the foul air and lurid 
 light of towns may still wander side by side 
 with me on these heathery highlands. Far, 
 far below, the theatre and the music-hall 
 spread their garish gas-lamps. Let who will 
 heed them. But here on the open hill-top 
 we know fresher and more wholesome 
 delights. Those feverish joys allure us not. 
 O decadents of the town, we have seen 
 your sham idyls, your tinsel Arcadias. 
 We have tired of their stuffy atmosphere, 
 their dazzling jets, their weary ways, 
 their gaudy dresses ; we shun the sunken 
 
INTRODUCTION xix 
 
 cheeks, the lack-lustre eyes, the heart-sick 
 souls of your painted goddesses. We love 
 not the fetid air, thick and hot with human 
 breath, and reeking with tobacco smoke, of 
 your modern Parnassus — a Parnassus whose 
 crags were reared and shaped by the hands 
 of the stage-carpenter! Your studied dal- 
 liance with your venal muses is little to our 
 taste. Your halls are too stifling with car- 
 bonic acid gas ; for us, we breathe oxygen. 
 
 And the oxygen of the hill-tops is purer, 
 keener, rarer, more ethereal. It is rich in 
 ozone. Now, ozone stands to common 
 oxygen itself as the clean-cut metal to the 
 dull and leaden exposed surface. Nascent 
 and ever renascent, it has electrical attrac- 
 tion ; it leaps to the embrace of the atom it 
 selects, but only under the influence of 
 powerful affinities ; and what it clasps once, 
 it clasps for ever. That is the pure air which 
 we drink in on the heather-clad heights — not 
 the venomous air of the crowded casino, nor 
 even the close air of the middle-class parlour. 
 It thrills and nerves us. How we smile, we 
 
xx THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 who live here, when some dweller in the 
 mists and smoke of the valley confounds 
 our delicate atmosphere, redolent of honey 
 and echoing the manifold murmur of bees, 
 with that stifling miasma of the gambling 
 hell and the dancing saloon ! Trust me, 
 dear friend, the moorland air is far other 
 than you fancy. You can wander up here 
 along the purple ridges, hand locked in hand 
 with those you love, without fear of harm to 
 yourself or your comrade. No Bloom of 
 Ninon here, but fresh cheeks like the peach- 
 blossom where the sun has kissed it : no 
 casual fruition of loveless, joyless harlots, 
 but life-long saturation of your own heart's 
 desire in your own heart's innocence. Ozone 
 is better than all the champagne in the 
 Strand or Piccadilly. If only you will be- 
 lieve it, it is purity and life and sympathy 
 and vigour. Its perfect freshness and per- 
 petual fount of youth keep your age from 
 withering. It crimsons the sunset and lives 
 in the afterglow. If these delights thy mind 
 may move, leave, oh, leave the meretricious 
 
INTRODUCTION xxi 
 
 town, and come to the airy peaks. Such joy 
 is ours, unknown to the squalid village 
 which spreads its swamps where the poet's 
 silver Thames runs dull and leaden. 
 
 Have we never our doubts, though, up 
 here on the hill-tops ? Ay, marry, have we ! 
 Are we so sure that these gospels we preach 
 with all our hearts are the true and final 
 ones ? Who shall answer that question ? 
 For myself, as I lift up my eyes from my 
 paper once more, my gaze falls first on the 
 golden bracken that waves joyously over the 
 sandstone ridge without, and then, within, on 
 a little white shelf where lies the greatest 
 book of our greatest philosopher. I open it 
 at random and consult its sortes. What 
 comfort and counsel has Herbert Spencer 
 for those who venture to see otherwise than 
 the mass of their contemporaries ? 
 
 ■ Whoever hesitates to utter that which he 
 thinks the highest truth, lest it should be too 
 much in advance of the time, may reassure 
 himself by looking at his acts from an imper- 
 sonal point of view. Let him duly realise the 
 
xxii THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 fact that opinion is the agency through which 
 character adapts external arrangements to 
 itself — that his opinion rightly forms part of 
 this agency — is a unit of force, constituting, 
 with other such units, the general power 
 which works out social changes ; and he will 
 perceive that he may properly give full 
 utterances to his innermost conviction ; 
 leaving it to produce what effect it may. It 
 is not for nothing that he has in him these 
 sympathies with some principles and re- 
 pugnances to others. He, with all his capa- 
 cities, and aspirations, and beliefs, is not an 
 accident, but a product of the time. He 
 must remember that while he is a descen- 
 dant of the past, he is a parent of the future ; 
 and that his thoughts are as children born 
 to him, which he may not carelessly let die. 
 He, like every other man, may properly con- 
 sider himself as one of the myriad agencies 
 through whom works the Unknown Cause ; 
 and when the Unknown Cause produces in 
 him a certain belief, he is thereby authorised 
 to profess and act out that belief. For, to 
 
INTRODUCTION xxiii 
 
 render in their highest sense the words of 
 the poet — 
 
 " Nature is made better by no mean, 
 But nature makes that mean ; over that art 
 "Which you say adds to nature, is an art 
 That nature makes." 
 
 1 Not as adventitious therefore will the wise 
 man regard the faith which is in him. The 
 highest truth he sees he will fearlessly utter ; 
 knowing that, let what may come of it, he is 
 thus playing his right part in the world — 
 knowing that if he can effect the change he 
 aims at — well : if not — well also ; though not 
 so well.' 
 
 That passage comforts me. These, then, 
 are my ideas. They may be right, they may 
 be wrong. But at least they are the sincere 
 and personal convictions of an honest man, 
 warranted in him by that spirit of the age, 
 of which each of us is but an automatic 
 mouthpiece. 
 
 G. A. 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 The time was Saturday afternoon ; the 
 place was Surrey ; the person of the drama 
 was Philip Christy. 
 
 He had come down by the early fast train to 
 Brackenhurst. All the world knows Bracken- 
 hurst, of course, the greenest and leafiest of 
 our southern suburbs. It looked even prettier 
 than its wont just then, that town of villas, 
 in the first fresh tenderness of its wan spring 
 foliage, the first full flush of lilac, laburnum, 
 horse-chestnut, and guelder-rose. The air 
 was heavy with the odour of May and the 
 hum of bees. Philip paused a while at the 
 corner, by the ivied cottage, admiring it 
 silently. He was glad he lived there — so 
 very aristocratic ! What joy to glide direct, 
 A 
 
2 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 on the enchanted carpet of the South-Eastern 
 Railway, from the gloom and din and bustle 
 of Cannon Street, to the breadth and space 
 and silence and exclusiveness of that upland 
 village ! For Philip Christy was a gentle- 
 manly clerk in Her Majesty's Civil Service. 
 
 As he stood there admiring it all with 
 roving eyes, he was startled after a moment 
 by the sudden, and as it seemed to him 
 unannounced apparition of a man in a well- 
 made grey tweed suit, just a yard or two in 
 front of him. He was aware of an intruder. 
 To be sure, there was nothing very remark- 
 able at first sight either in the stranger's 
 dress, appearance, or manner. All that Philip 
 noticed for himself in the newcomer's mien 
 for the first few seconds was a certain distinct 
 air of social superiority, an innate nobility of 
 gait and bearing. So much at least he 
 observed at a glance quite instinctively. But 
 it was not this quiet and unobtrusive tone, as 
 of the Best Society, that surprised and aston- 
 ished him ; Brackenhurst prided itself, indeed, 
 on being a most well-bred and distinguished 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 3 
 
 neighbourhood ; people of note grew as thick 
 there as heather or whortleberries. What 
 puzzled him more was the abstruser question, 
 where on earth the stranger could have come 
 from so suddenly. Philip had glanced 
 up the road and down the road just two 
 minutes before, and was prepared to swear 
 when he withdrew his eyes not a soul loomed 
 in sight in either direction. Whence, then, 
 could the man in the grey suit have emerged ? 
 Had he dropped from the clouds ? No gate 
 opened into the road on either side for two 
 hundred yards or more ; for Brackenhurst 
 is one of those extremely respectable villa 
 neighbourhoods where every house — an eli- 
 gible family residence — stands in its own 
 grounds of at least six acres. Now Philip 
 could hardly suspect that so well dressed a 
 man of such distinguished exterior would be 
 guilty of such a gross breach of the recog- 
 nised code of Brackenhurstian manners as was 
 implied in the act of vaulting over a hedgerow. 
 So he gazed in blank wonder at the sudden- 
 ness of the apparition, more than half in- 
 
4 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 clined to satisfy his curiosity by inquiring of 
 the stranger how the dickens he had got there. 
 A moment's reflection, however, sufficed 
 to save the ingenuous young man from the 
 pitfall of so serious a social solecism. It 
 would be fatal to accost him. For, mark 
 you, no matter how gentlemanly and well- 
 tailored a stranger may look, you can never 
 be sure nowadays (in these topsy-turvy times 
 of subversive radicalism) whether he is or is 
 not really a gentleman. That makes acquaint- 
 anceship a dangerous luxury. If you begin 
 by talking to a man, be it ever so casually, 
 he may desire to thrust his company upon 
 you, willy-nilly, in future ; and when you have 
 ladies of your family living in a place, you 
 really cannot be too particular what compan- 
 ions you pick up there, were it even in the most 
 informal and momentary fashion. Besides, 
 the fellow might turn out to be one of your 
 social superiors, and not care to know you ; 
 in which case, of course, you would only be 
 letting yourself in for a needless snubbing. 
 In fact, in this modern England of ours, this 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 5 
 
 fatherland of snobdom, one passes one's life 
 in a see-saw of doubt, between the Scylla 
 and Charybdis of those two antithetical social 
 dangers. You are always afraid you may get 
 to know somebody you yourself do not want 
 to know, or may try to know somebody who 
 does not want to know you. 
 
 Guided by these truly British principles of 
 ancestral wisdom, Philip Christy would pro- 
 bably never have seen anything more of the 
 distinguished-looking stranger had it not 
 been for a passing accident of muscular 
 action, over which his control was distinctly 
 precarious. He happened in brushing past 
 to catch the stranger's eye. It was a clear 
 blue eye, very deep and truthful. It some- 
 how succeeded in rivetting for a second 
 Philip's attention. And it was plain the 
 stranger was less afraid of speaking than 
 Philip himself was. For he advanced with a 
 pleasant smile on his open countenance, and 
 waved one gloveless hand in a sort of im- 
 palpable or half-checked salute, which im- 
 pressed his new acquaintance as a vaguely 
 
6 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 polite Continental gesture. This affected 
 Philip favourably : the newcomer was a some- 
 body then, and knew his place : for just in 
 proportion as Philip felt afraid to begin con- 
 versation himself with an unplaced stranger, 
 did he respect any other man who felt so per- 
 fectly sure of his own position that he shared 
 no such middle-class doubts or misgivings. 
 A duke is never afraid of accosting anybody. 
 Philip was strengthened, therefore, in his 
 first idea, that the man in the grey suit was 
 a person of no small distinction in society, 
 else surely he would not have come up and 
 spoken with such engaging frankness and 
 ease of manner. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon/ the stranger said, 
 addressing him in pure and limpid English, 
 which sounded to Philip like the dialect of 
 the very best circles, yet with some nameless 
 difference of intonation or accent which cer- 
 tainly was not foreign, still less provincial, or 
 Scotch, or Irish ; it seemed rather like the 
 very purest well of English undefiled Philip 
 had ever heard, — only, if anything, a little 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 7 
 
 more so ; ' I beg your pardon, but I 'm a 
 stranger hereabouts, and I should be so very 
 much obliged if you could kindly direct me 
 to any good lodgings.' 
 
 His voice and accent attracted Philip even 
 more now he stood near at hand than his 
 appearance had done from a little distance. 
 It was impossible, indeed, to say definitely in 
 set terms what there was about the man that 
 made his personality and his words so 
 charming ; but from that very first minute, 
 Philip freely admitted to himself that the 
 stranger in the grey suit was a perfect gentle- 
 man. Nay, so much did he feel it in his 
 ingenuous way that he threw off at once his 
 accustomed cloak of dubious reserve, and, 
 standing still to think, answered after a short 
 pause, ' Well, we 've a great many very nice 
 furnished houses about here to let, but not 
 many lodgings. Brackenhurst 's a cut above 
 lodgings, don't you know ; it 's a residential 
 quarter. But I should think Miss Blake's, at 
 Heatherclifif House, would perhaps be just 
 the sort of thing to suit you.' 
 
8 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 'Oh, thank you,' the stranger answered, 
 with a deferential politeness which charmed 
 Philip once more by its graceful expressive- 
 ness. * And could you kindly direct me to 
 them ? I don't know my way about at all, 
 you see, as yet, in this country/ 
 
 'With pleasure,' Philip replied, quite de- 
 lighted at the chance of solving the mystery 
 where the stranger had dropped from. ' I 'm 
 going that way myself, and can take you 
 past her door. It 's only a few steps. Then 
 you 're a stranger in England ? ' 
 
 The newcomer smiled a curious self- 
 restrained smile. He was both young and 
 handsome. ' Yes, I 'm a stranger in your 
 England,' he answered, gravely, in the tone 
 of one who wishes to avoid an awkward 
 discussion. ■ In fact, an Alien. I only 
 arrived here this very morning.' 
 
 1 From the Continent ? ' Philip inquired, 
 arching his eyebrows slightly. 
 
 The stranger smiled again. 'No, not 
 from the Continent,' he replied, with pro- 
 voking evasiveness. 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 9 
 
 1 1 thought you weren't a foreigner,' Philip 
 continued in a blandly suggestive voice. 
 ' That is to say,' he went on, after a second's 
 pause, during which the stranger volunteered 
 no further statement, 'you speak English 
 like an Englishman.' 
 
 1 Do I ? ' the stranger answered. ' Well, 
 I'm glad of that. It'll make intercourse 
 with your Englishmen so much more easy.' 
 
 By this time Philip's curiosity was 
 thoroughly whetted. 'But you're not an 
 Englishman, you say?' he asked, with a 
 little natural hesitation. 
 
 1 No, not exactly what you call an English- 
 man,' the stranger replied, as if he didn't 
 quite care for such clumsy attempts to ex- 
 amine his antecedents. ■ As I tell you, I 'm 
 an Alien. But we always spoke English at 
 home,' he added with an afterthought, as if 
 ready to vouchsafe all the other information 
 that lay in his power. 
 
 1 You can't be an American, I 'm sure,' 
 Philip went on, unabashed, his eagerness to 
 solve the question at issue, once raised, 
 
io THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 getting the better for the moment of both 
 reserve and politeness. 
 
 ' No, I 'm certainly not an American/ the 
 stranger answered with a gentle courtesy in 
 his tone that made Philip feel ashamed of 
 his rudeness in questioning him. 
 
 * Nor a Colonist ? ' Philip asked once more, 
 unable to take the hint. 
 
 1 Nor a Colonist either,' the Alien replied 
 curtly. And then he relapsed into a moment- 
 ary silence which threw upon Philip the dif- 
 ficult task of continuing the conversation. 
 
 The member of Her Britannic Majesty's 
 Civil Service would have given anything 
 just that minute to say to him frankly, 
 ' Well, if you 're not an Englishman, and 
 you're not an American, and you're not a 
 Colonist, and you are an Alien, and yet you 
 talk English like a native, and have always 
 talked it, why, what in the name of goodness 
 do you want us to take you for ? ' But he 
 restrained himself with difficulty. There 
 was something about the stranger that made 
 him feel by instinct it would be more a 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS u 
 
 breach of etiquette to question him closely 
 than to question any one he had ever met 
 with. 
 
 They walked on along the road for some 
 minutes together, the stranger admiring all 
 the way the golden tresses of the laburnum 
 and the rich perfume of the lilac, and talk- 
 ing much as he went of the quaintness and 
 prettiness of the suburban houses. Philip 
 thought them pretty, too (or rather, impor- 
 tant), but failed to see for his own part where 
 the quaintness came in. Nay, he took the 
 imputation as rather a slur on so respectable 
 a neighbourhood : for to be quaint is to be 
 picturesque, and to be picturesque is to be 
 old-fashioned. But the strangers voice and 
 manner were so pleasant, almost so ingrati- 
 ating, that Philip did not care to differ from 
 him on the abstract question of a qualifying 
 epithet. After all, there 's nothing positively 
 insulting in calling a house quaint, though 
 Philip would certainly have preferred, him- 
 self, to hear the Eligible Family Residences 
 of that Aristocratic Neighbourhood described 
 
12 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 in auctioneering phrase as ' imposing,' ' noble/ 
 ' handsome,' or ' important-looking.' 
 
 Just before they reached Miss Blake's 
 door, the Alien paused for a second. He 
 took out a loose handful of money, gold and 
 silver together, from his trouser pocket 
 'One more question/ he said, with that 
 pleasant smile on his lips, ■ if you '11 excuse 
 my ignorance. Which of these coins is a 
 pound, now, and which is a sovereign ? ' 
 
 * Why, a pound is a sovereign, of course/ 
 Philip answered briskly, smiling the genuine 
 British smile of unfeigned astonishment that 
 anybody should be ignorant of a minor detail 
 in the kind of life he had always lived 
 among. To be sure, he would have asked 
 himself with equal simplicity what was the 
 difference between a twenty-franc piece, a 
 napoleon, and a louis, or would have de- 
 bated as to the precise numerical relation 
 between twenty-five cents and a quarter of 
 a dollar ; but then, those are mere foreign 
 coins, you see, which no fellow can be ex- 
 pected to understand, unless he happens to 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 13 
 
 have lived in the country they are used in. 
 The others are British and necessary to 
 salvation. That feeling is instinctive in the 
 thoroughly provincial English nature. No 
 Englishman ever really grasps for himself 
 the simple fact that England is a foreign 
 country to foreigners ; if strangers happen 
 to show themselves ignorant of any petty 
 matter in English life, he regards their ignor- 
 ance as silly and childish, not to be com- 
 pared for a moment to his own natural 
 unfamiliarity with the absurd practices of 
 foreign nations. 
 
 The Alien, indeed, seemed to have learned 
 beforehand this curious peculiarity of the 
 limited English intellect ; for he blushed 
 slightly as he replied, ' I know your currency, 
 as a matter of arithmetic, of course : twelve 
 pence make one shilling ; twenty shillings 
 make one pound ' 
 
 * Of course,' Philip echoed in a tone of 
 perfect conviction ; it would never have 
 occurred to him to doubt for a moment that 
 everybody knew intuitively those beggarly 
 
14 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 elements of the inspired British monetary 
 system. 
 
 ' Though they 're singularly awkward units 
 of value for any one accustomed to a decimal 
 coinage : so unreasonable and illogical/ the 
 stranger continued blandly, turning over the 
 various pieces with a dubious air of distrust 
 and uncertainty. 
 
 * I beg your pardon/ Philip said, drawing 
 himself up very stiff, and scarcely able to 
 believe his ears (he was an official of Her 
 Britannic Majesty's Government, and unused 
 to such blasphemy). * Do I understand you 
 to say, you consider pounds, shillings, and 
 pence unreasonable ? ' 
 
 He put an emphasis on the last word that 
 might fairly have struck terror to the stran- 
 ger's breast; but somehow it did not. 'Why, 
 yes/ the Alien went on with imperturbable 
 gentleness : ' no order or principle, you know. 
 No rational connection. A mere survival 
 from barbaric use. A score, and a dozen. 
 The score is one man, ten fingers and ten 
 toes ; the dozen is one man with shoes on 
 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 15 
 
 — fingers and feet together. Twelve pence 
 make one shilling ; twenty shillings one 
 pound. How very confusing ! And then, 
 the nomenclature 's so absurdly difficult ! 
 Which of these is half- a -crown, if you 
 please, and which is a florin? and what 
 are their respective values in pence and 
 shillings ? ' 
 
 Philip picked out the coins and explained 
 them to him separately. The Alien mean- 
 while received the information with evident 
 interest, as a traveller in that vast tract 
 that is called Abroad might note the habits 
 and manners of some savage tribe that dwells 
 within its confines, and solemnly wrapped 
 each coin up in paper, as his instructor 
 named it for him, writing the designation and 
 value outside in a peculiarly beautiful and 
 legible hand. ■ It 's so puzzling, you see,' he 
 said in explanation, as Philip smiled another 
 superior and condescending British smile 
 at this infantile proceeding ; ' the currency 
 itself has no congruity or order : and then, 
 even these queer unrelated coins haven't for 
 
i6 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 the most part their values marked in words 
 or figures upon them.' 
 
 * Everybody knows what they are,' Philip 
 answered lightly. Though for a moment, 
 taken aback by the novelty of the idea, he 
 almost admitted in his own mind that to 
 people who had the misfortune to be born 
 foreigners, there was perhaps a slight initial 
 difficulty in this unlettered system. But 
 then, you cannot expect England to be regu- 
 lated throughout for the benefit of foreigners ! 
 Though, to be sure, on the one occasion when 
 Philip had visited the Rhine and Switzerland, 
 he had grumbled most consumedly from 
 Ostend to Grindelwald, at those very decimal 
 coins which the stranger seemed to admire 
 so much, and had wondered why the deuce 
 Belgium, Germany, Holland, and Switzer- 
 land could not agree among themselves upon 
 a uniform coinage ; it would be so much 
 more convenient to the British tourist. For 
 the British tourist, of course, is not a 
 foreigner. 
 
 On the door-step of Miss Blake's Furnished 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 17 
 
 Apartments for Families and Gentlemen, the 
 stranger stopped again. 'One more ques- 
 tion/ he interposed in that same suave voice, 
 'if I 'm not trespassing too much on your 
 time and patience. For what sort of term — 
 by the day, month, year — does one usually 
 take lodgings ? ' 
 
 'Why, by the week, of course/ Philip 
 answered, suppressing a broad smile of 
 absolute surprise at the man's childish ignor- 
 ance. 
 
 'And how much shall I have to pay?' 
 the Alien went on quietly. ' Have you 
 any fixed rule about it ? ' 
 
 1 Of course not/ Philip anwered, unable 
 any longer to restrain his amusement (every- 
 thing in England was ' of course ' to Philip). 
 ' You pay according to the sort of accommoda- 
 tion you require, the number of your rooms, 
 and the nature of the neighbourhood/ 
 
 ' I see/ the Alien replied, imperturbably 
 polite, in spite of Philip's condescending 
 manner. ' And what do I pay per room in 
 this latitude and longitude ? ' 
 B 
 
18 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 For twenty seconds, Philip half suspected 
 his new acquaintance of a desire to chaff 
 him : but as at the same time the Alien drew 
 from his pocket a sort of combined compass 
 and chronometer which he gravely consulted 
 for his geographical bearings, Philip came 
 to the conclusion he must be either a sea- 
 faring man or an escaped lunatic. So he 
 answered him to the point. * I should 
 think,' he said quietly, ' as Miss Blake's are 
 extremely respectable lodgings, in a first-rate 
 quarter, and with a splendid view, you '11 
 probably have to pay somewhere about three 
 guineas.' 
 
 * Three what?' the stranger interposed, 
 with an inquiring glance at the little heap of 
 coins he still held before him. 
 
 Philip misinterpreted his glance. c Per- 
 haps that 's too much for you,' he suggested, 
 looking severe ; for if people cannot afford to 
 pay for decent rooms, they have no right to 
 invade an aristocratic suburb, and bespeak 
 the attention of its regular residents. 
 
 * Oh, that 's not it,' the Alien put in, reading 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 19 
 
 his tone aright. ' The money doesn't matter 
 to me. As long as I can get a tidy room, 
 with sun and air, I don't mind what I pay. 
 It's the guinea I can't quite remember about 
 for the moment. I looked it up, I know, in 
 a dictionary at home ; but I 'm afraid I 've 
 forgotten it. Let me see ; it 's twenty-one 
 pounds to the guinea, isn't it ? Then I 'm to 
 pay about sixty-three pounds a week for my 
 lodgings/ 
 
 This was the right spirit. He said it so 
 simply, so seriously, so innocently, that Philip 
 was quite sure he really meant it. He was 
 prepared, if necessary, to pay sixty odd 
 pounds a week in rent. Now, a man like 
 that is the proper kind of man for a respect- 
 able neighbourhood. He'll keep a good 
 saddle-horse, join the club, and play billiards 
 freely. Philip briefly explained to him the 
 nature of his mistake, pointing out to him 
 that a guinea was an imaginary coin, unrepre- 
 sented in metal, but reckoned by prescription 
 at twenty-one shillings. The stranger re- 
 ceived the slight correction with such perfect 
 
20 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 nonchalance, that Philip at once conceived a 
 high opinion of his wealth and solvency, and 
 therefore of his respectability and moral 
 character. It was clear that pounds and 
 shillings were all one to him. Philip had 
 been right, no doubt, in his first diagnosis of 
 his queer acquaintance as a man of distinc- 
 tion. For wealth and distinction are practi- 
 cally synonyms in England for one and the 
 same quality, possession of the wherewithal. 
 
 As they parted, the stranger spoke again, 
 still more at sea. 'And are there any special 
 ceremonies to be gone through on taking up 
 lodgings?' he asked quite gravely. 'Any 
 religious rites, I mean to say ? Any poojah 
 or so forth ? That is,' he went on, as Philip's 
 smile broadened, Ms there any taboo to be 
 removed or appeased before I can take up 
 my residence in the apartments ? ' 
 
 By this time Philip was really convinced 
 he had to do with a madman — perhaps a 
 dangerous lunatic. So he answered rather 
 testily, ' No, certainly not ; how absurd ! you 
 must see that's ridiculous. You're in a 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 21 
 
 civilised country, not among Australian 
 savages. All you '11 have to do is to take 
 the rooms and pay for them. I 'm sorry I 
 can't be of any further use to you, but I 'm 
 pressed for time to-day. So now, good- 
 morning.' 
 
 As for the stranger, he turned up the path 
 through the lodging-house garden with 
 curious misgivings. His heart failed him. 
 It was half-past three by mean solar time 
 for that particular longitude. Then why had 
 this young man said so briskly, 'Good morn- 
 ing/ at 3.30 p.m., as if on purpose to deceive 
 him ? Was he laying a trap ? Was this 
 some wile and guile of the English medicine- 
 men? 
 
II 
 
 Next day was (not unnaturally) Sunday. 
 At half-past ten in the morning, according 
 to his wont, Philip Christy was seated in the 
 drawing-room at his sister's house, smooth 
 silk hat in gloved hand, waiting for Frida and 
 her husband, Robert Monteith, to go to church 
 with him. As he sat there, twiddling his 
 thumbs, or beating the devil's tattoo on the 
 red Japanese table, the housemaid entered. 
 • A gentleman to see you, sir,' she said, hand- 
 ing Philip a card. The young man glanced 
 at it curiously. A visitor to call at such an 
 early hour! — and on Sunday morning too! 
 How extremely odd ! This was really most 
 irregular ! 
 
 So he looked down at the card with a 
 certain vague sense of inarticulate disap- 
 proval. But he noticed at the same time it 
 22 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 23 
 
 was finer and clearer and more delicately 
 engraved than any other card he had ever 
 yet come across. It bore in simple unob- 
 trusive letters the unknown name, * Mr. 
 Bertram Ingledew.' 
 
 Though he had never heard it before, name 
 and engraving both tended to mollify Philip's 
 nascent dislike. ' Show the gentleman in, 
 Martha/ he said in his most grandiose tone ; 
 and the gentleman entered. 
 
 Philip started at sight of him. It was his 
 friend the Alien. Philip was quite surprised 
 to see his madman of last night ; and what 
 was more disconcerting still, in the self-same 
 grey tweed home-spun suit he had worn last 
 evening. Now, nothing can be more gentle- 
 manly, don't you know, than a grey home- 
 spun, in its proper place ; but its proper place 
 Philip Christy felt was certainly not in a re- 
 spectable suburb on a Sunday morning. 
 
 * I beg your pardon,' he said frigidly, rising 
 from his seat with his sternest official air — 
 the air he was wont to assume in the ante- 
 room at the office when outsiders called and 
 
24 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 wished to interview his chief ' on important 
 public business.' * To what may I owe the 
 honour of this visit ? ' For he did not care to be 
 hunted up in his sister's house at a moment's 
 notice by a most casual acquaintance, whom 
 he suspected of being an escaped lunatic. 
 
 Bertram Ingledew, for his part, however, 
 advanced towards his companion of last 
 night with the frank smile and easy bearing 
 of a cultivated gentleman. He was blissfully 
 unaware of the slight he was putting upon 
 the respectability of Brackenhurst by appear- 
 ing on Sunday in his grey tweed suit ; so he 
 only held out his hand as to an ordinary 
 friend, with the simple words, ' You were so 
 extremely kind to me last night, Mr. Christy, 
 that as I happen to know nobody here in 
 England, I ventured to come round and ask 
 your advice in unexpected circumstances 
 that have since arisen.' 
 
 When Bertram Ingledew looked at him, 
 Philip once more relented. The man's eye 
 was so captivating. To say the truth, there 
 was something taking about the mysterious 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 25 
 
 stranger — a curious air of unconscious superi- 
 ority — so that, the moment he came near, 
 Philip felt himself fascinated. He only 
 answered, therefore, in as polite a tone as he 
 could easily muster, ' Why, how did you get 
 to know my name, or to trace me to my 
 sister's ? ' 
 
 'Oh, Miss Blake told me who you were 
 and where you lived/ Bertram replied most 
 innocently: his tone was pure candour; 'and 
 when I went round to your lodgings just 
 now, they explained that you were out, but 
 that I should probably find you at Mrs. Mon- 
 teith's ; so of course I came on here.' 
 
 Philip denied the applicability of that nafve 
 1 of course ' in his inmost soul : but it was no 
 use being angry with Mr. Bertram Ingledew. 
 So much he saw at once ; the man was 
 so simple-minded, so transparently natural, 
 one could not be angry with him. One could 
 only smile at him, a superior cynical London- 
 bred smile, for an unsophisticated foreigner. 
 So the Civil Servant asked with a conde- 
 scending air, 'Well, what's your difficulty? 
 
26 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 I '11 see if peradventure I can help you out of 
 it.' For he reflected to himself in a flash 
 that as Ingledew had apparently a good 
 round sum in gold and notes in his pocket 
 yesterday, he was not likely to come borrow- 
 ing money this morning. 
 
 * It 's like this, you see/ the Alien answered 
 with charming simplicity, ' I haven't got any 
 luggage/ 
 
 * Not got any luggage ! ' Philip repeated, 
 awestruck, letting his jaw fall short, and 
 stroking his clean-shaven chin with one 
 hand. He was more doubtful than ever 
 now as to the man's sanity or respectability. 
 If he was not a lunatic, then surely he must 
 be this celebrated Perpignan murderer, whom 
 everybody was talking about, and whom the 
 French police were just then engaged in 
 hunting down for extradition. 
 
 * No ; I brought none with me on purpose/ 
 Mr. Ingledew replied, as innocently as ever. 
 
 I I didn't feel quite sure about the ways, or 
 the customs, or the taboos of England. So 
 I had just this one suit of clothes made, after 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 27 
 
 an English pattern of the present fashion, 
 which I was lucky enough to secure from a 
 collector at home ; and I thought I 'd buy 
 everything else I wanted when I got to 
 London. I brought nothing at all in the 
 way of luggage with me.' 
 
 * Not even brush and comb ? ' Philip inter- 
 posed, horrified. 
 
 'Oh, yes, naturally, just the few things 
 one always takes in a vade-mecum] Bertram 
 Ingledew answered, with a gracefully depreca- 
 tory wave of the hand, which Philip thought 
 pretty enough, but extremely foreign. ' Be- 
 yond that, nothing. I felt it would be best, 
 you see, to set oneself up in things of the 
 country in the country itself. One's surer 
 then of getting exactly what 's worn in the 
 society one mixes in/ 
 
 For the first and only time, as he said those 
 words, the stranger struck a chord that was 
 familiar to Philip. ' Oh, of course,' the Civil 
 Servant answered, with brisk acquiescence, 
 1 if you want to be really up to date in your 
 dress, you must go to first-rate houses in 
 
28 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 London for everything. Nobody anywhere 
 can cut like a good London tailor/ 
 
 Bertram Ingledew bowed his head. It 
 was the acquiescent bow of the utter out- 
 sider who gives no opinion at all on the 
 subject under discussion, because he does not 
 possess any. As he probably came, in spite of 
 his disclaimer, from America or the colonies, 
 which are belated places, toiling in vain far 
 in the rear of Bond Street, Philip thought 
 this an exceedingly proper display of bash- 
 fulness, especially in a man who had only 
 landed in England yesterday. But Bertram 
 went on half-musingly. f And you had told 
 me/ he said, ' I 'm sure not meaning to mis- 
 lead me, there were no formalities or taboos 
 of any kind on entering into lodgings. How- 
 ever, I found, as soon as I 'd arranged to take 
 the rooms and pay four guineas a week for 
 them, which was a guinea more than she 
 asked me, Miss Blake would hardly let me 
 come in at all unless I could at once produce 
 my luggage.' He looked comically puzzled. 
 ' I thought at first/ he continued, gazing 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 29 
 
 earnestly at Philip, ■ the good lady was 
 afraid I wouldn't pay her what I 'd agreed, 
 and would go away and leave her in the 
 lurch without a penny, — which was naturally 
 a very painful imputation. But when I 
 offered to let her have three weeks' rent in 
 advance, I saw that wasn't all : there was 
 a taboo as well ; she couldn't let me in 
 without luggage, she said, because it would 
 imperil some luck or talisman to which she 
 frequently alluded as the Respectability of 
 her Lodgings. This Respectability seems a 
 very great fetich. I was obliged at last, in 
 order to ensure a night's lodging of any sort, 
 to appease it by promising I 'd go up to 
 London by the first train to-day, and fetch 
 down my luggage.' 
 
 1 Then you 've things at Charing Cross, in 
 the cloak-room perhaps?' Philip suggested, 
 somewhat relieved ; for he felt sure Bertram 
 Ingledew must have told Miss Blake it was 
 he who had recommended him to Heather- 
 cliff House for furnished apartments. 
 
 1 Oh, dear, no ; nothing,' Bertram re- 
 
30 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 sponded cheerfully. 'Not a sack to my 
 back. I Ve only what I stand up in. And 
 I called this morning just to ask as I passed 
 if you could kindly direct me to an em- 
 porium in London where I could set myself 
 up in all that 's necessary.' 
 
 'A what?' Philip interposed, catching 
 quick at the unfamiliar word with blank 
 English astonishment, and more than ever 
 convinced, in spite of denial, that the 
 stranger was an American. 
 
 1 An emporium,' Bertram answered, in the 
 most matter-of-fact voice : * a magazine, don't 
 you know ; a place where they supply things 
 in return for money. I want to go up to 
 London at once this morning and buy what 
 I require there.' 
 
 'Oh, a shop, you mean,' Philip replied, 
 putting on at once his most respectable 
 British Sabbatarian air. ' I can tell you of 
 the very best tailor in London, whose cut 
 is perfect ; a fine flower of tailors : but not 
 to-day. You forget you're in England, 
 and this is Sunday. On the Continent, it 's 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 31 
 
 different : but you '11 find no decent shops 
 here open to-day in town or country/ 
 
 Bertram Ingledew drew one hand over his 
 high white brow with a strangely puzzled 
 air. 'No more I will/ he said slowly, like 
 one who by degrees half recalls with an 
 effort some forgotten fact from dim depths 
 of his memory. ' I ought to have remem- 
 bered, of course. Why, I knew that, long 
 ago. I read it in a book on the habits and 
 manners of the English people. But some- 
 how, one never recollects these taboo days, 
 wherever one may be, till one's pulled up 
 short by them in the course of one's travels. 
 Now, what on earth am I to do ? A box, it 
 seems, is the Open> Sesame of the situation. 
 Some mystic value is attached to it as a 
 moral amulet. I don't believe that excel- 
 lent Miss Blake would consent to take me 
 in for a second night without the guarantee 
 of a portmanteau to respectablise me.' 
 
 We all have moments of weakness, even 
 the most irreproachable Philistine among us ; 
 and as Bertram said those words in rather a 
 
32 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 piteous voice, it occurred to Philip Christy 
 that the loan of a portmanteau would be a 
 Christian act which might perhaps simplify 
 matters for the handsome and engaging 
 stranger. Besides, he was sure, after all — 
 mystery or no mystery — Bertram Ingledew 
 was Somebody. That nameless charm of 
 dignity and distinction impressed him more 
 and more the longer he talked with the 
 Alien. ■ Well, I think, perhaps, I could help 
 you/ he hazarded after a moment, in a dubi- 
 ous tone ; though to be sure, if he lent the 
 portmanteau, it would be like cementing the 
 friendship for good or for evil ; which Philip, 
 being a prudent young man, felt to be in 
 some ways a trifle dangerous ; for who 
 borrows a portmanteau must needs bring 
 it back again — which opens the door to end- 
 less contingencies. ' I might be able ' 
 
 At that moment, their colloquy was sud- 
 denly interrupted by the entry of a lady 
 who immediately riveted Bertram Ingle- 
 dew's attention. She was tall and dark, a 
 beautiful woman, of that riper and truer 
 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 33 
 
 beauty in face and form that only declares 
 itself as character develops. Her features 
 were clear cut, rather delicate than regular ; 
 her eyes were large and lustrous ; her lips 
 not too thin, but rich and tempting; her 
 brow was high, and surmounted by a luscious 
 wealth of glossy black hair which Bertram 
 never remembered to have seen equalled 
 before for its silkiness of texture and its 
 strange blue sheen, like a plate of steel, or 
 the grass of the prairies. Gliding grace dis- 
 tinguished her when she walked. Her motion 
 was equable. As once the sons of God saw 
 the daughters of men that they were fair, and 
 straightway coveted them, even so Bertram 
 Ingledew looked on Frida Monteith, and saw 
 at the first glance she was a woman to be 
 desired, a soul high-throned, very calm and 
 beautiful. 
 
 She stood there for a moment and faced 
 him, half in doubt, in her flowing Oriental 
 or Mauresque robe (for she dressed, as Philip 
 would have said, ' artistically '), waiting to be 
 introduced the while, and taking good heed, 
 C 
 
34 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 as she waited, of the handsome stranger. 
 As for Philip, he hesitated, not quite certain 
 in his own mind on the point of etiquette — 
 say rather of morals — whether one ought or 
 ought not to introduce ' the ladies of one's 
 family ' to a casual stranger picked up in the 
 street, who confesses he has come on a visit 
 to England without a letter of introduc- 
 tion or even that irreducible minimum of 
 respectability — a portmanteau. Frida, how- 
 ever, had no such scruples. She saw the 
 young man was good-looking and gentle- 
 manly, and she turned to Philip with the 
 hasty sort of glance that says as plainly 
 as words could say it, ■ Now, then ! intro- 
 duce me.' 
 
 Thus mutely exhorted, though with a 
 visible effort, Philip murmured half inarti- 
 culately, in a stifled undertone, 'My sister, 
 Mrs. Monteith — Mr. Bertram Ingledew,' and 
 then trembled inwardly. 
 
 It was a surprise to Bertram that the 
 beautiful woman with the soul in her eyes 
 should turn out to be the sister of the very 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 35 
 
 commonplace young man with the boiled- 
 fish expression he had met by the corner; 
 but he disguised his astonishment, and only 
 interjected, as if it were the most natural 
 remark in the world : ' I 'm pleased to meet 
 you. What a lovely gown ! and how admir- 
 ably it becomes you ! ' 
 
 Philip opened his eyes aghast. But Frida 
 glanced down at the dress with a glance 
 of approbation. The stranger's frankness, 
 though quaint, was really refreshing. 
 
 ( I'm so glad you like it,' she said, taking 
 the compliment with quiet dignity, as simply 
 as it was intended. ' It 's all my own taste ; 
 I chose the stuff and designed the make of 
 it. And I know who this is, Phil, without 
 your troubling to tell me ; it 's the gentleman 
 you met in the street last night, and were 
 talking about at dinner.' 
 
 1 You 're quite right/ Philip answered, with 
 a deprecating look (as who should say, aside, 
 ' I really couldn't help it '). ' He — he 's rather 
 in a difficulty.' And then he went on to 
 explain in a few hurried words to Frida, 
 
36 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 with sundry shrugs and nods of profoundest 
 import, that the supposed lunatic or mur- 
 derer or foreigner or fool had gone to Miss 
 Blake's without luggage of any sort ; and 
 that, * Perhaps ' — very dubitatively — ' a port- 
 manteau or bag might help him out of his 
 temporary difficulties/ 
 
 1 Why, of course,' Frida cried impulsively, 
 with prompt decision ; ' Robert's Gladstone 
 bag and my little brown trunk would be the 
 very things for him. I could lend them to 
 him at once, if only we can get a Sunday 
 cab to take them.' 
 
 1 Not before service, surely,' Philip inter- 
 posed, scandalised. * If he were to take 
 them now, you know, he'd meet all the 
 church-people.' 
 
 ' Is it taboo, then, to face the clergy with 
 a Gladstone bag ? ' Bertram asked quite 
 seriously, in that childlike tone of simple 
 inquiry that Philip had noticed more than 
 once before in him. 'Your bonzes object 
 to meet a man with luggage? They think 
 it unlucky ? ' 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 37 
 
 Frida and Philip looked at one another 
 with quick glances, and laughed. 
 
 'Well, it's not exactly tabooed/ Frida 
 answered gently ; ■ and it 's not so much the 
 rector himself, you know, as the feelings of 
 one's neighbours. This is a very respectable 
 neighbourhood — oh, quite dreadfully respect- 
 able — and people in the houses about might 
 make a talk of it if a cab drove away from 
 the door as they were passing. I think, 
 Phil, you 're right. He 'd better wait till the 
 church-people are finished.' 
 
 1 Respectability seems to be a very great 
 object of worship in your village/ Bertram 
 suggested in perfect good faith. 'Is it a 
 local cult, or is it general in England ? ' 
 
 Frida glanced at him, half puzzled. ' Oh, 
 I think it's pretty general/ she answered, 
 with a happy smile. 'But perhaps the 
 disease is a little more epidemic about here 
 than elsewhere. It affects the suburbs : and 
 my brother 's got it just as badly as any one/ 
 
 ' As badly as any one ! ' Bertram repeated 
 with a puzzled air. ' Then you don't belong 
 
38 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 to that creed yourself? You don't bend the 
 knee to this embodied abstraction ? — it *s 
 your brother who worships her, I suppose, 
 for the family ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; he 's more of a devotee than I am/ 
 Frida went on, quite frankly, but not a little 
 surprised at so much freedom in a stranger. 
 1 Though we 're all of us tarred with the same 
 brush, no doubt. It 's a catching complaint, 
 I suppose, respectability/ 
 
 Bertram gazed at her dubiously. A com- 
 plaint, did she say? Was she serious or 
 joking? He hardly understood her. But 
 further discussion was cut short for the 
 moment by Frida good-humouredly running 
 upstairs to see after the Gladstone bag and 
 brown portmanteau, into which she crammed 
 a few useless books and other heavy things, 
 to serve as make-weights for Miss Blake's 
 injured feelings. 
 
 'You'd better wait a quarter of an hour 
 after we go to church,' she said, as the ser- 
 vant brought these necessaries into the room 
 where Bertram and Philip were seated. ' By 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 39 
 
 that time nearly all the church-people will 
 be safe in their seats ; and Phil's conscience 
 will be satisfied. You can tell Miss Blake 
 you've brought a little of your luggage to 
 do for to-day, and the rest will follow from 
 town to-morrow morning.' 
 
 'Oh, how very kind you are!' Bertram 
 exclaimed, looking down at her gratefully. 
 1 I 'm sure I don't know what I should ever 
 have done in this crisis without you.' 
 
 He said it with a warmth which was cer- 
 tainly unconventional. Frida coloured and 
 looked embarrassed. There was no denying 
 he was certainly a most strange and un- 
 trammelled person. 
 
 1 And if I might venture on a hint,' 
 Philip put in, with a hasty glance at his 
 companion's extremely unsabbatical costume, 
 ' it would be that you shouldn't try to go out 
 much to-day in that suit you 're wearing ; it 
 looks peculiar, don't you know, and might 
 attract attention.' 
 
 ' Oh, is that a taboo too ? " the stranger 
 put in quickly, with an anxious air. ' Now, 
 
40 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 that 's awfully kind of you. But it 's curious, 
 as well ; for two or three people passed 
 my window last night, all Englishmen, as I 
 judged, and all with suits almost exactly like 
 this one — which was copied, as I told you, 
 from an English model.' 
 
 ( Last night ; oh, yes/ Philip answered. 
 1 Last night was Saturday ; that makes all 
 the difference. The suit's right enough in 
 its way, of course, — very neat and gentle- 
 manly ; but not for Sunday. You 're ex- 
 pected on Sundays to put on a black coat 
 and waistcoat, you know, like the ones I 'm 
 wearing.' 
 
 Bertram's countenance fell. ' And if I 'm 
 seen in the street like this,' he asked, * will 
 they do anything to me ? Will the guardians 
 of the peace — the police, I mean — arrest 
 me?' 
 
 Frida laughed a bright little laugh of 
 genuine amusement. 
 
 * Oh, dear, no,' she said merrily ; ' it isn't 
 an affair of police at all ; not so serious as 
 that : it 's only a matter of respectability.' 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 41 
 
 ' I see/ Bertram answered. * Respecta- 
 bility 's a religious or popular, not an official 
 or governmental, taboo. I quite understand 
 you. But those are often the most danger- 
 ous sort. Will the people in the street, who 
 adore Respectability, be likely to attack me 
 or mob me for disrespect to their fetich ? ' 
 
 1 Certainly not,' Frida replied, flushing up. 
 He seemed to be carrying a joke too far. 
 1 This is a free country. Everybody wears 
 and eats and drinks just what he pleases.' 
 
 1 Well, that 's all very interesting to me/ 
 the Alien went on with a charming smile, 
 that disarmed her indignation ; ' for I 've 
 come here on purpose to collect facts and 
 notes about English taboos and similar 
 observances. I 'm Secretary of a Nomo- 
 logical Society at home, which is interested 
 in pagodas, topes, and joss-houses ; and I Ve 
 been travelling in Africa and in the South 
 Sea Islands for a long time past, working at 
 materials for a History of Taboo, from its 
 earliest beginnings in the savage stage to its 
 fully developed European complexity ; so of 
 
42 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 course all you say comes home to me greatly. 
 Your taboos, I foresee, will prove a most 
 valuable and illustrative study.' 
 
 1 1 beg your pardon,' Philip interposed 
 stiffly, now put upon his mettle. ' We have 
 no taboos at all in England. You 're misled, 
 no doubt, by a mere playful facon de parley, 
 which society indulges in. England, you 
 must remember, is a civilised country, and 
 taboos are institutions that belong to the 
 lowest and most degraded savages.' 
 
 But Bertram Ingledew gazed at him in the 
 blankest astonishment. * No taboos ! ' he 
 exclaimed, taken aback. ■ Why, I 've read 
 of hundreds. Among nomological students, 
 England has always been regarded with the 
 greatest interest as the home and centre of 
 the highest and most evolved taboo develop- 
 ment. And you yourself,' he added with a 
 courteous little bow, ' have already supplied 
 me with quite half a dozen. But perhaps you 
 call them by some other name among your- 
 selves ; though in origin and essence, of course, 
 they 're precisely the same as the other taboos 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 43 
 
 I 've been examining so long in Asia and 
 Africa. However, I 'm afraid I 'm detaining 
 you from the function of your joss-house. 
 You wish, no doubt, to make your genu- 
 flexions in the Temple of Respectability.' 
 
 And he reflected silently on the curious 
 fact that the English give themselves by law 
 fifty-two weekly holidays a year, and compel 
 themselves by custom to waste them entirely 
 in ceremonial observances. 
 
Ill 
 
 On the way to church, the Monteiths sifted 
 out their new acquaintance. 
 
 1 Well, what do you make of him, Frida ? ' 
 Philip asked, leaning back in his place, with 
 a luxurious air, as soon as the carriage had 
 turned the corner. * Lunatic or sharper ? ' 
 
 Frida gave an impatient gesture with her 
 neatly gloved hand. 'For my part,' she 
 answered without a second's hesitation, ■ I 
 make him neither : I find him simply charm- 
 ing.' 
 
 1 That 's because he praised your dress/ 
 Philip replied, looking wise. ' Did ever you 
 know anything so cool in your life? Was 
 it ignorance, now, or insolence ? ' 
 
 ■ It was perfect simplicity and naturalness,' 
 Frida answered with confidence. ' He looked 
 at the dress, and admired it, and being trans- 
 
 44 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 45 
 
 parently naif, he didn't see why he shouldn't 
 say so. It wasn't at all rude, I thought — and 
 it gave me pleasure.' 
 
 1 He certainly has in some ways charming 
 manners,' Philip went on more slowly. ' He 
 manages to impress one. If he's a madman, 
 which I rather more than half suspect, it 's at 
 least a gentlemanly form of madness.' 
 
 * His manners are more than merely 
 charming,' Frida answered, quite enthusiastic, 
 for she had taken a great fancy at first sight 
 to the mysterious stranger. ' They 've such 
 absolute freedom. That's what strikes me 
 most in them. They 're like the best English 
 aristocratic manners, without the insolence ; 
 or the freest American manners, without the 
 roughness. He's extremely distinguished. 
 And, oh, isn't he handsome ! ' 
 
 * He is good-looking,' Philip assented 
 grudgingly. Philip owned a looking-glass, 
 and was therefore accustomed to a very high 
 standard of manly beauty. 
 
 As for Robert Monteith, he smiled the 
 grim smile of the wholly unfascinated. He 
 
46 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 was a dour, business man of Scotch descent, 
 who had made his money in palm-oil in the 
 City of London ; and having married Frida 
 as a remarkably fine woman, with a splendid 
 figure, to preside at his table, he had very 
 small sympathy with what he considered 
 her highflown fads and nonsensical fancies. 
 He had seen but little of the stranger, too, 
 having come in from his weekly stroll, or 
 tour of inspection, round the garden and 
 stables, just as they were on the very point 
 of starting for St. Barnabas : and his opinion 
 of the man was in no way enchanced by 
 Frida's enthusiasm. ■ As far as I 'm con- 
 cerned,' he said, with his slow Scotch drawl, 
 inherited from his father (for though London- 
 born and bred, he was still in all essentials 
 a pure Caledonian) — * As far as I 'm con- 
 cerned, I haven't the slightest doubt but the 
 man 's a swindler. I wonder at you, Frida, 
 that you should leave him alone in the house 
 just now, with all that silver. I stepped 
 round before I left, and warned Martha 
 privately not to move from the hall till the 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 47 
 
 fellow was gone, and to call up cook and 
 James if he tried to get out of the house 
 with any of our property. But you never 
 seemed to suspect him. And to supply him 
 with a bag, too, to carry it all off in ! Well, 
 women are feckless ! Hullo, there, police- 
 man ; — stop, Price, one moment ; — I wish 
 you 'd keep an eye on my house this morn- 
 ing. There's a man in there I don't half 
 like the look of. When he drives away in 
 a cab that my boy 's going to call for him, 
 just see where he stops, and take care he 
 hasn't got anything my servants don't know 
 about.' 
 
 In the drawing-room, meanwhile, Bertram 
 Ingledew was reflecting, as he waited for the 
 church people to clear away, how interesting 
 these English clothes-taboos and day- taboos 
 promised to prove, beside some similar 
 customs he had met with or read of in his 
 investigations elsewhere. He remembered 
 how on a certain morning of the year the 
 High Priest of the Zapotecs was obliged 
 to get drunk, an act which on any other 
 
48 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 day in the calendar would have been re- 
 garded by all as a terrible sin in him. He 
 reflected how in Guinea and Tonquin, at 
 a particular period once a twelvemonth, 
 nothing is considered wrong, and everything 
 lawful, so that the worst crimes and mis- 
 demeanours go unnoticed and unpunished. 
 He smiled to think how some days are 
 tabooed in certain countries, so that what- 
 ever you do on them, were it only a game 
 of tennis, is accounted wicked ; while some 
 days are periods of absolute licence, so that 
 whatever you do on them, were it murder 
 itself, becomes fit and holy. To him and his 
 people at home, of course, it was the intrinsic 
 character of the act itself that made it right 
 or wrong, not the particular day or week or 
 month on which one happened to do it. 
 What was wicked in June was wicked still 
 in October. But not so among the unrea- 
 soning devotees of taboo, in Africa or in 
 England. There, what was right in May 
 became wicked in September, and what was 
 wrong on Sunday became harmless or even 
 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 49 
 
 obligatory on Wednesday or Thursday. It 
 was all very hard for a rational being to 
 understand and explain : but he meant to 
 fathom it, all the same, to the very bottom — 
 to find out why, for example, in Uganda, 
 whoever appears before the king must ap- 
 pear stark naked, while in England, whoever 
 appears before the queen must wear a tailor's 
 sword or a long silk train and a headdress 
 of ostrich-feathers ; why, in Morocco, when 
 you enter a mosque, you must take off your 
 shoes and catch a violent cold, in order to 
 show your respect for Allah ; while in Europe, 
 on entering a similar religious building, you 
 must uncover your head, no matter how 
 draughty the place may be, since the deity 
 who presides there appears to be indifferent 
 to the danger of consumption or chest- 
 diseases for his worshippers ; why certain 
 clothes or foods are prescribed in London or 
 Paris for Sundays and Fridays, while certain 
 others, just equally warm or digestible or the 
 contrary, are perfectly lawful to all the world 
 alike on Tuesdays and Saturdays. These 
 D 
 
50 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 were the curious questions he had come so 
 far to investigate, for which the fakirs and 
 dervishes of every land gave such fanciful 
 reasons : and he saw he would have no diffi- 
 culty in picking up abundant examples of 
 his subject-matter everywhere in England. 
 As the metropolis of taboo, it exhibited the 
 phenomena in their highest evolution. The 
 only thing that puzzled him was how Philip 
 Christy, an Englishman born, and evidently 
 a most devout observer of the manifold 
 taboos and juggernauts of his country, should 
 actually deny their very existence. It was one 
 more proof to him of the extreme caution 
 necessary in all anthropological investigations 
 before accepting the evidence even of well- 
 meaning natives on points of religious or 
 social usage, which they are often quite child- 
 ishly incapable of describing in rational terms 
 to outside inquirers. They take their own 
 manners and customs for granted, and they 
 cannot see them in their true relations or 
 compare them with the similar manners and 
 customs of other nationalities. 
 
IV 
 
 Whether Philip Christy liked it or not, the 
 Monteiths and he were soon fairly committed 
 to a tolerably close acquaintance with 
 Bertram Ingledew. For, as chance would 
 have it, on the Monday morning Bertram 
 went up to town in the very same carriage 
 with Philip and his brother-in-law, to set 
 himself up in necessaries of life for a six or 
 eight months' stay in England. When he 
 returned that night to Brackenhurst with 
 two large trunks, full of underclothing and 
 so forth, he had to come round once more to 
 the Monteiths, as Philip anticipated, to bring 
 back the Gladstone bag and the brown port- 
 manteau. He did it with so much graceful 
 and gracious courtesy, and such manly 
 gratitude for the favour done him, that he 
 left still more deeply than ever on Frida's 
 
 51 
 
52 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 mind the impression of a gentleman. He 
 had found out all the right shops to go to in 
 London, he said ; and he had ordered every- 
 thing necessary to social salvation at the 
 very best tailor's, so strictly in accordance 
 with Philip's instructions that he thought he 
 should now transgress no more the sumptu- 
 ary rules in that matter made and established, 
 as long as he remained in this realm of 
 England. He had commanded a black cut- 
 away coat, suitable for Sunday morning ; 
 and a curious garment called a frock-coat, 
 buttoned tight over the chest, to be worn in 
 the afternoon, especially in London ; and a 
 still quainter coat, made of shiny broadcloth, 
 with strange tails behind, which was con- 
 sidered 'respectable,' after seven p.m., for a 
 certain restricted class of citizens — those who 
 paid a particular impost known as income- 
 tax, as far as he could gather from what 
 the tailor told him : though the classes 
 who really did any good in the state, the 
 working men and so forth, seemed exempted 
 by general consent from wearing it. Their 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 53 
 
 dress, indeed, he observed, was, strange to 
 say, the least cared for and evidently the 
 least costly of anybody's. 
 
 He admired the Monteith children so un- 
 affectedly, too, telling them how pretty and 
 how sweet-mannered they were to their very 
 faces, that he quite won Frida's heart ; though 
 Robert did not like it. Robert had evi- 
 dently some deep-seated superstition about 
 the matter; for he sent Maimie, the eldest 
 girl, out of the room at once ; she was four 
 years old ; and he took little Archie, the two- 
 year-old, on his knee, as if to guard him from 
 some moral or social contagion. Then Ber- 
 tram remembered how he had seen African 
 mothers beat or pinch their children till they 
 made them cry, to avert the evil omen, when 
 he praised them to their faces ; and he recol- 
 lected, too, that most fetichistic races believe 
 in Nemesis — that is to say, in jealous gods, 
 who, if they see you love a child too much, 
 or admire it too greatly, will take it from 
 you or do it some grievous bodily harm, 
 such as blinding it or maiming it, in order 
 
54 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 to pay you out for thinking yourself too for- 
 tunate. He did not doubt, therefore, but that 
 in Scotland, which he knew by report to be 
 a country exceptionally given over to terrible 
 superstitions, the people still thought their 
 sanguinary Calvinistic deity, fashioned by a 
 race of stern John Knoxes in their own 
 image, would do some harm to an over- 
 praised child, ' to wean them from it.' He 
 was glad to see, however, that Frida at least 
 did not share this degrading and hateful be- 
 lief, handed down from the most fiendish of 
 savage conceptions. On the contrary, she 
 seemed delighted that Bertram should pat 
 little Maimie on the head, and praise her 
 sunny smile and her lovely hair 'just like 
 her mother's.' 
 
 To Philip, this was all a rather serious 
 matter. He felt he was responsible for 
 having introduced the mysterious Alien, how- 
 ever unwillingly, into the bosom of Robert 
 Monteith's family. Now, Philip was not rich, 
 and Frida was supposed to have ' made a 
 good match of it' — that is to say, she had 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 55 
 
 married a man a great deal wealthier than 
 her own upbringing. So Philip, after his 
 kind, thought much of the Monteith connec- 
 tion. He lived in lodgings at Brackenhurst, 
 at a highly inconvenient distance from town, 
 so as to be near their house, and catch 
 whatever rays of reflected glory might fall 
 upon his head like a shadowy halo from 
 their horses and carriages, their dinners and 
 garden-parties. He did not like, therefore, to 
 introduce into his sister's house anybody that 
 Robert Monteith, that moneyed man of oil, 
 in the West African trade, might consider 
 an undesirable acquaintance. But as time 
 wore on, and Bertram's new clothes came 
 home from the tailor's, it began to strike the 
 Civil Servant's mind that the mysterious 
 Alien, though he excited much comment and 
 conjecture in Brackenhurst, was accepted 
 on the whole by local society as rather an 
 acquisition to its ranks than otherwise. He 
 was well off: he was well dressed: he had 
 no trade or profession : and Brackenhurst, 
 undermanned, hailed him as a godsend for 
 
56 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 afternoon teas and informal tennis-parties. 
 That ineffable air of distinction as of one 
 royal born, which Philip had noticed at once 
 the first evening they met, seemed to strike 
 and impress almost everybody who saw him. 
 People felt he was mysterious, but at any 
 rate he was Someone. And then he had 
 been everywhere — except in Europe ; and had 
 seen everything — except their own society : 
 and he talked agreeably when he was not on 
 taboos : and in suburban towns, don't you 
 know, an outsider who brings fresh blood 
 into the field — who has anything to say we 
 do not all know beforehand — is always wel- 
 come ! So Brackenhurst accepted Bertram 
 Ingledew before long, as an eccentric but 
 interesting and romantic person. 
 
 Not that he stopped much in Bracken- 
 hurst itself. He went up to town every day 
 almost as regularly as Robert Monteith and 
 Philip Christy. He had things he wanted 
 to observe there, he said, for the work he 
 was engaged upon. And the work clearly 
 occupied the best part of his energies. Every 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 57 
 
 night he came down to Brackenhurst with 
 his notebook crammed full of modern facts 
 and illustrative instances. He worked most 
 of all in the East End, he told Frida con- 
 fidentially : there he could see best the 
 remote results of certain painful English 
 customs and usages he was anxious to study. 
 Still, he often went west, too ; for the West 
 End taboos, though not in some cases so dis- 
 tressing as the East End ones, were at times 
 much more curiously illustrative and ridicu- 
 lous. He must master all branches of the 
 subject alike. He spoke so seriously that 
 after a time Frida, who was just at first in- 
 clined to laugh at his odd way of putting 
 things, began to take it all in the end quite 
 as seriously as he did. He felt more at home 
 with her than with anybody else at Bracken- 
 hurst She had sympathetic eyes; and he 
 lived on sympathy. He came to her so often 
 for help in his difficulties that she soon saw he 
 really meant all he said, and was genuinely 
 puzzled in a very queer way by many varied 
 aspects of English society. 
 
58 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 In time the two grew quite intimate to- 
 gether. But on one point Bertram would 
 never give his new friend the slightest infor- 
 mation ; and that was the whereabouts of 
 that mysterious ' home ' he so often referred 
 to. Oddly enough, no one ever questioned 
 him closely on the subject. A certain singu- 
 lar reserve of his, which alternated curiously 
 with his perfect frankness, prevented them 
 from trespassing so far on his individuality. 
 People felt they must not. Somehow, when 
 Bertram Ingledew let it once be felt he 
 did not wish to be questioned on any parti- 
 cular point, even women managed to restrain 
 their curiosity: and he would have been 
 either a very bold or a very insensitive man 
 who would have ventured to continue ques- 
 tioning him any further. So, though many 
 people hazarded guesses as to where he had 
 come from, nobody ever asked him the 
 point-blank question : Who are you, if you 
 please, and what do you want here ? 
 
 The Alien went out a great deal with the 
 Monteiths. Robert himself did not like the 
 

 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 59 
 
 fellow, he said : one never quite knew what 
 the deuce he was driving at ; but Frida 
 found him always more and more charming, 
 — so full of information ! — while Philip ad- 
 mitted he was excellent form, and such a 
 capital tennis player! So whenever Philip 
 had a day off in the country, they three 
 went out in the fields together, and Frida 
 at least thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated 
 the freedom and freshness of the newcomer's 
 conversation. 
 
 On one such day they went out, as it 
 chanced, into the meadows that stretch up 
 the hill behind Brackenhurst. Frida remem- 
 bered it well afterwards. It was the day 
 when an annual saturnalia of vulgar vice 
 usurps and pollutes the open downs at 
 Epsom. Bertram did not care to see it, he 
 said — the rabble of a great town turned 
 loose to desecrate the open face of nature — 
 even regarded as a matter of popular cus- 
 tom ; he had looked on at much the same 
 orgies before in New Guinea and on the 
 Zambesi, and they only depressed him : so 
 
6o THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 he stopped at Brackenhurst, and went for a 
 walk instead in the fresh summer meadows. 
 Robert Monteith, for his part, had gone to 
 the Derby — so they call that orgy — and 
 Philip had meant to accompany him in the 
 dogcart, but remained behind at the last 
 moment to take care of Frida ; for Frida, 
 being a lady at heart, always shrank from 
 the pollution of vulgar assemblies. As they 
 walked together across the lush green fields, 
 thick with campion and yellow-rattle, they 
 came to a dense copse with a rustic gate, 
 above which a threatening notice-board 
 frowned them straight in the face, bearing 
 the usual selfish and anti-social inscription, 
 * Trespassers will be prosecuted/ 
 
 * Let 's go in here and pick orchids/ Ber- 
 tram suggested, leaning over the gate. ' Just 
 see how pretty they are ! The scented white 
 butterfly I It loves moist bogland. Now, 
 Mrs. Monteith, wouldn't a few long sprays of 
 that lovely thing look charming on your 
 dinner-table ? ' 
 
 4 But it 's preserved,' Philip interposed with 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 61 
 
 an awestruck face. ■ You can't go in there : 
 it 's Sir Lionel Longden's, and he 's awfully 
 particular.' 
 
 ' Can't go in there ? Oh, nonsense/ Ber- 
 tram answered, with a merry laugh, vaulting 
 the gate like a practised athlete. 'Mrs. 
 Monteith can get over easily enough, I 'm 
 sure. She 's as light as a fawn. May I help 
 you over ? ' And he held one hand out. 
 
 'But it's private,' Philip went on, in a 
 somewhat horrified voice ; ' and the pheasants 
 are sitting.' 
 
 ' Private ? How can it be ? There 's no- 
 thing sown here. It's all wild wood; we 
 can't do any damage. If it was growing 
 crops, of course, one would walk through it 
 not at all, or at least very carefully. But 
 this is pure woodland. Are the pheasants 
 tabooed, then? or why mayn't we go near 
 them?' 
 
 'They're not tabooed, but they're pre- 
 served,' Philip answered somewhat testily, 
 making a delicate distinction without a 
 difference, after the fashion dear to the 
 
62 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 official intellect. ' This land belongs to Sir 
 Lionel Longden, I tell you, and he chooses 
 to lay it all down in pheasants. He bought 
 it and paid for it, so he has a right, I suppose, 
 to do as he likes with it.' 
 
 'That's the funniest thing of all about 
 these taboos,' Bertram mused, as if half to 
 himself, f The very people whom they in- 
 jure and inconvenience the most, the people 
 whom they hamper and cramp and debar, 
 don't seem to object to them, but believe in 
 them and are afraid of them. In Samoa, I 
 remember, certain fruits and fish and animals 
 and so forth were tabooed to the chiefs, and 
 nobody else ever dared to eat them. They 
 thought it was wrong, and said, if they did, 
 some nameless evil would at once overtake 
 them. These nameless terrors, these bodiless 
 superstitions, are always the deepest. People 
 fight hardest to preserve their bogeys. They 
 fancy some appalling unknown dissolution 
 would at once result from reasonable action. 
 I tried one day to persuade a poor devil of a 
 fellow in Samoa who 'd caught one of these 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 63 
 
 fish, and who was terribly hungry, that no 
 harm would come to him if he cooked it and 
 ate it But he was too slavishly frightened 
 to follow my advice ; he said it was taboo to 
 the god-descended chiefs : if a mortal man 
 tasted it, he would die on the spot : so nothing 
 on earth would induce him to try it. Though 
 to be sure, even there, nobody ever went 
 quite so far as to taboo the very soil of earth 
 itself: everybody might till and hunt where 
 he liked. It 's only in Europe, where evolution 
 goes furthest, that taboo has reached that last 
 silly pitch of injustice and absurdity. Well, 
 we're not afraid of the fetich, you and I, 
 Mrs. Monteith. Jump up on the gate ; I '11 
 give you a hand over ! ' And he held out 
 one strong arm as he spoke to aid her. 
 
 Frida had no such fanatical respect for the 
 bogey of vested interests as her superstitious 
 brother, so she mounted the gate gracefully 
 — she was always graceful. Bertram took 
 her small hand and jumped her down on the 
 other side, while Philip, not liking to show 
 himself less bold than a woman in this 
 
64 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 matter, climbed over it after her, though with 
 no small misgivings. They strolled on into 
 the wood, picking the pretty white orchids 
 by the way as they went, for some little 
 distance. The rich mould underfoot was 
 thick with sweet woodruff and trailing loose- 
 strife. Every now and again, as they stirred 
 the lithe brambles that encroached upon the 
 path, a pheasant rose from the ground with 
 a loud whir-r-r before them. Philip felt 
 most uneasy. * You '11 have the keepers 
 after you in a minute,' he said, with a de- 
 precating shrug. * This is just full nesting 
 time. They're down upon anybody who 
 disturbs the pheasants.' 
 
 ' But the pheasants can't belong to any 
 one,' Bertram cried, with a greatly amused 
 face. 'You may taboo the land — I under- 
 stand that's done — but surely you can't 
 taboo a wild bird that can fly as it likes 
 from one piece of ground away into another.' 
 
 Philip enlightened his ignorance by giving 
 him off-hand a brief and profoundly servile 
 account of the English game-laws, inter- 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 65 
 
 spersed with sundry anecdotes of poachers 
 and poaching. Bertram listened with an 
 interested but gravely disapproving face. 
 1 And do you mean to say,' he asked at last, 
 'they send men to prison as criminals for 
 catching or shooting hares and pheasants ? ' 
 
 1 Why, certainly/ Philip answered. * It 's 
 an offence against the law, and also a crime 
 against the rights of property.' 
 
 1 Against the law, yes ; but how on earth 
 can it be a crime against the rights of pro- 
 perty? Obviously the pheasant's the pro- 
 perty of the man who happens to shoot it 
 How can it belong to him and also to the 
 fellow who taboos the particular piece of 
 ground it was snared on ? ' 
 
 1 It doesn't belong to the man who shoots 
 it at all,' Philip answered, rather angrily. ' It 
 belongs to the man who owns the land, of 
 course, and who chooses to preserve it' 
 
 1 Oh, I see,' Bertram replied. ' Then you 
 
 disregard the rights of property altogether, 
 
 and only consider the privileges of taboo. 
 
 As a principle, that 's intelligible. One sees 
 
 E 
 
66 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 it's consistent. But how is it that you all 
 allow these chiefs — landlords, don't you call 
 them? — to taboo the soil and prevent you 
 all from even walking over it? Don't you 
 see that if you chose to combine in a body 
 and insist upon the recognition of your 
 natural rights, — if you determined to make 
 the landlords give up their taboo, and cease 
 from injustice, — they 'd have to yield to you, 
 and then you could exercise your native 
 right of going where you pleased, and cul- 
 tivate the land in common for the public 
 benefit, instead of leaving it, as now, to be 
 cultivated anyhow, or turned into waste for 
 the benefit of the tabooers ? ' 
 
 'But it would be wrong to take it from 
 them,' Philip cried, growing fiery red and 
 half losing his temper, for he really believed 
 it. ' It would be sheer confiscation ; the 
 land 's their own ; they either bought it or 
 inherited it from their fathers. If you were 
 to begin taking it away, what guarantee 
 would you have left for any of the rights of 
 property generally ? ' 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 67 
 
 'You didn't recognise the rights of 
 property of the fellow who killed the 
 pheasant, though/ Bertram interposed, laugh- 
 ing, and imperturbably good-humoured. 
 'But that's always the way with these 
 taboos, everywhere. They subsist just 
 because the vast majority even of those who 
 are obviously wronged and injured by them 
 really believe in them. They think they 're 
 guaranteed by some divine prescription. 
 The fetich guards them. In Polynesia, I 
 recollect, some chiefs could taboo almost 
 anything they liked, even a girl or a woman, 
 or fruit and fish and animals and houses : 
 and after the chief had once said, " It is 
 taboo," everybody else was afraid to touch 
 them. Of course, the fact that a chief or a 
 landowner has bought and paid for a 
 particular privilege or species of taboo, or 
 has inherited it from his fathers, doesn't give 
 him any better moral claim to it. The 
 question is, " Is the claim in itself right and 
 reasonable?" For a wrong is only all the 
 more a wrong for having been long and 
 
68 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 persistently exercised. The Central Africans 
 say, " This is my slave ; I bought her and 
 paid for her ; I've a right, if I like, to kill 
 her and eat her." The king of I bo, on the 
 West Coast, had a hereditary right to offer 
 up as a human sacrifice the first man he met 
 every time he quitted his palace ; and he 
 was quite surprised audacious freethinkers 
 should call the morality of his right in 
 question. If you English were all in a body 
 to see through this queer land-taboo, now, 
 which drives your poor off the soil, and 
 prevents you all from even walking at 
 liberty over the surface of the waste in your 
 own country, you could easily ' 
 
 ' Oh, Lord, what shall we do!' Philip 
 interposed in a voice of abject terror. ' If 
 here isn't Sir Lionel ! • 
 
 And sure enough, right across the narrow 
 path in front of them stood a short, fat, 
 stumpy, unimpressive little man, with a very 
 red face, and a Norfolk jacket, boiling over 
 with anger. 
 
 'What are you people doing here?' he 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 69 
 
 cried, undeterred by the presence of a lady, 
 and speaking in the insolent, supercilious 
 voice of the English landlord in defence of 
 his pheasant preserves. * This is private pro- 
 perty. You must have seen the notice at 
 the gate, " Trespassers will be prosecuted." ' 
 
 'Yes, we did see it,' Bertram answered, 
 with his unruffled smile ; ' and thinking it an 
 uncalled-for piece of aggressive churlishness, 
 both in form and substance, — why, we took 
 the liberty to disregard it.' 
 
 Sir Lionel glared at him. In that servile 
 neighbourhood, almost entirely inhabited by 
 the flunkeys of villadom, it was a complete 
 novelty to him to be thus bearded in his den. 
 He gasped with anger. 'Do you mean to 
 say,' he gurgled out, growing purple to the 
 neck, 'you came in here deliberately to 
 disturb my pheasants, and then brazen it out 
 to my face like this, sir ? Go back, the way 
 you came, or I '11 call my keepers/ 
 
 1 No, I will not go back the way I came/ 
 Bertram responded deliberately, with perfect 
 self-control, and with a side-glance at Frida. 
 
70 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 1 Every human being has a natural right to 
 walk across this copse, which is all waste 
 ground, and has no crop sown in it. The 
 pheasants can't be yours ; they 're common 
 property. Besides, there's a lady. We 
 mean to make our way across the copse at 
 our leisure, picking flowers as we go, and 
 come out into the road on the other side 
 of the spinney. It's a universal right of 
 which no country and no law can possibly 
 deprive us.' 
 
 Sir Lionel was livid with rage. Strange 
 as it may appear to any reasoning mind, the 
 man really believed he had a natural right 
 to prevent people from crossing that strip of 
 wood where his pheasants were sitting. His 
 ancestors had assumed it from time im- 
 memorial, and by dint of never being 
 questioned had come to regard the absurd 
 usurpation as quite fair and proper. He 
 placed himself straight across the narrow 
 path, blocking it up with his short and 
 stumpy figure. 'Now look here, young 
 man,' he said, with all the insolence of his 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 71 
 
 caste : ' if you try to go on, I '11 stand here 
 in your way ; and if you dare to touch me, 
 it 's a common assault, and, by George, you '11 
 have to answer at law for the consequences.' 
 Bertram Ingledew for his part was all 
 sweet reasonableness. He raised one depre- 
 cating hand. ' Now, before we come to open 
 hostilities/ he said in a gentle voice, with 
 that unfailing smile of his, 'let's talk the 
 matter over like rational beings. Let 's try 
 to be logical. This copse is considered 
 yours by the actual law of the country you 
 live in : your tribe permits it to you : you 're 
 allowed to taboo it. Very well, then ; I 
 make all possible allowances for your strange 
 hallucination. You've been brought up to 
 think you had some mystic and intangible 
 claim to this corner of earth more than other 
 people, your even Christians. That claim, 
 of course, you can't logically defend ; but 
 failing arguments, you want to fight for it 
 Wouldn't it be more reasonable, now, to 
 show you had some right ox justice in the 
 matter ? I 'm always reasonable : if you can 
 
72 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 convince me of the propriety and equity of 
 your claim, I '11 go back as you wish by the 
 way I entered. If not — well, there 's a lady 
 here, and I 'm bound, as a man, to help her 
 safely over/ 
 
 Sir Lionel almost choked. ' I see what 
 you are/ he gasped out with difficulty. 
 1 I Ve heard this sort of rubbish more than 
 once before. You Ve one of these damned 
 land-nationalising radicals/ 
 
 'On the contrary,' Bertram answered, 
 urbane as ever, with charming politeness of 
 tone and manner : ' I 'm a born conservative. 
 I 'm tenacious to an almost foolishly 
 sentimental degree of every old custom or 
 practice or idea; unless, indeed, it's either 
 wicked or silly — like most of your English 
 ones/ 
 
 He raised his hat, and made as if he 
 would pass on. Now, nothing annoys an 
 angry savage or an uneducated person so 
 much as the perfect coolness of a civilised 
 and cultivated man when he himself is 
 boiling with indignation. He feels its 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 73 
 
 superiority an affront on his barbarism. So, 
 with a vulgar oath, Sir Lionel flung himself 
 point-blank in the way. 'Damn it all, no 
 you won't, sir!' he cried. I'll soon put a 
 stop to all that, I can tell you. You shan't 
 go on one step without committing an 
 assault upon me.' And he drew himself up, 
 four-square, as if for battle. 
 
 ' Oh, just as you like/ Bertram answered 
 coolly, never losing his temper. ' I 'm not 
 afraid of taboos : I 've seen too many of them.' 
 And he gazed at the fat little angry man 
 with a gentle expression of mingled con- 
 tempt and amusement. 
 
 For a minute, Frida thought they were 
 really going to fight, and drew back in 
 horror to await the contest. But such a 
 warlike notion never entered the man of 
 peace's head. He took a step backward for 
 a second and calmly surveyed his antagonist 
 with a critical scrutiny. Sir Lionel was 
 short and stout and puffy ; Bertram Ingle- 
 dew was tall and strong and well-knit and 
 athletic. After an instant's pause, during 
 
74 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 which the doughty baronet stood doubling 
 his fat fists and glaring silent wrath at his 
 lither opponent, Bertram made a sudden 
 dart forward, seized the little stout man 
 bodily in his stalwart arms, and lifting him 
 like a baby, in spite of kicks and struggles, 
 carried him a hundred paces to one side of 
 the path, where he laid him down gingerly 
 without unnecessary violence on a bed of 
 young bracken. Then he returned quite 
 calmly, as if nothing had happened, to 
 Frida's side, with that quiet little smile on 
 his unruffled countenance. 
 
 Frida had not quite approved of all this 
 small episode, for she too believed in the 
 righteousness of taboo, like most other 
 Englishwomen, and devoutly accepted the 
 common priestly doctrine, that the earth is 
 the landlord's and the fulness thereof; but 
 still, being a woman, and therefore an ad- 
 mirer of physical strength in men, she 
 could not help applauding to herself the 
 masterly way in which her squire had carried 
 his antagonist captive. When he returned, 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 75 
 
 she beamed upon him with friendly confi- 
 dence. But Philip was very much frightened 
 indeed. 
 
 'You'll have to pay for this, you know/ 
 he said. ■ This is a law-abiding land. He '11 
 bring an action against you for assault and 
 battery ; and you '11 get three months for it.' 
 
 1 1 don't think so/ Bertram answered, still 
 placid and unruffled. ' There were three of 
 us who saw him ; and it was a very igno- 
 minious position indeed for a person who 
 sets up to be a great chief in the country. 
 He won't like the little boys on his own 
 estate to know the great Sir Lionel was 
 lifted up against his will, carried about like 
 a baby, and set down in a bracken-bed. 
 Indeed, I was more than sorry to have to 
 do such a thing to a man of his years ; but 
 you see he would have it. It 's the only way 
 to deal with these tabooing chiefs. You 
 must face them and be done with it. In 
 the Caroline Islands, once, I had to do the 
 same thing to a cazique who was going to 
 cook and eat a very pretty young girl of his 
 
76 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 own retainers. He wouldn't listen to reason ; 
 the law was on his side; so, being happily 
 not a law-abiding person myself, I took him 
 up in my arms, and walked off with him 
 bodily, and was obliged to drop him down 
 into a very painful bed of stinging plants 
 like nettles, so as to give myself time to 
 escape with the girl clear out of his clutches. 
 I regretted having to do it so roughly, of 
 course; but there was no other way out 
 of it/ 
 
 As he spoke, for the first time it really 
 came home to Frida's mind that Bertram 
 Ingledew, standing there before her, regarded 
 in very truth the Polynesian chief and Sir 
 Lionel Longden as much about the same 
 sort of unreasoning people — savages to be 
 argued with and cajoled if possible ; but if 
 not, then to be treated with calm firmness 
 and force, as an English officer on an explor- 
 ing expedition might treat a wrathful Central 
 African kinglet. And in a dim sort of way, 
 too, it began to strike her by degrees that 
 the analogy was a true one, that Bertram 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 77 
 
 Ingledew, among the Englishmen with whom 
 she was accustomed to mix, was like a 
 civilised being in the midst of barbarians, 
 who feel and recognise but dimly and half- 
 unconsciously his innate superiority. 
 
 By the time they had reached the gate on 
 the other side of the hanger, Sir Lionel over- 
 took them, boiling over with indignation. 
 
 1 Your card, sir,' he gasped out inarticu- 
 lately to the calmly innocent Alien ; ' you 
 must answer for all this. Your card, I say, 
 instantly ! ' 
 
 Bertram looked at him with a fixed gaze. 
 Sir Lionel, having had good proof of his 
 antagonist's strength, kept his distance cau- 
 tiously. 
 
 * Certainly not, my good friend,' Bertram 
 replied, in a firm tone. * Why should /, who 
 am the injured and insulted party, assist you 
 in identifying me ? It was you who aggressed 
 upon my free individuality. If you want to 
 call in the aid of an unjust law to back up 
 an unjust and irrational taboo, you must find 
 out for yourself who I am, and where I come 
 
78 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 from. But I wouldn't advise you to do any- 
 thing so foolish. Three of us here saw you 
 in the ridiculous position into which by your 
 obstinacy you compelled me to put you ; 
 and you wouldn't like to hear us recount it 
 in public, with picturesque details, to your 
 brother magistrates. Let me say one thing 
 more to you,' he added, after a pause, in that 
 peculiarly soft and melodious voice of his. 
 'Don't you think, on reflection — even if 
 you're foolish enough and illogical enough 
 really to believe in the sacredness of the 
 taboo by virtue of which you try to exclude 
 your fellow-tribesmen from their fair share 
 of enjoyment of the soil of England — don't 
 you think you might at any rate exercise 
 your imaginary powers over the land you 
 arrogate to yourself with a little more gentle- 
 ness and common politeness? How petty 
 and narrow it looks to use even an un- 
 doubted right, far more a tribal taboo, 
 in a tyrannical and needlessly aggressive 
 manner! How mean and small and low 
 and churlish ! The damage we did your 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 79 
 
 land, as you call it — if we did any at all — 
 was certainly not a ha'pennyworth. Was it 
 consonant with your dignity as a chief in 
 the tribe to get so hot and angry about so 
 small a value? How grotesque to make 
 so much fuss and noise about a matter of 
 a ha'penny! We, who were the aggrieved 
 parties, we, whom you attempted to debar 
 by main force from the common human right 
 to walk freely over earth wherever there's 
 nothing sown or planted, and who were 
 obliged to remove you as an obstacle out 
 of our path, at some personal inconvenience ' 
 — (he glanced askance at his clothes, crumpled 
 and soiled by Sir Lionel's unseemly resist- 
 ance) — 'we didn't lose our tempers, or 
 attempt to revile you. We were cool and 
 collected. But a taboo must be on its very 
 last legs when it requires the aid of terrifying 
 notices at every corner in order to preserve 
 it; and I think this of yours must be well 
 on the way to abolition. Still, as I should 
 like to part friends' — he drew a coin from 
 his pocket, and held it out between his ringer 
 
80 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 and thumb with a courteous bow towards 
 Sir Lionel — ' I gladly tender you a ha'penny 
 in compensation for any supposed harm we 
 may possibly have done your imaginary 
 rights by walking through the wood here/ 
 
FOR a day or two after this notable en- 
 counter between tabooer and taboo-breaker, 
 Philip moved about in a most uneasy state 
 of mind. He lived in constant dread of re- 
 ceiving a summons as a party to an assault 
 upon a most respectable and respected 
 landed proprietor who preserved more 
 pheasants and owned more ruinous cottages 
 than anybody else (except the duke) round 
 about Brackenhurst Indeed, so deeply did 
 he regret his involuntary part in this painful 
 escapade that he never mentioned a word of 
 it to Robert Monteith ; nor did Frida either. 
 To say the truth, husband and wife were 
 seldom confidential one with the other. But, 
 to Philip's surprise, Bertram's prediction 
 came true ; they never heard another word 
 about the action for trespass or the threat- 
 F 
 
82 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 ened prosecution for assault and battery. 
 Sir Lionel found out that the person who 
 had committed the gross and unheard-of 
 outrage of lifting an elderly and respectable 
 English landowner like a baby in arms on 
 his own estate, was a lodger at Brackenhurst, 
 variously regarded by those who knew him 
 best as an escaped lunatic, and as a foreign 
 nobleman in disguise, fleeing for his life from 
 a charge of complicity in a Nihilist con- 
 spiracy : he wisely came to the conclusion, 
 therefore, that he would not be the first to 
 divulge the story of his own ignominious 
 defeat, unless he found that damned radical 
 chap was going boasting around the country- 
 side how he had balked Sir Lionel. And 
 as nothing was further than boasting from 
 Bertram Ingledew's gentle nature, and as 
 Philip and Frida both held their peace for 
 good reasons of their own, the baronet never 
 attempted in any way to rake up the story 
 of his grotesque disgrace on what he con- 
 sidered his own property. All he did was 
 to double the number of keepers on the 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 83 
 
 borders of his estate, and to give them strict 
 notice that whoever could succeed in catch- 
 ing the ' damned radical ' in flagrante delicto, 
 as trespasser or poacher, should receive most 
 instant reward and promotion. 
 
 During the next few weeks, accordingly, 
 nothing of importance happened, from the 
 point of view of the Brackenhurst chronicler ; 
 though Bertram was constantly round at 
 the Monteiths' garden for afternoon tea or a 
 game of lawn-tennis. He was an excellent 
 player ; lawn-tennis was most popular ' at 
 home/ he said, in that same mysterious and 
 non-committing phrase he so often made use 
 of. Only, he found the racquets and balls 
 (very best London make) rather clumsy and 
 awkward ; he wished he had brought his 
 own along with him when he came here. 
 Philip noticed his style of service was par- 
 ticularly good, and even wondered at times 
 he did not try to go in for the All England 
 Championship. But Bertram surprised him 
 by answering, with a quiet smile, that though 
 it was an excellent amusement he had too 
 
84 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 many other things to do with his time to 
 make a serious pursuit of it 
 
 One day towards the end of June, the 
 strange young man had gone round to The 
 Grange — that was the name of Frida's house 
 — for his usual relaxation after a very tiring 
 and distressing day in London, 'on impor- 
 tant business/ The business, whatever it 
 was, had evidently harrowed his feelings not 
 a little, for he was sensitively organised. 
 Frida was on the tennis-lawn. She met him 
 with much lamentation over the unpleasant 
 fact that she had just lost a sister-in-law 
 whom she had never cared for. 
 
 'Well, but if you never cared for her,' 
 Bertram answered, looking hard into her 
 lustrous eyes, ' it doesn't much matter.' 
 
 1 Oh, I shall have to go into mourning all 
 the same,' Frida continued somewhat pet- 
 tishly, ' and waste all my nice new summer 
 dresses. It 's such a nuisance ! 
 
 ' Why do it, then ? ' Bertram suggested, 
 watching her face very narrowly. 
 
 'Well, I suppose because of what you 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 85 
 
 would call a fetich/ Frida answered laughing. 
 1 I know it 's ridiculous. But everybody ex- 
 pects it, and I 'm not strong-minded enough 
 to go against the current of what everybody 
 expects of me/ 
 
 'You will be by-and-by/ Bertram an- 
 swered, with confidence. * They 're queer 
 things, these death-taboos. Sometimes 
 people cover their heads with filth or ashes ; 
 and sometimes they bedizen them with crape 
 and white streamers. In some countries, the 
 survivors are bound to shed so many tears, 
 to measure, in memory of the departed ; 
 and if they can't bring them up naturally in 
 sufficient quantities, they have to be beaten 
 with rods, or pricked with thorns, or stung 
 with nettles, till they've filled to the last 
 drop the regulation bottle. In Swaziland, 
 too, when the king dies, so the queen told 
 me, every family of his subjects has to lose 
 one of its sons or daughters, in order that 
 they may all truly grieve at the loss of their 
 sovereign. I think there are more horrible 
 and cruel devices in the way of death-taboos 
 
86 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 and death-customs than anything else I Ve 
 met in my researches. Indeed, most of our 
 nomologists at home believe that all taboos 
 originally arose out of ancestral ghost-wor- 
 ship, and sprang from the craven fear of 
 dead kings or dead relatives. They think 
 fetiches and gods and other imaginary super- 
 natural beings were all in the last resort 
 developed out of ghosts, hostile or friendly ; 
 and from what I see abroad, I incline to 
 agree with them. But this mourning super- 
 stition, now — surely it must do a great deal 
 of harm in poor households in England. 
 People who can very ill afford to throw away 
 good dresses must have to give them up, 
 and get new black ones, and that often at 
 the very moment when they 're just deprived 
 of the aid of their only support and bread- 
 winner. I wonder it doesn't occur to them 
 that this is absolutely wrong, and that they 
 oughtn't to prefer the meaningless fetich to 
 their clear moral duty.' 
 
 * They 're afraid of what people would say 
 of them,' Frida ventured to interpose. * You 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 87 
 
 see, we're all so frightened of breaking 
 through an established custom/ 
 
 * Yes, I notice that always, wherever I go 
 in England/ Bertram answered. 'There's 
 apparently no clear idea of what 's right and 
 wrong at all, in the ethical sense, as apart 
 from what 's usual. I was talking to a lady 
 up in London to-day about a certain matter 
 I may perhaps mention to you by-and-by 
 when occasion serves, and she said she'd 
 been " always brought up to think " so-and- 
 so. It seemed to me a very queer substitute 
 indeed for thinking.' 
 
 ■ I never thought of that,' Frida answered 
 slowly. * I 've said the same thing a hun- 
 dred times over myself before now; and 
 I see how. irrational it is. But, there, Mr. 
 Ingledew, that 's why I always like talking 
 with you so much : you make one take such 
 a totally new view of things.' 
 
 She looked down and was silent a minute. 
 Her breast heaved and fell. She was a 
 beautiful woman, very tall and queenly. Ber- 
 tram looked at her and paused ; then he 
 
88 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 went on hurriedly, just to break the awk- 
 ward silence : ■ And this dance at Exeter, 
 then — I suppose you won't go to it ? ' 
 
 f Oh, I can't, of course,' Frida answered 
 quickly. * And my two other nieces — 
 Robert's side, you know — who have nothing 
 at all to do with my brother Tom's wife, out 
 there in India — they'll be so disappointed. 
 I was going to take them down to it. 
 Nasty thing ! How annoying of her ! She 
 might have chosen some other time to go 
 and die, I 'm sure, than just when she knew 
 I wanted to go to Exeter ! • 
 
 ' Well, if it would be any convenience to 
 you,' Bertram put in with a serious face, 
 * I 'm rather busy on Wednesday ; but I 
 could manage to take up a portmanteau to 
 town with my dress things in the morning, 
 meet the girls at Paddington, and run down 
 by the evening express in time to go with 
 them to the hotel you meant to stop at. 
 They 're those two pretty blondes I met here 
 at tea last Sunday, aren't they ? ' 
 
 Frida looked at him, half-incredulous. He 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 89 
 
 was very nice, she knew, and very quaint and 
 fresh and • unsophisticated and unconven- 
 tional ; but could he be really quite so 
 ignorant of the common usages of civilised 
 society as to suppose it possible he could 
 run down alone with two young girls to 
 stop by themselves, without even a chaperon, 
 at an hotel at Exeter? She gazed at him 
 curiously. 'Oh, Mr. Ingledew,' she said, 
 1 now you 're really too ridiculous ! ' 
 
 Bertram coloured up like a boy. If she 
 had been in any doubt before as to his sin- 
 cerity and simplicity, she could be so no 
 longer. ■ Oh, I forgot about the taboo/ he 
 said. ' I'm so sorry I hurt you. I was only 
 thinking what a pity those two nice girls 
 should be cheated out of their expected 
 pleasure by a silly question of pretended 
 mourning, where even you yourself, who 
 have got to wear it, don't assume that you 
 feel the slightest tinge of sorrow. I re- 
 member now, of course, what a lady told 
 me in London the other day : your young 
 girls aren't even allowed to go out travelling 
 
90 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 alone without their mother or brothers, in 
 order to taboo them absolutely beforehand 
 for the possible husband who may some day 
 marry them. It was a pitiful tale. I thought 
 it all most painful and shocking.' 
 
 ' But you don't mean to say,' Frida cried, 
 equally shocked and astonished in her turn, 
 'that you'd let young girls go out alone 
 anywhere with unmarried men? Goodness 
 gracious, how dreadful I ' 
 
 'Why not?' Bertram asked, with trans- 
 parent simplicity. 
 
 'Why, just consider the consequences!' 
 Frida exclaimed, with a blush, after a 
 moment's hesitation. 
 
 'There couldn't be any consequences, 
 unless they both liked and respected one 
 another,' Bertram answered in the most 
 matter-of-course voice in the world ; ' and 
 if they do that, we think at home it 's no- 
 body's business to interfere in any way with 
 the free expression of their individuality, in 
 this the most sacred and personal matter of 
 human intercourse. It's the one point of 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 91 
 
 private conduct about which we're all at 
 home most sensitively anxious not to meddle, 
 to interfere, or even to criticise. We think 
 such affairs should be left entirely to the 
 hearts and consciences of the two persons 
 concerned, who must surely know best how 
 they feel towards one another. But I re- 
 member having met lots of taboos among 
 other barbarians, in much the same way, to 
 preserve the mere material purity of their 
 women — a thing we at home wouldn't dream 
 of even questioning. In New Ireland, for 
 instance, I saw poor girls confined for four 
 or five years in small wickerwork cages, 
 where they're kept in the dark, and not 
 even allowed to set foot on the ground on 
 any pretext They're shut up in these 
 prisons when they're about fourteen, and 
 there they're kept, strictly tabooed, till 
 they're just going to be married. I went to 
 see them myself ; it was a horrid sight. The 
 poor creatures were confined in a dark, close 
 hut, without air or ventilation, in that stifling 
 climate, which is as unendurable from heat 
 
92 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 as this one is from cold and damp and foggi- 
 ness; and there they sat in cages, coarsely 
 woven from broad leaves of the pandanus 
 trees, so that no light could enter ; for the 
 people believed that light would kill them. 
 No man might see them, because it was 
 close taboo ; but at last, with great difficulty, 
 I persuaded the chief and the old lady who 
 guarded them to let them come out for a 
 minute to look at me. A lot of beads and 
 cloth overcame these people's scruples ; and 
 with great reluctance they opened the cages. 
 But only the old woman looked ; the chief was 
 afraid, and turned his head the other way, 
 mumbling charms to his fetich. Out they 
 stole, one by one, poor souls, ashamed and 
 frightened, hiding their faces in their hands, 
 thinking I was going to hurt them or eat 
 them — just as your nieces would do if I pro- 
 posed to-day to take them to Exeter — and 
 a dreadful sight they were, cramped with 
 long sitting in one close position, and their 
 eyes all blinded by the glare of the sunlight 
 after the long darkness. I ve seen women 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 93 
 
 shut up in pretty much the same way in other 
 countries, but I never saw quite so bad a case 
 as this of New Ireland.' 
 
 'Well, you can't say we've anything an- 
 swering to that in England,' Frida put in, 
 looking across at him with her frank, open 
 countenance. 
 
 * No, not quite like that, in detail, perhaps, 
 but pretty much the same in general prin- 
 ciple,' Bertram answered warmly. 'Your 
 girls here are not cooped up in actual cages, 
 but they're confined in barrack-schools, as 
 like prisons as possible; and they're re- 
 pressed at every turn in every natural in- 
 stinct of play or society. They mustn't go 
 here or they mustn't go there ; they mustn't 
 talk to this one or to that one ; they mustn't 
 do this, or that, or the other; their whole 
 life is bound round, I 'm told, by a closely 
 woven web of restrictions and restraints, 
 which have no other object or end in view 
 than the interests of a purely hypothetical 
 husband. The Chinese cramp their women's 
 feet to make them small and useless: you 
 
94 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 cramp your women's brains for the self-same 
 purpose. Even light 's excluded ; for they 
 mustn't read books that would make them 
 think ; they mustn't be allowed to suspect 
 the bare possibility that the world may be 
 otherwise than as their priests and nurses 
 and grandmothers tell them, though most 
 even of your own men know it well to be 
 something quite different. Why, I met a girl 
 at that dance I went to in London the other 
 evening, who told me she wasn't allowed to 
 read a book called Tess of the D'Urbervilles, 
 that I 'd read myself, and that seemed to 
 me one of which every young girl and 
 married woman in England ought to be 
 given a copy. It was the one true book I 
 had seen in your country. And another girl 
 wasn't allowed to read another book, which 
 I 've since looked at, called Robert Elsmere, 
 — an ephemeral thing enough in its way, I 
 don't doubt, but proscribed in her case for 
 no other reason on earth than because it 
 expressed some mild disbelief as to the 
 exact literary accuracy of those Lower Syrian 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 95 
 
 pamphlets to which your priests attach such 
 immense importance.' 
 
 1 Oh, Mr. Ingledew,' Frida cried, trembling, 
 yet profoundly interested ; ' if you talk like 
 that any more, I shan't be able to listen to 
 you.' 
 
 1 There it is, you see/ Bertram continued, 
 with a little wave of the hand. 'You've 
 been so blinded and bedimmed by being 
 deprived of light when a girl, that now, when 
 you see even a very faint ray, it dazzles you 
 and frightens you. That mustn't be so — it 
 needn't, I feel confident. I shall have to 
 teach you how to bear the light. Your eyes, 
 I know, are naturally strong; you were an 
 eagle born : you 'd soon get used to it.' 
 
 Frida lifted them slowly, those beautiful 
 eyes, and met his own with genuine pleasure. 
 
 1 Do you think so ? ' she asked, half whisper- 
 ing. In some dim, instinctive way she felt 
 this strange man was a superior being, and 
 that every small crumb of praise from him 
 was well worth meriting. 
 
 1 Why, Frida, of course I do,' he answered, 
 
g6 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 without the least sense of impertinence. ' Do 
 you think if I didn't I 'd have taken so much 
 trouble to try and educate you ? ' For he 
 had talked to her much in their walks on the 
 hillside. 
 
 Frida did not correct him for his bold ap- 
 plication of her Christian name, though she 
 knew she ought to. She only looked up at 
 him and answered gravely — 
 
 ' I certainly can't let you take my nieces 
 to Exeter.' 
 
 1 1 suppose not,' he replied, hardly catching 
 at her meaning. ' One of the girls at that 
 dance the other night told me a great many 
 queer facts about your taboos on these 
 domestic subjects ; so I know how stringent 
 and how unreasoning they are. And, indeed, 
 I found out a little bit for myself ; for there 
 was one nice girl there, to whom I took a 
 very great fancy ; and I was just going to 
 kiss her as I said good-night, when she drew 
 back suddenly, almost as if I 'd struck her, 
 though we'd been talking together quite 
 confidentially a minute before. I could see 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 97 
 
 she thought I really meant to insult her. 
 Of course, I explained it was only what I 'd 
 have done to any nice girl at home under 
 similar circumstances ; but she didn't seem 
 to believe me. And the oddest part of it 
 all was, that all the time we were dancing 
 I had my arm round her waist, as all the 
 other men had theirs round their partners; 
 and at home we consider it a much greater 
 proof of confidence and affection to be 
 allowed to place your arm round a lady's 
 waist than merely to kiss her.' 
 
 Frida felt the conversation was beginning 
 to travel beyond her ideas of propriety, so 
 she checked its excursions by answering 
 gravely : * Oh, Mr. Ingledew, you don't under- 
 stand our code of morals. But I 'm sure you 
 don't find your East End young ladies so 
 fearfully particular ? ' 
 
 ■ They certainly haven't quite so many 
 taboos/ Bertram answered quietly. 'But 
 that 's always the way in tabooing societies. 
 These things are naturally worst among the 
 chiefs and great people. I remember when 
 G 
 
98 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 I was stopping among the Ot Danoms of 
 Borneo, the daughters of chiefs and great 
 sun-descended families were shut up at eight 
 or ten years old, in a little cell or room, as 
 a religious duty, and cut off from all inter- 
 course with the outside world for many years 
 together. The cell 's dimly lit by a single 
 small window, placed high in the wall, so 
 that the unhappy girl never sees anybody 
 or anything, but passes her life in almost 
 total darkness. She mayn't leave the room 
 on any pretext whatever, not even for the 
 most pressing and necessary purposes. None 
 of her family may see her face ; but a single 
 slave woman 's appointed to accompany her 
 and wait upon her. Long want of exercise 
 stunts her bodily growth, and when at last 
 she becomes a woman, and emerges from 
 her prison, her complexion has grown wan 
 and pale and waxlike. They take her out 
 in solemn guise and show her the sun, the 
 sky, the land, the water, the trees, the flowers, 
 and tell her all their names, as if to a new- 
 born creature. Then a great feast is made, 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 99 
 
 a poor crouching slave is killed with a blow 
 of the sword, and the girl is solemnly smeared 
 with his reeking blood, by way of initiation. 
 But this is only done, of course, with the 
 daughters of wealthy and powerful families. 
 And I find it pretty much the same in Eng- 
 land. In all these matters, your poorer 
 classes are relatively pure and simple and 
 natural. It's your richer and worse and 
 more selfish classes among whom sex-taboos 
 are strongest and most unnatural.' 
 
 Frida looked up at him a little pleadingly. 
 
 'Do you know, Mr. Ingledew,' she said, 
 in a trembling voice, ' I 'm sure you don't 
 mean it for intentional rudeness, but it 
 sounds to us very like it, when you speak 
 of our taboos and compare us openly to 
 these dreadful savages. I 'm a woman, I 
 know ; but — I don't like to hear you speak 
 so about my England/ 
 
 The words took Bertram fairly by surprise. 
 He was wholly unacquainted with that rank 
 form of provincialism which we know as 
 patriotism. He leaned across towards her 
 
ioo THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 with a look of deep pain on his handsome 
 face. 
 
 ' Oh, Mrs. Monteith,' he cried earnestly, 
 1 if you don't like it, I '11 never again speak 
 of them as taboos in your presence. I didn't 
 dream you could object. It seems so natural 
 to us — well — to describe like customs by like 
 names in every case. But if it gives you 
 pain — why, sooner than do that, I 'd never 
 again say a single word while I live about 
 an English custom ! ' 
 
 His face was very near hers, and he was 
 a son of Adam, like all the rest of us — not a 
 being of another sphere, as Frida was some- 
 times half tempted to consider him. What 
 might next have happened he himself hardly 
 knew, for he was an impulsive creature, and 
 Frida's rich lips were full and crimson, had not 
 Philip's arrival with the two Miss Hardys to 
 make up a set diverted for the moment the 
 nascent possibility of a leading incident. 
 
VI 
 
 It was a Sunday afternoon in full July, and 
 a small party was seated under the spread- 
 ing mulberry tree on the Monteiths' lawn. 
 General Claviger was of the number, that 
 well-known constructor of scientific frontiers 
 in India or Africa ; and so was Dean Chal- 
 mers, the popular preacher, who had come 
 down for the day from his London house to 
 deliver a sermon on behalf of the Society for 
 Superseding the Existing Superstitions of 
 China and Japan by the Dying Ones of 
 Europe. Philip was there, too, enjoying 
 himself thoroughly in the midst of such good 
 company, and so was Robert Monteith, bleak 
 and grim as usual, but deeply interested for 
 the moment in dividing metaphysical and 
 theological cobwebs with his friend the Dean, 
 
 who as a brother Scotsman loved a good 
 
 101 
 
102 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 discussion better almost than he loved a good 
 discourse. General Claviger, for his part, 
 was congenially engaged in describing to 
 Bertram his pet idea for a campaign against 
 the Madhi and his men, in the interior of the 
 Soudan. Bertram rather yawned through 
 that technical talk ; he was a man of peace, 
 and schemes of organised bloodshed inter- 
 ested him no more than ' the details of a 
 projected human sacrifice, given by a Central 
 African chief with native gusto, would in- 
 terest an average European gentleman. At 
 last, however, the General happened to say 
 casually, * I forget the exact name of the 
 place I mean ; I think it 's Malolo ; but I 
 have a very good map of all the district at 
 my house down at Wanborough.' 
 
 ' What ! Wanborough in Northampton- 
 shire ? ' Bertram exclaimed with sudden in- 
 terest. ' Do you really live there ? ' 
 
 * I 'm lord of the manor,' General Claviger 
 answered, with a little access of dignity. 
 1 The Clavigers or Clavigeros were a Spanish 
 family of Andalusian origin, who settled 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 103 
 
 down at Wanborough under Philip and 
 Mary, and retained the manor, no doubt by 
 conversion to the Protestant side, after the 
 accession of Elizabeth.' 
 
 * That 's interesting to me,' Bertram an- 
 swered, with his frank and fearless truthful- 
 ness, 'because my people came originally 
 from Wanborough before — well, before they 
 emigrated.' (Philip, listening askance, pricked 
 up his ears eagerly at the tell-tale phrase ; 
 after all, then, a colonist !) ' But they weren't 
 anybody distinguished — certainly not lords 
 of the manor,' he added hastily as the General 
 turned a keen eye on him. ' Are there any 
 Ingledews living now in the Wanborough 
 district ? One likes, as a matter of scientific 
 heredity, to know all one can about one's 
 ancestors, and one's county, and one's col- 
 lateral relatives.' 
 
 * Well, there are some Ingledews just now 
 at Wanborough,' the General answered, with 
 some natural hesitation, surveying the tall, 
 handsome young man from head to foot, not 
 without a faint touch of soldierly approbation ; 
 
104 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 * but they can hardly be your relatives, how- 
 ever remote. . . . They 're people in a most 
 humble sphere of life. Unless, indeed — well, 
 we know the vicissitudes of families — perhaps 
 your ancestors and the Ingledews that I know 
 drifted apart a long time ago.' 
 
 1 Is he a cobbler ? ' Bertram inquired, with- 
 out a trace of mauvaise honte. 
 
 The General nodded. ' Well, yes/ he said 
 politely, ' that 's exactly what he is ; though, 
 as you seemed to be asking about presumed 
 relations, I didn't like to mention it.' 
 
 'Oh, then, he's my ancestor,' Bertram 
 put in, quite pleased at the discovery. 'That 
 is to say,' he added after a curious pause, 
 'my ancestor's descendant. Almost all my 
 people, a little way back, you see, were shoe- 
 makers or cobblers.' 
 
 He said it with dignity, exactly as he 
 might have said they were dukes or lord 
 chancellors ; but Philip could not help pitying 
 him, not so much for being descended from 
 so mean a lot, as for being fool enough to 
 acknowledge it on a gentleman's lawn at 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 105 
 
 Brackenhurst. Why, with manners like his, 
 if he had not given himself away, one might 
 easily have taken him for a descendant of 
 the Plantagenets. 
 
 So the General seemed to think too, for 
 he added quickly, ' But you 're very like the 
 duke, and the duke 's a Bertram. Is he 
 also a relative ? ' 
 
 The young man coloured slightly. ' Ye-es,' 
 he answered, hesitating ; ' but we 're not very 
 proud of the Bertram connection. They 
 never did much good in the world, the Ber- 
 trams. I bear the name, one may almost 
 say by accident, because it was handed down 
 to me by my grandfather Ingledew, who had 
 Bertram blood, but was a vast deal a better 
 man than any other member of the Bertram 
 family.' 
 
 ' I '11 be seeing the duke on Wednesday, 
 the General put in, with marked politeness, 
 ' and I '11 ask him, if you like, about your 
 grandfather's relationship. Who was he 
 exactly, and what was his connection with 
 the present man or his predecessor ? ' 
 
106 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 * Oh, don't, please,' Bertram put in, half- 
 pleadingly, it is true, but still with that same 
 ineffable and indefinable air of a great gentle- 
 man that never for a moment deserted him. 
 'The duke would never have heard of my 
 ancestors, I 'm sure, and I particularly don't 
 want to be mixed up with the existing Ber- 
 trams in any way.' 
 
 He was happily innocent and ignorant of 
 the natural interpretation the others would 
 put upon his reticence, after the true English 
 manner ; but still he was vaguely aware, 
 from the silence that ensued for a moment 
 after he ceased, that he must have broken 
 once more some important taboo, or offended 
 once more some much-revered fetich. To 
 get rid of the awkwardness he turned quietly 
 to Frida. ■ What do you say, Mrs. Monteith,' 
 he suggested, * to a game of tennis ? p 
 
 As bad luck would have it, he had floun- 
 dered from one taboo headlong into another. 
 The Dean looked up, open-mouthed, with a 
 sharp glance of inquiry. Did Mrs. Monteith, 
 then, permit such frivolities on the Sunday ? 
 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 107 
 
 'You forget what day it is, I think/ Frida 
 interposed gently, with a look of warning. 
 
 Bertram took the hint at once. ' So I did,' 
 he answered quickly. ■ At home, you see, 
 we let no man judge us of days and of weeks, 
 and of times and of seasons. It puzzles us 
 so much. With us, what 's wrong to-day 
 can never be right and proper to-morrow/ 
 
 'But surely/ the Dean said, bristling up, 
 ' some day is set apart in every civilised land 
 for religious exercises.' 
 
 * Oh, no/ Bertram replied, falling incauti- 
 ously into the trap. ■ We do right every day 
 of the week alike, — and never do poojah of 
 any sort at any time.' 
 
 ' Then where do you come from ? ' the 
 Dean asked severely, pouncing down upon 
 him like a hawk. ' I 've always understood 
 the very lowest savages have at least some 
 outer form or shadow of religion.' 
 
 1 Yes, perhaps so ; but we 're not savages, 
 either low or otherwise/ Bertram answered 
 cautiously, perceiving his error. ' And as to 
 your other point, for reasons of my own, T 
 
108 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 prefer for the present not to say where I 
 come from. You wouldn't believe me, if I 
 told you — as you didn't, I saw, about my 
 remote connection with the Duke of East 
 Anglia's family. And we 're not accustomed, 
 where I live, to be disbelieved or doubted. 
 It's perhaps the one thing that really 
 almost makes us lose our tempers. So, if 
 you please, I won't go any further at present 
 into the debatable matter of my place of 
 origin.' 
 
 He rose to stroll off into the gardens, 
 having spoken all the time in that peculiarly 
 grave and dignified tone that seemed natural 
 to him whenever any one tried to question 
 him closely. Nobody save a churchman 
 would have continued the discussion. But 
 the Dean was a churchman, and also a Scot, 
 and he returned to the attack, unabashed 
 and unbaffled. 'But surely, Mr. Ingledew,' 
 he said in a persuasive voice, ' your people, 
 whoever they are, must at least acknowledge 
 a creator of the universe.' 
 
 Bertram gazed at him fixedly. His eye 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 109 
 
 was stern. ' My people, sir,' he said slowly, 
 in very measured words, unaware that one 
 must not argue with a clergyman, ' acknow- 
 ledge and investigate every reality they can 
 find in the universe — and admit no phan- 
 toms. They believe in everything that can 
 be shown or proved to be natural and true ; 
 but in nothing supernatural, that is to say, 
 imaginary or non-existent. They accept 
 plain facts : they reject pure phantasies. 
 How beautiful those lilies are, Mrs. Monteith! 
 such an exquisite colour ! Shall we go over 
 and look at them ? ' 
 
 'Not just now/ Frida answered, relieved 
 at the appearance of Martha with the tray 
 in the distance. ' Here 's tea coming.' She 
 was glad of the diversion, for she liked 
 Bertram immensely, and she could not help 
 noticing how hopelessly he had been floun- 
 dering all that afternoon right into the very 
 midst of what he himself would have called 
 their taboos and joss-business. 
 
 But Bertram was not well out of his troubles 
 yet. Martha brought the round tray — 
 
no THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 Oriental brass, finely chased with flowing 
 Arabic inscriptions — and laid it down on the 
 dainty little rustic table. Then she handed 
 about the cups. Bertram rose to help her. 
 ' Mayn't I do it for you ? ' he said, as politely 
 as he would have said it to a lady in her 
 drawing-room. 
 
 'No, thank you, sir/ Martha answered, 
 turning red at the offer, but with the imper- 
 turbable solemnity of the well-trained English 
 servant. She ' knew her place,' and resented 
 the intrusion. But Bertram had his own 
 notions of politeness, too, which were not to 
 be lightly set aside for local class distinctions. 
 He could not see a pretty girl handing cups 
 to guests without instinctively rising from 
 his seat to assist her. So, very much to 
 Martha's embarrassment, he continued to 
 give his help in passing the cake and the 
 bread-and-butter. As soon as she was gone, 
 he turned round to Philip. ■ That 's a very 
 pretty girl and a very nice girl,' he said 
 simply. 'I wonder, now, as you haven't a 
 wife, you 've never thought of marrying her.' 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS in 
 
 The remark fell like a thunderbolt on the 
 assembled group. Even Frida was shocked. 
 Your most open-minded woman begins to 
 draw a line when you touch her class pre- 
 judices in the matter of marriage, especially 
 with reference to her own relations. 'Why, 
 really, Mr. Ingledew,' she said, looking up 
 at him reproachfully, 'you can't mean to 
 say you think my brother could marry the 
 parlour-maid ! ' 
 
 Bertram saw at a glance he had once more 
 unwittingly run his head against one of the 
 dearest of these strange people's taboos ; 
 but he made no retort openly. He only re- 
 flected in silence to himself how unnatural 
 and how wrong they would all think it at 
 home that a young man of Philip's age 
 should remain nominally celibate ; how hor- 
 rified they would be at the abject misery 
 and degradation such conduct on the part 
 of half his caste must inevitably imply for 
 thousands of innocent young girls of lower 
 station, whose lives he now knew were re- 
 morselessly sacrificed in vile dens of tainted 
 
H2 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 London to the supposed social necessity that 
 young men of a certain class should marry 
 late in a certain style, and ' keep a wife in 
 the way she 's been accustomed to.' He re- 
 membered with a checked sigh how infinitely 
 superior they would all at home have con- 
 sidered that wholesome, capable, good-looking 
 Martha to an empty-headed and useless 
 young man like Philip ; and he thought to 
 himself how completely taboo had overlaid 
 in these people's minds every ethical idea, 
 how wholly it had obscured the prime neces- 
 sities of healthy, vigorous, and moral man- 
 hood. He recollected the similar though 
 less hideous taboos he had met with else- 
 where : the castes of India, and the horrible 
 pollution that would result from disregarding 
 them ; the vile Egyptian rule, by which the 
 divine king, in order to keep up the so-called 
 purity of his royal and god-descended blood, 
 must marry his own sister, and so foully 
 pollute with monstrous abortions the very 
 stock he believed himself to be preserving 
 intact from common or unclean influences 
 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 113 
 
 His mind ran back to the strange and com- 
 plicated forbidden degrees of the Australian 
 Blackfellows, who are divided into cross- 
 classes, each of which must necessarily marry 
 into a certain other, and into that other only, 
 regardless of individual tastes or preferences. 
 He remembered the profound belief of all 
 these people that if they were to act in any 
 other way than the one prescribed, some 
 nameless misfortune or terrible evil would 
 surely overtake them. Yet, nowhere, he 
 thought to himself, had he seen any system 
 which entailed in the end so much misery 
 on both sexes, though more particularly on 
 the women, as that system of closely tabooed 
 marriage, founded upon a broad basis of 
 prostitution and infanticide, which has 
 reached its most appalling height of develop- 
 ment in hypocritical and puritan England. 
 The ghastly levity with which all English- 
 men treated this most serious subject, and 
 the fatal readiness with which even Frida 
 herself seemed to acquiesce in the most 
 inhuman slavery ever devised for women on 
 H 
 
U4 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 the face of this earth, shocked and saddened 
 Bertram's profoundly moral and sympathetic 
 nature. He could sit there no longer to 
 listen to their talk. He bethought him at 
 once of the sickening sights he had seen the 
 evening before in a London music-hall ; of 
 the corrupting mass of filth underneath, by 
 which alone this abomination of iniquity 
 could be kept externally decent, and this 
 vile system of false celibacy whitened out- 
 wardly to the eye like Oriental sepulchres : 
 and he strolled off by himself into the 
 shrubbery, very heavy in heart, to hide his 
 real feelings from the priest and the soldier, 
 whose coarser-grained minds could never 
 have understood the enthusiasm of humanity 
 which inspired and informed him. 
 
 Frida rose and followed him, moved by 
 some unconscious wave of instinctive sym- 
 pathy. The four children of this world were 
 left together on the lawn by the rustic table, 
 to exchange views by themselves on the ex- 
 traordinary behaviour and novel demeanour 
 of the mysterious Alien. 
 
VII 
 
 As soon as he was gone, a sigh of relief 
 ran half-unawares through the little square 
 party. They felt some unearthly presence 
 had been removed from their midst. General 
 Claviger turned to Monteith. * That 's a 
 curious sort of chap/ he said slowly, in his 
 military way. * Who is he, and where does 
 he come from ? ' 
 
 'Ah, where does he come from? — that's 
 just the question,' Monteith answered, light- 
 ing a cigar, and puffing away dubiously. 
 1 Nobody knows. He 's a mystery. He 
 poses in the role. You 'd better ask Philip ; 
 it was he who brought him here.' 
 
 1 1 met him accidentally in the street/ 
 Philip answered, with an apologetic shrug, 
 by no means well pleased at being thus held 
 responsible for all the stranger's moral and 
 
 116 
 
u6 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 social vagaries. ' It 's the merest chance 
 acquaintance. I know nothing of his ante- 
 cedents. I — er — I lent him a bag, and he 's 
 fastened himself upon me ever since like a 
 leech, and come constantly to my sister's. 
 But I haven't the remotest idea who he is or 
 where he hails from. He keeps his business 
 wrapped up from all of us in the profoundest 
 mystery.' 
 
 1 He 's a gentleman, anyhow,' the General 
 put in with military decisiveness. * How 
 manly of him to acknowledge at once about 
 the cobbler being probably a near relation ! 
 Most men, you know, Christy, would have 
 tried to hide it ; he didn't for a second. He 
 admitted his ancestors had all been cobblers 
 till quite a recent period.' 
 
 Philip was astonished at this verdict of the 
 General's, for he himself, on the contrary, 
 had noted with silent scorn that very remark 
 as a piece of supreme and hopeless stupidity 
 on Bertram's part. No fellow can help 
 having a cobbler for a grandfather, of 
 course : but he need not be such a fool 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 117 
 
 as to volunteer any mention of the fact 
 spontaneously. 
 
 'Yes, I thought it bold of him/ Monteith 
 answered, ' almost bolder than was necessary ; 
 for he didn't seem to think we should be at 
 all surprised at it.' 
 
 The General mused to himself. ' He 's a 
 fine soldierly fellow/ he said, gazing after 
 the tall retreating figure. * I should like to 
 make a dragoon of him. He 's the very man 
 for a saddle. He 'd dash across country in 
 the face of heavy guns any day with the 
 best of them.' 
 
 ' He rides well/ Philip answered, ' and has 
 a wonderful seat. I saw him on that bay 
 mare of Wilder's in town the other afternoon, 
 and I must say he rode much more like a 
 gentleman than a cobbler.' 
 
 1 Oh, he 's a gentleman/ the General 
 repeated, with unshaken conviction : * a 
 thoroughbred gentleman.' And he scanned 
 Philip up and down with his keen grey eye 
 as if internally reflecting that Philip's own 
 right to criticise and classify that particular 
 
n8 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 species of humanity was a trifle doubtful. 
 1 I should much like to make a captain of 
 hussars of him. He'd be splendid as a 
 leader of irregular horse ; the very man for 
 a scrimmage ! ' For the General's one idea 
 when he saw a fine specimen of our common 
 race was the Zulu's or the Red Indian's — 
 what an admirable person he would be to 
 employ in killing and maiming his fellow- 
 creatures ! 
 
 1 He 'd be better engaged so,' the Dean 
 murmured reflectively, 'than in diffusing 
 these horrid revolutionary and atheistical 
 doctrines.' For the Church was as usual 
 in accord with the sword ; theoretically all 
 peace, practically all bloodshed and rapine 
 and aggression : and anything that was not 
 his own opinion envisaged itself always to 
 the Dean's crystallised mind as revolutionary 
 and atheistic. 
 
 1 He 's very like the duke, though,' General 
 Claviger went on, after a moment's pause, 
 during which everybody watched Bertram 
 and Frida disappearing down the walk round 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 119 
 
 a clump of syringas. * Very like the duke. 
 And you saw he admitted some sort of 
 relationship, though he didn't like to dwell 
 upon it. You may be sure he's a by-blow 
 of the family somehow. One of the 
 Bertrams, perhaps the old duke who was 
 out in the Crimea, may have formed an 
 attachment for one of these Ingledew girls 
 — the cobbler's sisters : I dare say they were 
 no better in their conduct than they ought 
 to be — and this may be the consequence.' 
 
 1 1 'm afraid the old duke was a man of 
 loose life and doubtful conversation/ the 
 Dean put in, with a tone of professional 
 disapprobation for the inevitable transgres- 
 sions of the great and the high-placed. ■ He 
 didn't seem to set the example he ought to 
 have done to his poorer brethren.' 
 
 1 Oh, he was a thorough old rip, the duke, 
 if it comes to that,' General Claviger 
 responded, twirling his white moustache. 
 'And so's the present man — a rip of the 
 first water. They're a regular bad lot, the 
 Bertrams, root and stock. They never set 
 
120 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 an example of anything to anybody — bar 
 horse-breeding, — as far as I 'm aware ; and 
 even at that their trainers have always 
 fairly cheated 'em.' 
 
 'The present duke's a most exemplary 
 churchman,' the Dean interposed, with 
 Christian charity for a nobleman of position. 
 1 He gave us a couple of thousand last year 
 for the cathedral restoration fund.' 
 
 'And that would account,' Philip put in, 
 returning abruptly to the previous question, 
 which had been exercising him meanwhile, 
 ' for the peculiarly distinguished air of birth 
 and breeding this man has about him.' For 
 Philip respected a duke from the bottom 
 of his heart, and cherished the common 
 Britannic delusion that a man who has been 
 elevated to that highest degree in our 
 barbaric rank-system must acquire at the 
 same time a nobler type of physique and 
 countenance, exactly as a Jew changes his 
 Semitic features for the European shape on 
 conversion and baptism. 
 
 ' Oh, dear, no,' the General answered in his 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 121 
 
 most decided voice. 'The Bertrams were 
 never much to look at in any way : and as 
 for the old duke, he was as insignificant a 
 little monster of red-haired ugliness as ever 
 you 'd see in a day's march anywhere. If 
 he hadn't been a duke, with a rent-roll of 
 forty odd thousand a year, he 'd never have 
 got that beautiful Lady Camilla to consent 
 to marry him. But, bless you, women '11 do 
 anything for the strawberry leaves. It isn't 
 from the Bertrams this man gets his good 
 looks. It isn't from the Bertrams. Old 
 Ingledew's daughters are pretty enough 
 girls. If their aunts were like 'em, it 's there 
 your young friend got his air of distinction.' 
 'We never know who's who nowadays,' 
 the Dean murmured softly. Being himself 
 the son of a small Scotch tradesman, brought 
 up in the Free Kirk, and elevated into his 
 present exalted position by the early inter- 
 vention of a Balliol scholarship and a student- 
 ship of Christ Church, he felt at liberty to 
 moralise in such non-committing terms on the 
 gradual decay of aristocratic exclusiveness. 
 
122 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 1 1 don't see it much matters what a man's 
 family was/ the General said stoutly, * so long 
 as he's a fine, well-made, soldierly fellow, 
 like this Ingledew body, capable of fighting 
 for his Queen and country. He 's an Aus- 
 tralian, I suppose. What tall chaps they 
 do send home, to be sure! Those Austra- 
 lians are going to lick us all round the field 
 presently.' 
 
 ' That 's the curious part of it/ Philip an- 
 swered. ' Nobody knows what he is. He 
 doesn't even seem to be a British subject. 
 He calls himself an Alien. And he speaks 
 most disrespectfully at times — well, not ex- 
 actly perhaps of the Queen in person, but 
 at any rate of the monarchy.' 
 
 * Utterly destitute of any feeling of respect 
 for any power of any sort, human or 
 divine/ the Dean remarked, with clerical 
 severity. 
 
 * For my part/ Monteith interposed, knock- 
 ing his ash off savagely, ' I think the man 's 
 a swindler ; and the more I see of him, the 
 less I like him. He's never explained to 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 123 
 
 us how he came here at all, or what the 
 dickens he came for. He refuses to say 
 where he lives or what's his nationality. 
 He poses as a sort of unexplained Caspar 
 Hauser. In my opinion, these mystery men 
 are always impostors. He had no letters 
 of introduction to anybody at Brackenhurst ; 
 and he thrust himself upon Philip in a most 
 peculiar way ; ever since which he 's insisted 
 upon coming to my house almost daily. I 
 don't like him myself: it's Mrs. Monteith 
 who insists upon having him here.' 
 
 ' He fascinates me,' the General said 
 frankly. ' I don't at all wonder the women 
 like him. As long as he was by, though I 
 don't agree with one word he says, I couldn't 
 help looking at him and listening to him 
 intently.' 
 
 1 So he does me,' Philip answered, since 
 the General gave him the cue. 'And I 
 notice it 's the same with people in the train. 
 They always listen to him, though some- 
 times he preaches the most extravagant 
 doctrines — oh, much worse than anything 
 
124 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 he's said here this afternoon. He's really 
 quite eccentric.' 
 
 'What sort of doctrines?' the Dean in- 
 quired, with languid zeal. 'Not, I hope, 
 irreligious ? ' 
 
 1 Oh, dear, no,' Philip answered ; ' not that 
 so much. He troubles himself very little, 
 I think, about religion. Social doctrines, 
 don't you know ; such very queer views — 
 about women, and so forth.' 
 
 ■ Indeed ? ' the I Jean said quickly, drawing 
 himself up very stiff: for you touch the ark 
 of God for the modern cleric when you touch 
 the question of the relations of the sexes. 
 ' And what does he say ? It 's highly un- 
 desirable men should go about the country 
 inciting to rebellion on such fundamental 
 points of moral order in public railway 
 carriages.' For it is a peculiarity of minds 
 constituted like the Dean's (say, ninety-nine 
 per cent, of the population) to hold that the 
 more important a subject is to our general 
 happiness, the less ought we all to think 
 about it and discuss it. 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 125 
 
 'Why, he has very queer ideas,' Philip 
 went on, slightly hesitating ; for he shared 
 the common vulgar inability to phrase ex- 
 position of a certain class of subjects in any 
 but the crudest and ugliest phraseology. 
 'He seems to think, don't you know, the 
 recognised forms of vice — well, what all 
 young men do — you know what I mean — 
 Of course it's not right, but still they do 
 them — ' The Dean nodded a cautious ac- 
 quiescence. ' He thinks they 're horribly 
 wrong and distressing ; but he makes 
 nothing at all of the virtue of decent girls 
 and the peace of families.' 
 
 1 If I found a man preaching that sort of 
 doctrine to my wife or my daughters,' Mon- 
 teith said savagely, 'I know what I'd do — 
 I 'd put a bullet through him.' 
 
 'And quite right, too,' the General mur- 
 mured approvingly. 
 
 Professional considerations made the Dean 
 refrain from endorsing this open expression 
 of murderous sentiment in its fullest form ; 
 a clergyman ought always to keep up some 
 
126 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 decent semblance of respect for the Gospel 
 and the Ten Commandments — or, at least, 
 the greater part of them. So he placed the 
 tips of his fingers and thumbs together in 
 the usual deliberative clerical way, gazed 
 blankly through the gap, and answered 
 with mild and perfunctory disapprobation : 
 'A bullet would perhaps be an unneces- 
 sarily severe form of punishment to mete 
 out ; but I confess I could excuse the man 
 who was so far carried away by his righteous 
 indignation as to duck the fellow in the 
 nearest horse-pond.' 
 
 'Well, I don't know about that,' Philip 
 replied, with an outburst of unwonted courage 
 and originality ; for he was beginning to like, 
 and he had always from the first respected, 
 Bertram. 'There's something about the 
 man that makes me feel — even when I differ 
 from him most — that he believes it all, and 
 is thoroughly in earnest. I dare say I'm 
 wrong, but I always have a notion he's a 
 better man than me, in spite of all his non- 
 sense, — higher and clearer and differently 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 127 
 
 constituted, — and that if only I could 
 climb to just where he has got, perhaps 
 I should see things in the same light that 
 he does/ 
 
 It was a wonderful speech for Philip — a 
 speech above himself; but, all the same, by 
 a fetch of inspiration he actually made it. 
 Intercourse with Bertram had profoundly 
 impressed his feeble nature. But the Dean 
 shook his head. 
 
 *A very undesirable young man for you 
 to see too much of, I 'm sure, Mr. Christy/ 
 he said, with marked disapprobation. For, 
 in the Dean's opinion, it was a most danger- 
 ous thing for a man to think, especially when 
 he 's young ; thinking is, of course, so likely 
 to unsettle him ! 
 
 The General, on the other hand, nodded 
 his stern grey head once or twice reflec- 
 tively. 
 
 'He'sa remarkable young fellow,' he said, 
 after a pause ; ' a most remarkable young 
 fellow. As I said before, he somehow fasci- 
 nates me. I 'd immensely like to put that 
 
128 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 young fellow into a smart hussar uniform, 
 mount him on a good charger of the Punjaub 
 breed, and send him helter-skelter, pull-devil, 
 pull-baker, among my old friends the Duranis 
 on the North- West frontier/ 
 
VIII 
 
 While the men talked thus, Bertram Ingle- 
 dew's ears ought to have burned behind the 
 bushes. But, to say the truth, he cared little 
 for their conversation ; for had he not turned 
 aside down one of the retired gravel paths 
 in the garden, alone with Frida ? 
 
 1 That 's General Claviger of Herat, I sup- 
 pose/ he said in a low tone, as they retreated 
 out of ear-shot beside the clump of syringas. 
 < What a stern old man he is, to be sure, 
 with what a stern old face ! He looks like a 
 person capable of doing or ordering all the 
 strange things I 've read of him in the 
 papers/ 
 
 * Oh, yes/ Frida answered, misunderstand- 
 ing for the moment her companion's meaning. 
 1 He 's a very clever man, I believe, and a 
 most distinguished officer.' 
 I 
 
[30 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 Bertram smiled in spite of himself. ' Oh, 
 I didn't mean that/ he cried, with the same 
 odd gleam in his eyes Frida had so often 
 noticed there. * I meant, he looked capable 
 of doing or ordering all the horrible crimes 
 he 's credited with in history. You remember, 
 it was he who was employed in massacring 
 the poor savage Zulus|in their last stand at 
 bay, and in driving the Afghan women and 
 children to die of cold and starvation on the 
 mountain-tops after the taking of Kabul. A 
 terrible fighter, indeed ! A terrible history ! ' 
 
 'But I believe he's a very good man in 
 private life,' Frida put in apologetically, feel- 
 ing compelled to say the best she could for 
 her husband's guest. ' I don't care for him 
 much myself, to be sure, but Robert likes 
 him. And he 's awfully nice, every one says, 
 to his wife and step-children.' 
 
 1 How can he be very good,' Bertram an- 
 swered in his gentlest voice, 'if he hires 
 himself out indiscriminately to kill or maim 
 whoever he 's told to, irrespective even of the 
 rights and wrongs of the private or public 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 131 
 
 quarrel he happens to be employed upon? 
 It's an appalling thing to take a fellow- 
 creature's life, even if you're quite, quite 
 sure it's just and necessary; but fancy con- 
 tracting to take anybody's and everybody's 
 life you 're told to, without any chance even 
 of inquiring whether they may not be in the 
 right after all, and your own particular king 
 or people most unjust and cruel and blood- 
 stained aggressors? Why, it's horrible to 
 contemplate. Do you know, Mrs. Monteith,' 
 he went on, with his far-away air, * it 's that 
 that makes society here in England so diffi- 
 cult to me. It's so hard to mix on equal 
 terms with your paid high priests and your 
 hired slaughterers, and never display openly 
 the feelings you entertain towards them. 
 Fancy if you had to mix so yourself with 
 the men who flogged women to death in 
 Hungary, or with the governors and jailors 
 of some Siberian prison ! That 's the worst 
 of travel. When I was in Central Africa, 
 I sometimes saw a poor black woman tor- 
 tured or killed before my very eyes ; and if 
 
132 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 I 'd tried to interfere in her favour, to save 
 or protect her, I 'd only have got killed my- 
 self, and probably have made things all the 
 worse in the end for her. And yet it 's hard 
 indeed to have to look on at, or listen to, 
 such horrors as these without openly dis- 
 playing one's disgust and disapprobation. 
 Whenever I meet your famous generals, or 
 your judges and your bishops, I burn to tell 
 them how their acts affect me ; yet I 'm 
 obliged to refrain, because I know my words 
 could do no good and might do harm, for 
 they could only anger them. My sole hope 
 of doing anything to mitigate the rigour of 
 your cruel customs is to take as little notice 
 of them as possible in any way whenever I 
 find myself in unsympathetic society.' 
 
 ' Then you don't think me unsympathetic ? ' 
 Frida murmured, with a glow of pleasure. 
 
 ' O Frida,' the young man cried, bending 
 forward and looking at her, ' you know very 
 well you 're the only person here I care for 
 in the least or have the slightest sympathy 
 with.' 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 133 
 
 Frida was pleased he should say so ; he 
 was so nice and gentle : but she felt con- 
 strained none the less to protest, for form's 
 sake at least, against his calling her once 
 more so familiarly by her Christian name. 
 1 Not Frida to you, if you please, Mr. Ingle- 
 dew,' she said as stiffly as she could manage. 
 'You know it isn't right. Mrs. Monteith, 
 you must call me.' But she wasn't as angry, 
 somehow, at the liberty he had taken as she 
 would have been in anybody else's case ; he 
 was so very peculiar. 
 
 Bertram Ingledew paused and checked 
 himself. 
 
 'You think I do it on purpose/ he said 
 with an apologetic air ; 'I know you do, of 
 course ; but I assure you I don't. It 's all 
 pure forgetfulness. The fact is, nobody can 
 possibly call to mind all the intricacies of 
 your English and European customs at once, 
 unless he 's to the manner born, and carefully 
 brought up to them from his earliest child- 
 hood, as all of you yourselves have been. 
 He may recollect them after an effort when 
 
134 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 he thinks of them seriously ; but he can't 
 possibly bear them all in mind at once every 
 hour of the day and night by a pure tour de 
 force of mental concentration. You know- 
 it 's the same with your people in other bar- 
 barous countries. Your own travellers say 
 it themselves about the customs of Islam 
 They can't learn them and remember them 
 all at every moment of their lives, as the 
 Mohammedans do ; and to make one slip 
 there is instant death to them.' 
 
 Frida looked at him earnestly. * But I 
 hope,' she said with an air of deprecation, 
 pulling a rose to pieces, petal by petal, nerv- 
 ously, as she spoke, 'you don't put us on 
 quite the same level as Mohammedans. 
 We're so much more civilised. So much 
 better in every way. Do you know, Mr. 
 Ingledew,' and she hesitated for a minute, 
 1 1 can't bear to differ from you or blame 
 you in anything, because you always appear 
 to me so wise and good and kind-hearted 
 and reasonable ; but it often surprises me, 
 and even hurts me, when you seem to talk 
 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 135 
 
 of us all as if we were just so many savages. 
 You're always speaking about taboo, and 
 castes, and poojah, and fetiches, as if we 
 weren't civilised people at all, but utter bar- 
 barians. Now, don't you think — don't you 
 admit, yourself, it 's a wee bit unreasonable, 
 or at any rate impolite, of you ? ' 
 
 Bertram drew back with a really pained 
 expression on his handsome features. 'O 
 Mrs. Monteith ! ' he cried, ■ Frida, I 'm so 
 sorry if I Ve seemed rude to you ! It 's all 
 the same thing — pure human inadvertence ; 
 inability to throw myself into so unfamiliar 
 an attitude. I forget every minute thatyou 
 do not recognise the essential identity of your 
 own taboos and poojahs and fetiches with 
 the similar and often indistinguishable taboos 
 and poojahs and fetiches of savages generally. 
 They all come from the same source, and 
 often retain to the end, as in your temple 
 superstitions and your marriage superstitions, 
 the original features of their savage begin- 
 nings. And as to your being comparatively 
 civilised, I grant you that at once ; only it 
 
136 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 doesn't necessarily make you one bit more 
 rational — certainly not one bit more humane, 
 or moral, or brotherly in your actions/ 
 
 '1 don't understand you,' Frida cried, 
 astonished. ' But there ! I often don't under- 
 stand you ; only I know, when you 've ex- 
 plained things, I shall see how right you are.' 
 
 Bertram smiled a quiet smile. 
 
 * You 're certainly an apt pupil,' he said, 
 with brotherly gentleness, pulling a flower 
 as he went and slipping it softly into her 
 bosom. 'Why, what I mean's just this. 
 Civilisation, after all, in the stage in which 
 you possess it, is only the ability to live 
 together in great organised communities. It 
 doesn't necessarily imply any higher moral 
 status or any greater rationality than those 
 of the savage. All it implies is greater 
 cohesion, more unity, higher division of 
 functions. But the functions themselves, 
 like those of your priests and judges and 
 soldiers, may be as barbaric and cruel, or 
 as irrational and unintelligent, as any that 
 exist among the most primitive peoples. 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 137 
 
 Advance in civilisation doesn't necessarily 
 involve either advance in real knowledge 
 of one's relations to the universe, or advance 
 in moral goodness and personal culture. 
 Some highly civilised nations of historic 
 times have been more cruel and barbarous 
 than many quite uncultivated ones. For 
 example, the Romans, at the height of their 
 civilisation, went mad drunk with blood at 
 their gladiatorial shows ; the Athenians of 
 the age of Pericles and Socrates offered up 
 human sacrifices at the Thargelia, like the 
 veriest savages ; and the Phoenicians and 
 Carthaginians, the most civilised commercial 
 people of the world in their time, as the 
 English are now, gave their own children 
 to be burnt alive as victims to Baal. The 
 Mexicans were far more civilised than the 
 ordinary North American Indians of their 
 own day, and even in some respects than 
 the Spanish Christians who conquered, con- 
 verted, enslaved, and tortured them ; but 
 the Mexican religion was full of such horrors 
 as I could hardly even name to you. It 
 
138 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 was based entirely on cannibalism, as yours 
 is on Mammon. Human sacrifices were 
 common — commoner even than in modern 
 England, I fancy. New-born babies were 
 killed by the priests when the corn was 
 sown ; children when it had sprouted ; men 
 when it was full grown ; and very old people 
 when it was fully ripe.' 
 
 * How horrible ! ' Frida exclaimed. 
 
 * Yes, horrible,' Bertram answered ; ' like 
 your own worst customs. It didn't show 
 either gentleness or rationality, you '11 admit ; 
 but it showed what 's the one thing essential 
 to civilisation — great coherence, high organi- 
 sation, much division of function. Some of 
 the rites these civilised Mexicans performed 
 would have made the blood of kindly savages 
 run cold with horror. They sacrificed a man 
 at the harvest festival by crushing him like 
 the corn between two big flat stones. Some- 
 times the priests skinned their victim alive, 
 and wore his raw skin as a mask or covering, 
 and danced hideous dances, so disguised, in 
 honour of the hateful deities whom their 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 139 
 
 fancies had created — deities even more hate- 
 ful and cruel, perhaps, than the worst of your 
 own Christian Calvinistic fancies. I can't 
 see, myself, that civilised people are one 
 whit the better in all these respects than 
 the uncivilised barbarian. They pull together 
 better, that 's all ; but war, bloodshed, super- 
 stition, fetich-worship, religious rites, castes, 
 class distinctions, sex taboos, restrictions on 
 freedom of thought, on freedom of action, on 
 freedom of speech, on freedom of knowledge, 
 are just as common in their midst as among 
 the utterly uncivilised.' 
 
 'Then what you yourself aim at/ Frida 
 said, looking hard at him, for he spoke 
 very earnestly — 'what you yourself aim at 
 is r 
 
 Bertram's eyes came back to solid earth 
 with a bound. 
 
 ' Oh, what we at home aim at,' he said, 
 smiling that sweet, soft smile of his that so 
 captivated Frida, ' is not mere civilisation 
 (though, of course, we value that too, in its 
 meet degree, because without civilisation 
 
140 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 and co-operation no great thing is possible), 
 but rationality and tenderness. We think 
 reason the first good — to recognise truly your 
 own place in the universe ; to hold your head 
 up like a man, before the face of high heaven, 
 afraid of no ghosts or fetiches or phantoms ; 
 to understand that wise and right and un- 
 selfish actions are the great requisites in life, 
 not the service of non-existent and misshapen 
 creatures of the human imagination. Know- 
 ledge of facts, knowledge of nature, know- 
 ledge of the true aspects of the world we live 
 in, — these seem to us of first importance. 
 After that, we prize next reasonable and 
 reasoning goodness ; for mere rule-of-thumb 
 goodness, which comes by rote, and might 
 so easily degenerate into formalism or super- 
 stition, has no honour among us, but rather 
 the contrary. If any one were to say with 
 us (after he had passed his first infancy) that 
 he always did such and such a thing because 
 he had been told it was right by his parents 
 or teachers — still more because priests or 
 fetich-men had commanded it — he would be 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 141 
 
 regarded, not as virtuous, but as feeble or 
 wicked — a sort of moral idiot, unable to 
 distinguish rationally for himself between 
 good and evil. That 's not the sort of con- 
 duct we consider right or befitting the dignity 
 of a grown man or woman, an ethical unit 
 in an enlightened community. Rather is it 
 their prime duty to question all things, to 
 accept no rule of conduct or morals as sure 
 till they have thoroughly tested it.' 
 
 * Mr. Ingledew,' Frida exclaimed, * do you 
 know, when you talk like that, I always long 
 to ask you where on earth you come from, 
 and who are these your people you so often 
 speak about. A blessed people : I would 
 like to learn about them ; and yet I 'm afraid 
 to. You almost seem to me like a being 
 from another planet.' 
 
 The young man laughed a quiet little 
 laugh of deprecation, and sat down on the 
 garden bench beside the yellow rose-bush. 
 
 'Oh, dear, no, Frida,' he said, with that 
 transparent glance of his. ' Now, don't look 
 so vexed ; I shall call you Frida if I choose ; 
 
142 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 it 's your name, and I like you. Why let this 
 funny taboo of one's own real name stand 
 in the way of reasonable friendship? In 
 many savage countries a woman's never 
 allowed to call her husband by his name, 
 or even to know it, or, for the matter of that, 
 to see him in the daylight. In your Eng- 
 land, the arrangement 's exactly reversed : 
 no man 's allowed to call a woman by her 
 real name unless she's tabooed for life to 
 him — what you Europeans call married to 
 him. But let that pass. If one went on 
 pulling oneself up short at every one of 
 your customs, one'd never get any further 
 in any question one was discussing. Now, 
 don't be deceived by nonsensical talk about 
 living beings in other planets. There are 
 no such creatures. It's a pure delusion 
 of the ordinary egotistical human pattern. 
 When people chatter about life in other 
 worlds, they don't mean life — which, of a 
 sort, there may be there : — they mean human 
 life — a very different and much less impor- 
 tant matter. Well, how could there possibly 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 143 
 
 be human beings, or anything like them, in 
 other stars or planets ? The conditions are 
 too complex, too peculiar, too exclusively 
 mundane. We are things of this world, and 
 of this world only. Don't let 's magnify our 
 importance : we 're not the whole universe. 
 Our race is essentially a development from 
 a particular type of monkey-like animal — 
 the Andropithecus of the Upper Uganda 
 eocene. This monkey -like animal itself, 
 again, is the product of special antecedent 
 causes, filling a particular place in a parti- 
 cular tertiary fauna and flora, and impossible 
 even in the fauna and flora of our own earth 
 and our own tropics before the evolution of 
 those succulent fruits and grain-like seeds, 
 for feeding on which it was specially adapted. 
 Without edible fruits, in short, there could 
 be no monkey ; and without monkeys there 
 could be no man.' 
 
 * But mayn't there be edible fruits in the 
 other planets ? ' Frida inquired, half-timidly, 
 more to bring out this novel aspect of 
 Bertram's knowledge than really to argue 
 
144 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 with him ; for she dearly loved to hear his 
 views of things, they were so fresh and un- 
 conventional. 
 
 ' Edible fruits ? Yes, possibly ; and animals 
 or something more or less like animals to 
 feed upon them. But even if there are such, 
 which planetoscopists doubt, they must be 
 very different creatures in form and function 
 from any we know on this one small world 
 of ours. For just consider, Frida, what we 
 mean by life. We mean a set of simulta- 
 neous and consecutive changes going on in 
 a complex mass of organised carbon com- 
 pounds. When most people say "life," how- 
 ever, — especially here with you, where edu- 
 cation is undeveloped — they aren't thinking 
 of life in general at all (which is mainly 
 vegetable), but only of animal and often 
 indeed of human life. Well, then, consider, 
 even on this planet itself, how special are 
 the conditions that make life possible. There 
 must be water in some form, for there 's no 
 life in the desert. There must be heat up to 
 a certain point, and not above or below it* 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 145 
 
 for fire kills, and there 's no life at the poles 
 (as among Alpine glaciers), or what little 
 there is depends upon the intervention of 
 other life wafted from elsewhere — from the 
 lands or seas, in fact, where it can really 
 originate. In order to have life at all, as we 
 know it at least (and I can't say whether 
 anything else could be fairly called life 
 by any true analogy, until I Ve seen and 
 examined it), you must have carbon, and 
 oxygen, and hydrogen, and nitrogen, and 
 many other things, under certain fixed 
 conditions ; you must have liquid water, 
 not steam or ice : you must have a certain 
 restricted range of temperature, neither 
 very much higher nor very much lower 
 than the average of the tropics. Now, 
 look, even with all these conditions fulfilled, 
 how diverse is life on this earth itself, the 
 one place we really know — varying as much 
 as from the oak to the cuttle-fish, from the 
 palm to the tiger, from man to the fern, the 
 sea-weed, or the jelly-speck. Every one of 
 these creatures is a complex result of very 
 K 
 
146 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 complex conditions, among which you must 
 never forget to reckon the previous existence 
 and interaction of all the antecedent ones. 
 Is it probable, then, even a priori, that if life 
 or anything like it exists on any other planet, 
 it would exist in forms at all as near our 
 own as a buttercup is to a human being, or 
 a sea-anemone is to a cat or a pine-tree ? ' 
 
 * Well, it doesn't look likely, now you come 
 to put it so,' Frida answered thoughtfully : 
 for, though English, she was not wholly im- 
 pervious to logic. 
 
 'Likely? Of course not,' Bertram went 
 on with conviction. ' Planetoscopists are 
 agreed upon it. And above all, why should 
 one suppose the living organisms or their 
 analogues, if any such there are, in the 
 planets or fixed stars, possess any such 
 purely human and animal faculties as thought 
 and reason? That's just like our common 
 human narrowness. If we were oaks, I 
 suppose, we would only interest ourselves 
 in the question whether acorns existed in 
 Mars and Saturn.' He paused a moment; 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 147 
 
 then he added in an afterthought: 'No, 
 Frida ; you may be sure all human beings, 
 you and I alike, and thousands of others a 
 great deal more different, are essential pro- 
 ducts of this one wee planet, and of particular 
 times and circumstances in its history. We 
 differ only as birth and circumstances have 
 made us differ. There is a mystery about 
 who I am, and where I come from ; I won't 
 deny it : but it isn't by any means so strange 
 or so marvellous a mystery as you seem to 
 imagine. One of your own old sacred books 
 says (as I remember hearing in the joss- 
 house I attended one day in London), " God 
 hath made of one blood all the nations of 
 the earth." If for God in that passage we 
 substitute common descent^ it 's perfectly true. 
 We are all of one race ; and I confess, when 
 I talk to you, every day I feel our unity- 
 more and more profoundly.' He bent over 
 on the bench and took her tremulous hand. 
 1 Frida,' he said, looking deep into her speak- 
 ing dark eyes, ' don't you yourself feel it ? ' 
 He was so strange, so simple-minded, so 
 
148 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 different in every way from all other men, 
 that for a moment Frida almost half-forgot 
 to be angry with him. In point of fact, in 
 her heart, she was not angry at all ; she liked 
 to feel the soft pressure of his strong man's 
 hand on her dainty fingers ; she liked to feel 
 the gentle way he was stroking her smooth 
 arm with that delicate white palm of his. It 
 gave her a certain immediate and unthinking 
 pleasure to sit still by his side and know he 
 was full of her. Then suddenly, with a start, 
 she remembered her duty : she was a married 
 woman, and she ought not to do it. Quickly, 
 with a startled air, she withdrew her hand. 
 Bertram gazed down at her for a second, 
 half taken aback by her hurried withdrawal. 
 * Then you don't like me ! ' he cried, in a 
 pained tone ; * after all, you don't like me ! ' 
 One moment later, a ray of recognition broke 
 slowly over his face. ' Oh, I forgot,' he said, 
 leaning away. ' I didn't mean to annoy you. 
 A year or two ago, of course, I might have 
 held your hand in mine as long as ever I 
 liked. You were still a free being. But 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 149 
 
 what was right then is wrong now, accord- 
 ing to the kaleidoscopic etiquette of your 
 countrywomen. I forgot all that in the heat 
 of the moment. I recollected only we were 
 two human beings, of the same race and 
 blood, with hearts that beat and hands that 
 lay together. I remember now, you must 
 hide and stifle your native impulses in future: 
 you 're tabooed for life to Robert Monteith : 
 I must needs respect his seal set upon you ! ' 
 
 And he drew a deep sigh of enforced 
 resignation. 
 
 Frida sighed in return. ■ These problems 
 are so hard,' she said. 
 
 Bertram smiled a strange smile. 'There 
 are no problems,' he answered confidently. 
 1 You make them yourselves. You surround 
 life with taboos, and then — you talk despair- 
 ingly of the problems with which your own 
 taboos alone have saddled you.' 
 
IX 
 
 At half-past nine one evening that week, 
 Bertram was seated in his sitting-room at Miss 
 Blake's lodgings, making entries, as usual, on 
 the subject of taboo in his big black notebook. 
 It was a large bare room, furnished with the 
 customary round rosewood centre table, and 
 decorated by a pair of green china vases, a 
 set of wax flowers under a big glass shade, 
 and a picture representing two mythical 
 beings, with women's faces and birds' wings, 
 hovering over the figure of a sleeping baby. 
 Suddenly a hurried knock at the door at- 
 tracted his attention. 'Come in,' he said 
 softly, in that gentle and almost deferential 
 voice which he used alike to his equals and 
 to the lodging-house servant. The door 
 opened at once, and Frida entered. 
 
 She was pale as a ghost, and she stepped 
 
 150 
 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 151 
 
 light with a terrified tread. Bertram could 
 see at a glance she was profoundly agitated. 
 For a moment he could hardly imagine the 
 reason why : then he remembered all at once 
 the strict harem rules by which married 
 women in England are hemmed in and cir- 
 cumvented. To visit an unmarried man 
 alone by night is contrary to tribal usage. 
 He rose, and advanced towards his visitor 
 with outstretched arms. 'Why, Frida/ he 
 cried, — 'Mrs. Monteith — no, Frida — what's 
 the matter? What has happened since I 
 left ? You look so pale and startled. 1 
 
 Frida closed the door cautiously, flung 
 herself down into a chair in a despairing 
 attitude, and buried her face in her hands for 
 some moments in silence. ■ O Mr. Ingle- 
 dew/ she cried at last, looking up in an agony 
 of shame and doubt : ' Bertram — I know it 's 
 wrong ; I know it 's wicked ; I ought never 
 to have come. Robert would kill me if he 
 found out. But it 's my one last chance, and 
 I couldn't bear not to say good-bye to you — 
 just this once — for ever.' 
 
152 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 Bertram gazed at her in astonishment. 
 Long and intimately as he had lived among 
 the various devotees of divine taboos the 
 whole world over, it was with difficulty still 
 he could recall, each time, each particular 
 restriction of the various systems. Then it 
 came home to him with a rush. He re- 
 moved the poor girl's hands gently from her 
 face, which she had buried once more in 
 them for pure shame, and held them in 
 his own. ' Dear Frida,' he said tenderly, 
 stroking them as he spoke, * why, what does 
 all this mean ? What 's this sudden thunder- 
 bolt? You've come here to-night without 
 your husband's leave, and you 're afraid he '11 
 discover you ? ' 
 
 Frida spoke under her breath, in a voice 
 half-choked with frequent sobs. ' Don't talk 
 too loud,' she whispered. ' Miss Blake doesn't 
 know I 'm here. If she did, she'd tell on me. 
 I slipped in quietly through the open back 
 door. But I felt I must — I really, really 
 must. I couldn't stop away ; I couldrit 
 help it.' 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 153 
 
 Bertram gazed at her, distressed. Her 
 tone was distressing. Horror and indigna- 
 tion for a moment overcame him. She had 
 had to slip in there like a fugitive or a 
 criminal. She had had to crawl away by- 
 stealth from that man, her keeper. She, a 
 grown woman and a moral agent, with a will 
 of her own and a heart and a conscience, was 
 held so absolutely in serfdom as a particular 
 man's thrall and chattel, that she could not 
 even go out to visit a friend without these 
 degrading subterfuges of creeping in unper- 
 ceived by a back entrance, and talking low 
 under her breath, lest a lodging-house crone 
 should find out what she was doing. And 
 all the world of England was so banded in 
 league with the slave-driver against the soul 
 he enslaved, that if Miss Blake had seen her 
 she could hardly have come in : while, once 
 in, she must tremble and whisper and steal 
 about with muffled feet, for fear of discovery 
 in this innocent adventure. He held his 
 breath with stifled wrath, It was painful and 
 degrading. 
 
154 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 But he had no time just then to think 
 much of all this, for there sat Frida, tremu- 
 lous and shivering before his very eyes, 
 trying hard to hide her beautiful white face 
 in her quivering hands, and murmuring over 
 and over again in a very low voice, like an 
 agonised creature, * I couldn't bear not to be 
 allowed to say good-bye to you for ever.' 
 
 Bertram smoothed her cheek gently. She 
 tried to prevent him, but he went on in spite 
 of her, with a man's strong persistence. Not- 
 withstanding his gentleness he was always 
 virile. ' Good-bye ! ' he cried. ' Good-bye ! 
 why on earth good-bye, Frida? When I 
 left you before dinner you never said one 
 word of it to me.' 
 
 * Oh, no,' Frida cried, sobbing. ■ It 's all 
 Robert, Robert ! As soon as ever you were 
 gone, he called me into the library — which 
 always means he 's going to talk over some 
 dreadful business with me — and he said to 
 me, " Frida, I 've just heard from Phil that 
 this man Ingledew, who's chosen to foist 
 himself upon us, holds opinions and senti- 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 155 
 
 ments which entirely unfit him from being 
 proper company for any lady. Now, he's 
 been coming here a great deal too often of 
 late. Next time he calls, I wish you to tell 
 Martha you 're not at home to him." ' 
 
 Bertram looked across at her with a melt- 
 ing look in his honest blue eyes. * And you 
 came round to tell me of it, you dear thing ! ' 
 he cried, seizing her hand and grasping it 
 hard. ' O Frida, how kind of you ! ' 
 
 Frida trembled from head to foot. The 
 blood throbbed in her pulse. * Then you 're 
 not vexed with me,' she sobbed out, all tremu- 
 lous with gladness. 
 
 * Vexed with you! O Frida, how could 
 I be vexed ? You poor child ! I'm so 
 pleased, so glad, so grateful ! ' 
 
 Frida let her hand rest unresisting in his. 
 1 But, Bertram,' she murmured, — ' I must call 
 you Bertram — I couldn't help it, you know. 
 I like you so much, I couldn't let you go for 
 ever without just saying good-bye to you.' 
 
 * You don't like me ; you love me,' Bertram 
 answered with masculine confidence. * No, 
 
156 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 you needn't blush, Frida ; you can't deceive 
 me. . . . My darling, you love me, and you 
 know I love you. Why should we two make 
 any secret about our hearts any longer ? ' 
 He laid his hand on her face again, making 
 it tingle with joy. ' Frida,' he said solemnly, 
 'you don't love that man you call your 
 husband. . . . You haven't loved him for 
 years. . . . You never really loved him.' 
 
 There was something about the mere sound 
 of Bertram's calm voice that made Frida 
 speak the truth more plainly and frankly 
 than she could ever have spoken it to any 
 ordinary Englishman. Yet she hung down 
 her head, even so, and hesitated slightly. 'Just 
 at first/ she murmured half-inaudibly, 'I 
 used to think I loved him. At any rate, 
 I was pleased and flattered he should marry 
 me.' 
 
 ■ Pleased and flattered !' Bertram exclaimed, 
 more to himself than to her ; ' great Heavens, 
 how incredible ! Pleased and flattered by 
 that man ! One can hardly conceive it ! 
 But you've never loved him since, Frida. 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 157 
 
 You can't look me in the face and tell me 
 you love him.' 
 
 ' No, not since the first few months,' Frida 
 answered, still hanging her head. * But, Ber- 
 tram, he 's my husband, and of course I must 
 obey him.' 
 
 * You must do nothing of the sort,' Bertram 
 cried authoritatively. 'You don't love him 
 at all, and you mustn't pretend to. It's 
 
 wrong : it 's wicked. Sooner or later ' 
 
 He checked himself. 'Frida/ he went on, 
 after a moment's pause, ' I won't speak to 
 you of what I was going to say just now. 
 I '11 wait a bit till you 're stronger and better 
 able to understand it. But there must be no 
 more silly talk of farewells between us. I 
 won't allow it. You 're mine now — a thou- 
 sand times more truly mine than ever you 
 were Monteith's ; and I can't do without you. 
 You must go back to your husband for the 
 present, I suppose, — the circumstances com- 
 pel it, though I don't approve of it ; but you 
 must see me again . . . and soon . . . and 
 often, just the same as usual. I won't go to 
 
158 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 your house, of course : the house is Mon- 
 teith's ; and everywhere among civilised and 
 rational races the sanctity of the home is 
 rightly respected. But you yourself he has 
 no claim or right to taboo ; and if / can help 
 it, he shan't taboo you. You may go home 
 now to-night, dear one ; but you must meet 
 me often. If you can't come round to my 
 rooms — for fear of Miss Blake's fetich, the 
 respectability of her house — we must meet 
 elsewhere, till I can make fresh arrange- 
 ments.' 
 
 Frida gazed up at him in doubt. ' But 
 will it be right, Bertram ? ' she murmured. 
 
 The man looked down into her big eyes 
 in dazed astonishment. 'Why, Frida,' he 
 cried, half-pained at the question, ' do you 
 think if it were wrong I 'd advise you to do 
 it ? I 'm here to help you, to guide you, to 
 lead you on by degrees to higher and truer 
 life. How can you imagine I 'd ask you to 
 do anything on earth unless I felt perfectly 
 sure and convinced it was the very most 
 right and proper conduct ? ' 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 159 
 
 His arm stole round her waist and drew 
 her tenderly towards him. Frida allowed 
 the caress passively. There was a robust 
 frankness about his love-making that seemed 
 to rob it of all taint or tinge of evil. Then 
 he caught her bodily in his arms like a man 
 who has never associated the purest and 
 noblest of human passions with any lower 
 thought, any baser personality. He had not 
 taken his first lessons in the art of love from 
 the wearied lips of joyless courtesans whom 
 his own kind had debased and unsexed and 
 degraded out of all semblance of woman- 
 hood. He bent over the woman of his choice 
 and kissed her with chaste warmth. On the 
 forehead first, then, after a short interval, 
 twice on the lips. At each kiss, from which 
 she somehow did not shrink, as if recognising 
 its purity, Frida felt a strange thrill course 
 through and through her. She quivered from 
 head to foot. The scales fell from her eyes. 
 The taboos of her race grew null and void 
 within her. She looked up at him more 
 boldly. * O Bertram/ she whispered, nest- 
 
i6o THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 ling close to his side, and burying her blush- 
 ing face in the man's curved bosom, ' I don't 
 know what you've done to me, but I feel 
 quite different — as if I 'd eaten the fruit of 
 the tree of knowledge of good and evil/ 
 
 1 1 hope you have,' Bertram answered, in 
 a very solemn voice ; * for, Frida, you will 
 need it.' He pressed her close against his 
 breast ; and Frida Monteith, a free woman at 
 last, clung there many minutes with no vile 
 inherited sense of shame or wrongfulness. 
 * I can't bear to go,' she cried, still clinging 
 to him and clutching him tight. ' I 'm so 
 happy here, Bertram ; oh, so happy, so 
 happy ! ' 
 
 * Then why go away at all ? ' Bertram asked, 
 quite simply. 
 
 Frida drew back in horror. * Oh, I must,' 
 she said, coming to herself: *I must, of 
 course, because of Robert/ 
 
 Bertram held her hand, smoothing it all 
 the while with his own, as he mused and 
 hesitated. 'Well, it's clearly wrong to go 
 back/ he said, after a moment's pause. * You 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 161 
 
 ought never, of course, to spend another 
 night with that man you don't love and 
 should never have lived with. But I sup- 
 pose that 's only a counsel of perfection : too 
 hard a saying for you to understand or 
 follow for the present. You'd better go 
 back, just to-night : and, as time moves on, 
 I can arrange something else for you. But 
 when shall I see you again? — for now you 
 belong to me. I sealed you with that kiss. 
 When will you come and see me ? ' 
 
 1 1 can't come here, you know/ Frida 
 whispered, half-terrified ; ' for if I did, Miss 
 Blake would see me.' 
 
 Bertram smiled a bitter smile to himself. 
 'So she would/ he said, musing. 'And 
 though she's not the least interested in 
 keeping up Robert Monteith's proprietary 
 claim on your life and freedom, I 'm begin- 
 ning to understand now that it would be an 
 offence against that mysterious and incom- 
 prehensible entity they call respectability if 
 she were to allow me to receive you in her 
 rooms. It's all very curious. But, of course, 
 L 
 
162 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 while I remain, I must be content to submit 
 to it By-and-by, perhaps, Frida, we two 
 may manage to escape together from this 
 iron generation. Meanwhile, I shall go up 
 to London less often for the present, and you 
 can come and meet me, dear, in the Middle 
 Mill Fields at two o'clock on Monday.' 
 
 She gazed up at him with perfect trust in 
 those luminous dark eyes of hers. ' I will, 
 Bertram,' she said firmly. She knew not 
 herself what his kiss had done for her ; but 
 one thing she knew : from the moment their 
 lips met, she had felt and understood in a 
 flood of vision that perfect love which casteth 
 out fear, and was no longer afraid of him. 
 
 ' That 's right, darling,' the man answered, 
 stooping down and laying his cheek against 
 her own once more. ' You are mine, and I 
 am yours. You are not and never were 
 Robert Monteith's, my Frida. So now, good- 
 night, till Monday at two, beside the stile in 
 Middle Mill Meadows ! ' 
 
 She clung to him for a moment in a 
 passionate embrace. He let her stop there, 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 163 
 
 while he smoothed her dark hair with one 
 free hand. Then suddenly, with a burst, 
 the older feelings of her race overcame her 
 for a minute ; she broke from his grasp and 
 hid her head, all crimson, in a cushion on the 
 sofa. One second later, again, she lifted her 
 face unabashed. The new impulse stirred 
 her. ■ I 'm proud I love you, Bertram/ she 
 cried, with red lips and flashing eyes ; ■ and 
 I 'm proud you love me ! ' 
 
 With that, she slipped quietly out, and 
 walked, erect and graceful, no longer 
 ashamed, down the lodging-house passage. 
 
WHEN she returned, Robert Monteith sat 
 asleep over his paper in his easy-chair. It 
 was his wont at night when he returned from 
 business. Frida cast one contemptuous 
 glance as she passed at his burly, unintelli- 
 gent form, and went up to her bedroom. 
 
 But all that night long she never slept. 
 Her head was too full of Bertram Ingledew. 
 
 Yet, strange to say, she felt not one qualm 
 of conscience for their stolen meeting. No 
 feminine terror, no fluttering fear, disturbed 
 her equanimity. It almost seemed to her as 
 if Bertram's kiss had released her by magic, 
 at once and for ever, from the taboos of her 
 nation. She had slipped out from home 
 unperceived, that night, in fear and trembling, 
 with many sinkings of heart and dire mis- 
 givings, while Robert and Phil were down- 
 
 164 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 165 
 
 stairs in the smoking-room ; she had slunk 
 round, crouching low, to Miss Blake's 
 lodgings : and she had terrified her soul on 
 the way with a good woman's doubts and a 
 good woman's fears as to the wrongfulness 
 of her attempt to say good-bye to the friend 
 she might now no longer mix with. But 
 from the moment her lips and Bertram's 
 touched, all fear and doubt seemed utterly 
 to have vanished ; she lay there all night in 
 a fierce ecstasy of love, hugging herself for 
 strange delight, thinking only of Bertram, 
 and wondering what manner of thing was 
 this promised freedom whereof her lover had 
 spoken to her so confidently. She trusted 
 him now ; she knew he would do right, and 
 right alone : whatever he advised, she would 
 be safe in following. 
 
 Next day, Robert went up to town to 
 business as usual. He was immersed in 
 palm-oil. By a quarter to two, Frida found 
 herself in the fields. But, early as she went 
 to fulfil her tryst, Bertram was there before 
 her. He took her hand in his with a gentle 
 
166 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 pressure, and Frida felt a quick thrill she 
 had never before experienced course sud- 
 denly through her. She looked around to 
 right and left, to see if they were observed. 
 Bertram noticed the instinctive movement. 
 'My darling/ he said in a low voice, 'this 
 is intolerable, unendurable. It's an insult 
 not to be borne that you and I can't walk 
 together in the fields of England without 
 being subjected thus to such a many-headed 
 espionage. I shall have to arrange some- 
 thing before long so as to see you at leisure. 
 I can't be so bound by all the taboos of 
 your country.' 
 
 She looked up at him trustfully. ■ As you 
 will, Bertram,' she answered, without a 
 moment's hesitation. ' I know I 'm yours 
 now. Let it be what it may, I can do what 
 you tell me.' 
 
 He looked at her and smiled. He saw 
 she was pure woman. He had met at last 
 with a sister soul. There was a long, deep 
 silence. 
 
 Frida was the first to break it with words. 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 167 
 
 1 Why do you always call them taboos, 
 Bertram ? ' she asked at last, sighing. 
 
 'Why, Frida, don't you see?' he said, 
 walking on through the deep grass. ' Because 
 they are taboos ; that 's the only reason. 
 Why not give them their true name ? We 
 call them nothing else among my own people. 
 All taboos are the same in origin and spirit, 
 whether savage or civilised, eastern or 
 western. You must see that now : for I 
 know you are emancipated. They begin 
 with belief in some fetich or bogey or other 
 non-existent supernatural being ; and they 
 mostly go on to regard certain absolutely 
 harmless — nay, sometimes even praiseworthy 
 or morally obligatory — acts as proscribed by 
 him and sure to be visited with his condign 
 displeasure. So South Sea Islanders think, 
 if they eat some particular luscious fruit 
 tabooed for the chiefs, they '11 be instantly 
 struck dead by the mere power of the taboo 
 in it ; and English people think, if they go 
 out in the country for a picnic on a tabooed 
 day, or use certain harmless tabooed names 
 
168 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 and words, or inquire into the historical 
 validity of certain incredible ancient docu- 
 ments, accounted sacred, or even dare to 
 think certain things that no reasonable man 
 can prevent himself from thinking, they'll 
 be burned for ever in eternal fire for it. The 
 common element is the dread of an unreal 
 sanction. So in Japan and West Africa the 
 people believe the whole existence of the 
 world and the universe is bound up with the 
 health of their own particular king or the 
 safety of their own particular royal family ; 
 and therefore they won't allow their Mikado 
 or their chief to go outside his palace, lest he 
 should knock his royal foot against a stone, 
 and so prevent the sun from shining and the 
 rain from falling. In other places, it 's a tree 
 or a shrub with which the stability and per- 
 sistence of the world is bound up ; when- 
 ever that tree or shrub begins to droop or 
 wither, the whole population rushes out in 
 bodily fear and awe, bearing water to pour 
 upon it, and crying aloud with wild cries as 
 if their lives were in danger. If any man 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 169 
 
 were to injure the tree, which of course is no 
 more valuable than any other bush of its 
 sort, they 'd tear him to pieces on the spot, 
 and kill or torture every member of his 
 family. And so too, in England, most 
 people believe, without a shadow of reason, 
 that if men and women were allowed to 
 manage their own personal relations, free 
 from tribal interference, all life and order 
 would go to rack and ruin ; the world would 
 become one vast, horrible orgy ; and society 
 would dissolve in some incredible fashion. 
 To prevent this imaginary and impossible 
 result, they insist upon regulating one an- 
 other's lives from outside with the strictest 
 taboos, like those which hem round the 
 West African kings, and punish with cruel 
 and relentless heartlessness every man, and 
 still more every woman, who dares to trans- 
 gress them/ 
 
 1 1 think I see what you mean/ Frida 
 answered, blushing. 
 
 1 And I mean it in the very simplest and 
 most literal sense,' Bertram went on quite 
 
170 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 seriously. ■ I 'd been among you some time 
 before it began to dawn on me that you 
 English didn't regard your own taboos as 
 essentially identical with other people's. To 
 me, from the very first, they seemed ab- 
 solutely the same as the similar taboos of 
 Central Africans and South Sea Islanders. 
 All of them spring alike from a common 
 origin, the queer savage belief that various 
 harmless or actually beneficial things may 
 become at times in some mysterious way 
 harmful and dangerous. The essence of 
 them all lies in the erroneous idea that if 
 certain contingencies occur, such as breaking 
 an image or deserting a faith, some terrible 
 evil will follow to one man or to the world, 
 which evil, as a matter of fact, there 's no 
 reason at all to dread in any way. Some- 
 times, as in ancient Rome, Egypt, Central 
 Africa, and England, the whole of life gets 
 enveloped at last in a perfect mist and 
 labyrinth of taboos, a cobweb of conventions. 
 The Flamen Dialis at Rome, you know, 
 mightn't ride or even touch a horse ; he 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 171 
 
 mightn't see an army under arms ; nor wear 
 a ring that wasn't broken ; nor have a knot 
 in any part of his clothing. He mightn't 
 eat wheaten flour or leavened bread ; he 
 mightn't look at or even mention by name 
 such unlucky things as a goat, a dog, raw 
 meat, haricot beans, or common ivy. He 
 mightn't walk under a vine ; the feet of his 
 bed had to be daubed with mud ; his hair 
 could only be cut by a free man, and with a 
 bronze knife; he was encased and surrounded, 
 as it were, by endless petty restrictions and 
 regulations and taboos — just like those that 
 now surround so many men, and especially 
 so many young women, here in England/ 
 
 1 And you think they arise from the same 
 causes?' Frida said, half-hesitating: for she 
 hardly knew whether it was not wicked to 
 say so. 
 
 'Why, of course they do,' Bertram an- 
 swered confidently. 'That's not matter of 
 opinion now ; it 's matter of demonstration. 
 The worst of them all in their present com- 
 plicated state are the ones that concern 
 
172 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 marriage and the other hideous sex-taboos. 
 They seem to have been among the earliest 
 human abuses ; for marriage arises from the 
 stone-age practice of felling a woman of 
 another tribe with a blow of one's club, and 
 dragging her off by the hair of her head to 
 one's own cave as a slave and drudge ; and 
 they are still the most persistent and cruel 
 of any — so much so, that your own people, 
 as you know, taboo even the fair and free 
 discussion of this the most important and 
 serious question of life and morals. They 
 make it, as we would say at home, a refuge 
 for enforced ignorance. For it 's well known 
 that early tribes hold the most superstitious 
 ideas about the relation of men to women, 
 and dread the most ridiculous and impossible 
 evils resulting from it ; and these absurd 
 terrors of theirs seem to have been handed 
 on intact to civilised races, so that for fear 
 of I know not what ridiculous bogey of their 
 own imaginations, or dread of some unnatural 
 restraining deity, men won't even discuss a 
 matter of so much importance to them all, 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 173 
 
 but, rather than let the taboo of silence be 
 broken, will allow such horrible things to 
 take place in their midst as I have seen with 
 my eyes for these last six or seven weeks 
 in your cities. O Frida, you can't imagine 
 what things — for I know they hide them 
 from you : cruelties of lust and neglect and 
 shame such as you couldn't even dream of; 
 women dying of foul disease, in want and 
 dirt deliberately forced upon them by the 
 will of your society; destined beforehand 
 for death, a hateful lingering death — a death 
 more disgusting than aught you can conceive 
 — in order that the rest of you may be safely 
 tabooed, each a maid intact, for the man who 
 weds her. It's the hatefullest taboo of all 
 the hateful taboos I 've ever seen on my 
 wanderings, the unworthiest of a pure or 
 moral community.' 
 
 He shut his eyes as if to forget the horrors 
 of which he spoke. They were fresh and 
 real to him. Frida did not like to question 
 him further. She knew to what he referred, 
 and in a dim, vague way (for she was less 
 
174 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 wise than he, she knew) she thought she 
 could imagine why he found it all so 
 terrible. 
 
 They walked on in silence a while through 
 the deep, lush grass of the July meadow. 
 At last Bertram spoke again: 'Frida,' he 
 said, with a trembling quiver, c I didn't sleep 
 last night. I was thinking this thing over — 
 this question of our relations.' 
 
 •Nor did 1/ Frida answered, thrilling 
 through, responsive. 'I was thinking the 
 same thing. . . . And, Bertram, 'twas the 
 happiest night I ever remember.' 
 
 Bertram's face flushed rosy red, that native 
 colour of triumphant love ; but he answered 
 nothing. He only looked at her with a 
 look more eloquent by far than a thousand 
 speeches. 
 
 'Frida,' he went on at last, 'I've been 
 thinking it all over ; and I feel, if only you 
 can come away with me for just seven days, 
 I could arrange at the end of that time — to 
 take you home with me.' 
 
 Frida's face in turn waxed rosy red ; but 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 175 
 
 she answered only in a very low voice: 
 4 Thank you, Bertram/ 
 
 ' Would you go with me ? ' Bertram cried, 
 his face aglow with pleasure. 'You know, 
 it's a very, very long way off; and I can't 
 even tell you where it is or how you get 
 there. But can you trust me enough to try ? 
 Are you not afraid to come with me ? ' 
 
 Frida's voice trembled slightly. 
 
 ' I 'm not afraid, if that 's all, 1 she answered 
 in a very firm tone. ' I love you, and I trust 
 you, and I could follow you to the world's 
 end — or, if needful, out of it But there's 
 one other question. Bertram, ought I to?' 
 
 She asked it, more to see what answer 
 Bertram would make to her than from any 
 real doubt ; for ever since that kiss last night, 
 she felt sure in her own mind with a woman's 
 certainty whatever Bertram told her was the 
 thing she ought to do; but she wanted to 
 know in what light he regarded it 
 
 Bertram gazed at her hard. 
 
 1 Why, Frida,' he said, ' it 's right, of course, 
 to go. The thing that's wrong is to stop 
 
176 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 with that man one minute longer than 's 
 absolutely necessary. You don't love him — 
 you never loved him ; or, if you ever did, 
 you've long since ceased to do so. Well, 
 then, it's a dishonour to yourself to spend 
 one more day with him. How can you sub- 
 mit to the hateful endearments of a man you 
 don't love or care for ? How wrong to your- 
 self, how infinitely more wrong to your still 
 unborn and unbegotten children ! Would 
 you consent to become the mother of sons 
 and daughters by a man whose whole char- 
 acter is utterly repugnant to you? Nature 
 has given us this divine instinct of love 
 within, to tell us with what persons we should 
 spontaneously unite : will you fly in her face 
 and unite with a man whom you feel and 
 know to be wholly unworthy of you ? With 
 us, such conduct would be considered dis- 
 graceful. We think every man and woman 
 should be free to do as they will with their 
 own persons ; for that is the very basis and 
 foundation of personal liberty. But if any 
 man or woman were openly to confess they 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 177 
 
 yielded their persons to another for any other 
 reason than because the strongest sympathy 
 and love compelled them, we should silently 
 despise them. If you don't love Monteith, 
 it 's your duty to him, and still more your 
 duty to yourself and your unborn children, 
 at once to leave him ; if you do love me, it 's 
 your duty to me, and still more your duty 
 to yourself and our unborn children, at once 
 to cleave to me. Don't let any sophisms of 
 taboo-mongers come in to obscure that plain 
 natural duty. Do right first ; let all else go. 
 For one of yourselves, a poet of your own, 
 has said truly : 
 
 "Because right is right, to follow right 
 Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence. " ' 
 
 Frida looked up at him with admiration 
 in her big black eyes. She had found the 
 truth, and the truth had made her free. 
 
 'O Bertram,' she cried with a tremor, 
 
 ' it's good to be like you. I felt from the 
 
 very first how infinitely you differed from 
 
 the men about me. You seemed so much 
 
 M 
 
178 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 greater and higher and nobler. How grate- 
 ful I ought to be to Robert Monteith for 
 having spoken to me yesterday and forbidden 
 me to see you ! for if he hadn't, you might 
 never have kissed me last night, and then I 
 might never have seen things as I see them 
 at present/ 
 
 There was another long pause; for the 
 best things we each say to the other are said 
 in the pauses. Then Frida relapsed once 
 more into speech : ' But what about the 
 children ? ' she asked rather timidly. 
 
 Bertram looked puzzled. f Why, what 
 about the children ? ' he repeated in a curious 
 way. ' What difference on earth could that 
 make to the children ? ' 
 
 'Can I bring them with me, I mean?' 
 Frida asked, a little tremulous for the reply. 
 1 1 couldn't bear to leave them. Even for 
 you, dear Bertram, I could never desert 
 them.' 
 
 Bertram gazed at her dismayed. ' Leave 
 them ! ' he cried. ' Why, Frida, of course 
 you could never leave them. Do you mean 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 179 
 
 to say anybody would be so utterly un- 
 natural, even in England, as to separate a 
 mother from her own children ? ' 
 
 ' 1 don't think Robert would let me keep 
 them,' Frida faltered, with tears in her eyes ; 
 1 and if he didn't, the law, of course, would 
 take his side against me.' 
 
 1 Of course ! ' Bertram answered, with grim 
 sarcasm in his face, ' of course ! I might 
 have guessed it. If there is an injustice or 
 a barbarity possible, I might have been sure 
 the law of England would make haste to 
 perpetrate it. But you needn't fear, Frida. 
 Long before the law of England could be 
 put in motion, I '11 have completed my 
 arrangements for taking you — and them too 
 — with me. There are advantages some- 
 times even in the barbaric delay of what 
 your lawyers are facetiously pleased to call 
 justice/ 
 
 1 Then I may bring them with me ? ' Frida 
 cried, flushing red. 
 
 Bertram nodded assent. 'Yes,' he said, 
 with grave gentleness. 'You may bring 
 
180 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 them with you. And as soon as you like, 
 too. Remember, dearest, every night you 
 pass under that creature's roof, you commit 
 the vilest crime a woman can commit against 
 her own purity/ 
 
XI 
 
 NEVER in her life had Frida enjoyed any- 
 thing so much as those first four happy days 
 at Heymoor. She had come away with 
 Bertram exactly as Bertram himself desired 
 her to do, without one thought of anything 
 on earth except to fulfil the higher law of 
 her own nature ; and she was happy in her 
 intercourse with the one man who could 
 understand it, the one man who had waked 
 it to its fullest pitch, and could make it re- 
 sound sympathetically to his touch in every 
 chord and every fibre. They had chosen 
 a lovely spot on a heather-clad moorland, 
 where she could stroll alone with Bertram 
 among the gorse and ling, utterly oblivious 
 of Robert Monteith and the unnatural world 
 she had left for ever behind her. Her soul 
 drank in deep draughts of the knowledge of 
 
 181 
 
182 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 good and evil from Bertram's lips ; she felt 
 it was indeed a privilege to be with him and 
 listen to him ; she wondered how she could 
 ever have endured that old bad life with the 
 lower man who was never her equal, now 
 she had once tasted and known what life 
 can be when two well-matched souls walk it 
 together, abreast, in holy fellowship. 
 
 The children, too, were as happy as the 
 day was long. The heath was heaven to 
 them. They loved Bertram well, and were 
 too young to be aware of anything unusual 
 in the fact of his accompanying them. At 
 the little inn on the hill-top where they 
 stopped to lodge, nobody asked any com- 
 promising questions : and Bertram felt so 
 sure he could soon complete his arrange- 
 ments for taking Frida and the children 
 ' home/ as he still always phrased it, that 
 Frida had no doubts for their future happi- 
 ness. As for Robert Monteith, that bleak, 
 cold man, she hardly even remembered him : 
 Bertram's first kiss seemed almost to have 
 driven the very memory of her husband clean 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 183 
 
 out of her consciousness. She only re- 
 gretted, now she had left him, the false and 
 mistaken sense of duty which had kept her 
 so long tied to an inferior soul she could 
 never love, and did wrong to marry. 
 
 And all the time, what strange new lessons, 
 what beautiful truths, she learned from 
 Bertram ! As they strolled together, those 
 sweet August mornings, hand locked in 
 hand, over the breezy upland, what new 
 insight he gave her into men and things ! 
 what fresh impulse he supplied to her keen 
 moral nature ! The misery and wrong of the 
 world she lived in came home to her now 
 in deeper and blacker hues than ever she 
 had conceived it in : and with that conscious- 
 ness came also the burning desire of every 
 wakened soul to right and redress it. With 
 Bertram by her side, she felt she could not 
 even harbour an unholy wish or admit a 
 wrong feeling ; that vague sense of his 
 superiority, as of a higher being, which she 
 had felt from the very first moment she met 
 him at Brackenhurst, had deepened and 
 
1 84 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 grown more definite now by closer inter- 
 course ; and she recognised that what she 
 had fallen in love with from the earliest 
 beginning was the beauty of holiness shining 
 clear in his countenance. She had chosen 
 at last the better part, and she felt in her 
 soul that, come what might, it could not be 
 taken away from her. 
 
 In this earthly paradise of pure love, un- 
 defined, she spent three full days and part 
 of another. On the morning of the fourth, 
 she sent the country girl they had engaged 
 to take care of the children, out on the moor 
 with the little ones, while she herself and 
 Bertram went off alone, past the barrow that 
 overlooks the Devil's Saucepan, and out on 
 the open ridge that stretches with dark 
 growth of heath and bracken far away into 
 the misty blue distance of Hampshire. 
 Bertram had just been speaking to her, as 
 they sat on the dry sand, of the buried 
 chieftain whose bones still lay hid under 
 that grass-grown barrow, and of the slaugh- 
 tered wives whose bodies slept beside him, 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 185 
 
 massacred in cold blood to accompany their 
 dead lord to the world of shadows. He had 
 been contrasting these hideous slaveries of 
 taboo-ridden England, past or present, with 
 the rational freedom of his own dear country, 
 whither he hoped so soon with good luck to 
 take her, when suddenly Frida raised her 
 eager eyes from the ground, and saw some- 
 body or something coming across the moor 
 from eastward in their direction. 
 
 All at once, a vague foreboding of evil 
 possessed her. Hardly quite knowing why, 
 she felt this approaching object augured no 
 good to their happiness. ' Look, Bertram,' 
 she cried, seizing his arm in her fright, 
 1 there 's somebody coming.' 
 
 Bertram raised his eyes and looked. Then 
 he shaded them with his hands. 'How 
 strange ! ' he said simply, in his candid way : 
 1 it looks for all the world just like the man 
 who was once your husband ! ' 
 
 Frida rose in alarm. ' Oh, what can we 
 do ? ' she cried, wringing her hands. ' What 
 ever can we do ? It 's he ! It 's Robert ! ' 
 
1 86 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 ' Surely he can't have come on purpose ! ' 
 Bertram exclaimed, taken aback. 'When 
 he sees us, he '11 turn aside. He must know 
 of all people on earth he's the one least 
 likely at such a time to be welcome. He 
 can't want to disturb the peace of another 
 man's honeymoon ! ' 
 
 But Frida, better used to the savage ways 
 of the world she had always lived in, made an- 
 swer, shrinking and crouching, * He 's hunted 
 us down, and he 's come to fight you/ 
 
 ' To fight me!' Bertram exclaimed. 'Oh, 
 surely not that! I was told by those who 
 ought best to know, you English had got 
 far beyond the stage of private war and 
 murderous vendetta.' 
 
 'For everything else,' Frida answered, 
 cowering down in her terror of her husband's 
 vengeance, not for herself indeed so much as 
 for Bertram. ' For everything else, we have ; 
 but not for a woman.' 
 
 There was no time just then, however, for 
 further explanation of this strange anomaly. 
 Monteith had singled them out from a great 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 187 
 
 distance with his keen, clear sight, inherited 
 from generations of Highland ancestors, and 
 now strode angrily across the moor, with 
 great wrathful steps, in his rival's direction. 
 Frida nestled close to Bertram, to protect 
 her from the man to whom her country's 
 laws and the customs of her tribe would have 
 handed her over blindfold. Bertram soothed 
 her with his hand, and awaited in silence, 
 with some dim sense of awe, the angry bar- 
 barian's arrival. 
 
 He came up very quickly, and stood full 
 in front of them, glaring with fierce eyes at the 
 discovered lovers. For a minute or two his 
 rage would not allow him to speak, nor even 
 to act ; he could but stand and scowl from 
 under his brows at Bertram. But after a 
 long pause his wrath found words. * You 
 infernal scoundrel ! ' he burst forth, ■ so at 
 last I 've caught you ! How dare you sit 
 there and look me straight in the face? 
 You infernal thief, how dare you ? how dare 
 you?' 
 
 Bertram rose and confronted him. His 
 
1 88 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 own face, too, flushed slightly with righteous 
 indignation ; but he answered for all that in 
 the same calm and measured tones as ever : 
 1 1 am not a scoundrel, and I will not submit 
 to be called so even by an angry savage. I 
 ask you in return, how dare you follow us? 
 You must have known your presence would 
 be very unwelcome. I should have thought 
 this was just the one moment in your life 
 and the one place on earth where even you 
 would have seen that to stop away was your 
 imperative duty. Mere self-respect would 
 dictate such conduct. This lady has given 
 you clear proof indeed that your society and 
 converse are highly distasteful to her.' 
 
 Robert Monteith glared across at him with 
 the face of a tiger. ' You infamous creature,' 
 he cried, almost speechless with rage, ' do you 
 dare to defend my wife's adultery ? ' 
 
 Bertram gazed at him with a strange look 
 of mingled horror and astonishment. ' You 
 poor wretch ! ' he answered, as calmly as 
 before, but with evident contempt; 'how 
 can you dare, such a thing as you, to apply 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 189 
 
 these vile words to your moral superiors? 
 Adultery it was indeed, and untruth to her 
 own higher and purer nature, for this lady 
 to spend one night of her life under your 
 roof with you ; what she has taken now in 
 exchange is holy marriage, the only real and 
 sacred marriage, the marriage of true souls, 
 to which even the wiser of yourselves, the 
 poets of your nation, would not admit im- 
 pediment. If you dare to apply such base 
 language as this to my lady's actions, you 
 must answer for it to me, her natural pro- 
 tector, for I will not permit it/ 
 
 At the words, quick as lightning, Monteith 
 pulled from his pocket a loaded revolver and 
 pointed it full at his rival. With a cry of 
 terror, Frida flung herself between them, and 
 tried to protect her lover with the shield of 
 her own body. But Bertram gently unwound 
 her arms and held her off from him tenderly. 
 1 No, no, darling,' he said slowly, sitting down 
 with wonderful calm upon a big grey sarsen- 
 stone that abutted upon the pathway ; ' I had 
 forgotten again ; I keep always forgetting 
 
190 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 what kind of savages I have to deal with. 
 If I chose, I could snatch that murderous 
 weapon from his hand, and shoot him dead 
 with it in self-defence — for I 'm stronger than 
 he is. But if I did, what use ? I could never 
 take you home with me. And after all, what 
 could we either of us do in the end in this 
 bad, wild world of your fellow-countrymen ? 
 They would take me and hang me ; and all 
 would be up with you. For your sake, Frida, 
 to shield you from the effects of their cruel 
 taboos, there 's but one course open : I must 
 submit to this madman. He may shoot me 
 if he will. . . . Stand free, and let him ! ' 
 
 But with a passionate oath, Robert Mon- 
 teith seized her arm and flung her madly 
 from him. She fell, reeling, on one side. 
 His eyes were bloodshot with the savage 
 thirst for vengeance. He raised the deadly 
 weapon. Bertram Ingledew, still seated on 
 the big round boulder, opened his breast in 
 silence to receive the bullet. There was a 
 moment's pause. For that moment, even 
 Monteith himself, in his maniac mood, felt 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 191 
 
 dimly aware of that mysterious restraining 
 power all the rest who knew him had so 
 often felt in their dealings with the Alien. 
 But it was only for a moment. His coarser 
 nature was ill adapted to recognise that in- 
 effable air as of a superior being that others 
 observed in him. He pulled the trigger and 
 fired. Frida gave one loud shriek of de- 
 spairing horror. Bertram's body fell back 
 on the bare heath behind it 
 
XII 
 
 Mad as he was with jealousy, that lowest 
 and most bestial of all the vile passions man 
 still inherits from the ape and tiger, Robert 
 Monteith was yet quite sane enough to know 
 in his own soul what deed he had wrought, 
 and in what light even his country's barbaric 
 laws would regard his action. So the 
 moment he had wreaked to the full his 
 fiery vengeance on the man who had never 
 wronged him, he bent over the body with 
 strangely eager eyes, expecting to see upon 
 it some evidence of his guilt, some bloody 
 mark of the hateful crime his own hand had 
 committed. At the same instant, Frida, 
 recovering from his blow that had sent her 
 reeling, rushed frantically forward, flung 
 herself with wild passion on her lover's 
 
 192 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 193 
 
 corpse, and covered the warm lips with hot, 
 despairing kisses. 
 
 One marvellous fact, however, impressed 
 them both with a vague sense of the unknown 
 and the mysterious from the very first second. 
 No spot nor trace of blood marred the body 
 anywhere. And, even as they looked, a 
 strange perfume, as of violets or of burning 
 incense, began by degrees to flood the moor 
 around them. Then slowly, while they 
 watched, a faint blue flame seemed to issue 
 from the wound in Bertram's right side and 
 rise lambent into the air above the murdered 
 body. Frida drew back and gazed at it, a 
 weird thrill of mystery and unconscious hope 
 beguiling for one moment her profound pang 
 of bereavement. Monteith, too, stood away 
 a pace or two, in doubt and surprise, the 
 deep consciousness of some strange and 
 unearthly power overawing for a while even 
 his vulgar and commonplace Scotch bour- 
 geois nature. Gradually, as they gazed, the 
 pale blue flame, rising higher and higher, 
 gathered force and volume, and the perfume 
 
 N 
 
194 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 as of violets became distinct on the air, like 
 the savour of a purer life than this century 
 wots of. Bit by bit, the wan blue light, 
 flickering thicker and thicker, shaped itself 
 into the form and features of a man, even 
 the outward semblance of Bertram Ingledew. 
 Shadowy, but transfigured with an ineffable 
 glory, it hovered for a minute or two above 
 the spot on the moor where the corpse had 
 lain ; for now they were aware that as the 
 flame-shape formed, the body that lay dead 
 upon the ground beneath dissolved by de- 
 grees and melted into it. Not a trace was 
 left on the heath of Robert Monteith's crime : 
 not a dapple of blood, not a clot of gore : only 
 a pale blue flame and a persistent image 
 represented the body that was once Bertram 
 Ingledew's. 
 
 Again, even as they looked, a still weirder 
 feeling began to creep over them. The 
 figure, growing fainter, seemed to fade away 
 piecemeal in the remote distance. But it was 
 not in space that it faded ; it appeared rather 
 to become dim in some vaguer and far more 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 195 
 
 mysterious fashion, like the memories of 
 childhood or the aching abysses of astro- 
 nomical calculation. As it slowly dissolved, 
 Frida stretched out her hands to it with 
 a wild cry, like the cry of a mother for 
 her first-born. 'O Bertram,' she moaned, 
 * where are you going ? Do you mean to 
 leave me? Won't you save me from this 
 man ? Won't you take me home with you ? ' 
 
 Dim and hollow, as from the womb of time 
 unborn, a calm voice came back to her across 
 the gulf of ages : ' Your husband willed it, 
 Frida, and the customs of your nation. You 
 can come to me, but I can never return to 
 you. In three days longer your probation 
 would have been finished. But I forgot with 
 what manner of savage I had still to deal. 
 And now I must go back once more to the 
 place whence I came — to THE TWENTY- 
 FIFTH CENTURY.' 
 
 The voice died away in the dim recesses 
 of the future. The pale blue flame flickered 
 forward and vanished. The shadowy shape 
 melted through an endless vista of to- 
 
196 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 morrows. Only the perfume as of violets or 
 of a higher life still hung heavy upon the air, 
 and a patch of daintier purple burned bright 
 on the moor, like a pool of crimson blood, 
 where the body had fallen. Only that, and 
 a fierce ache in Frida's tortured heart ; only 
 that, and a halo of invisible glory round the 
 rich red lips, where his lips had touched 
 them. 
 
XIII 
 
 Frida seated herself in her misery on the 
 ice-worn boulder where three minutes earlier 
 Bertram had been sitting. Her face was 
 buried in her bloodless hands. All the 
 world grew blank to her. 
 
 Monteith, for his part, sat down a little 
 way off with folded arms on another sarsen 
 stone, fronting her. The strange and un- 
 earthly scene they had just passed through 
 impressed him profoundly. For the first few 
 minutes a great horror held him. But his 
 dogged Scottish nature still brooded over his 
 wrongs, in spite of the terrible sight he had 
 so unexpectedly evoked. In a way, he felt he 
 had had his revenge ; for had he not drawn 
 upon his man, and fired at him and killed 
 him? Still, after the fever and torment of 
 the last few days, it was a relief to find, after 
 all, he was not, as this world would judge, a 
 
 197 
 
198 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 murderer. Man and crime were alike mere 
 airy phantoms. He could go back now to 
 the inn and explain with a glib tongue how 
 Mr. Ingledew had been hurriedly called away 
 to town on important business. There was no 
 corpse on the moor, no blabbing blood to tell 
 the story of his attempted murder : nobody 
 anywhere, he felt certain in his own stolid 
 soul, would miss the mysterious Alien who 
 came to them from beyond the distant abyss 
 of centuries. With true Scotch caution, in- 
 deed, even in the midst of his wrath, Robert 
 Monteith had never said a word to any one at 
 Brackenhurst of how his wife had left him. 
 He was too proud a man, if it came to that, 
 to acknowledge what seemed to him a per- 
 sonal disgrace, till circumstances should ab- 
 solutely force such acknowledgment upon 
 him. He had glossed it over meanwhile 
 with the servants and neighbours by saying 
 that Mrs. Monteith had gone away with the 
 children for their accustomed holiday as al- 
 ways in August. Frida had actually chosen 
 the day appointed for their seaside journey 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 199 
 
 as the fittest moment for her departure with 
 Bertram, so his story was received without 
 doubt or inquiry. He had bottled up his 
 wrath in his own silent soul. There was still 
 room, therefore, to make all right again at 
 home in the eyes of the world — if but Frida 
 was willing. So he sat there long, staring 
 hard at his wife in speechless debate, and dis- 
 cussing with himself whether or not to make 
 temporary overtures of peace to her. 
 
 In this matter, his pride itself fought hard 
 with his pride. That is the wont of savages. 
 Would it not be better, now Bertram Ingle- 
 dew had fairly disappeared for ever from 
 their sphere, to patch up a hollow truce for 
 a time at least with Frida, and let all things 
 be to the outer eye exactly as they had 
 always been ? The bewildering and brain- 
 staggering occurrences of the last half-hour, 
 indeed, had struck deep and far into his hard 
 Scotch nature. The knowledge that the 
 man who had stolen his wife from him (as 
 he phrased it to himself in his curious be- 
 lated mediaeval phraseology) was not a real 
 
20o THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 live man of flesh and blood at all, but 
 an evanescent phantom of the twenty-fifth 
 century, made him all the more ready to 
 patch up for the time-being a nominal re- 
 conciliation. His nerves — for even he had 
 nerves — were still trembling to the core with 
 the mystic events of that wizard morning ; 
 but clearer and clearer still it dawned upon 
 him each moment that if things were ever to 
 be set right at all they must be set right 
 then and there, before he returned to the 
 inn, and before Frida once more went back 
 to their children. To be sure, it was Frida's 
 place to ask forgiveness first, and make the 
 first advances. But Frida made no move. 
 So after sitting there long, salving his mas- 
 culine vanity with the flattering thought that 
 after all his rival was no mere man at all, 
 but a spirit, an avatar, a thing of pure 
 imagination, he raised his head at last and 
 looked inquiringly towards Frida. 
 
 * Well ? ' he said slowly. 
 
 Frida raised her head from her hands and 
 gazed across at him scornfully. 
 
THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 201 
 
 * I was thinking/ Monteith began, feeling 
 his way with caution, but with a magnani- 
 mous air, 'that perhaps — after all — for the 
 children's sake, Frida ' 
 
 With a terrible look, his wife rose up and 
 fronted him. Her face was red as fire ; her 
 heart was burning. She spoke with fierce 
 energy. ' Robert Monteith/ she said firmly, 
 not even deigning to treat him as one who 
 had once been her husband, ■ for the children's 
 sake, or for my own sake, or for any power 
 on earth, do you think, poor empty soul, 
 after I Ve spent three days of my life with 
 HIM, I 'd ever spend three hours again with 
 you ? If you do, then this is all : murderer 
 that you are, you mistake my nature.' 
 
 And turning on her heel, she moved slowly 
 away towards the far edge of the moor with 
 a queenly gesture. 
 
 Monteith followed her up a step or two. 
 She turned and waved him back. He stood 
 glued to the ground, that weird sense of the 
 supernatural once more overcoming him. 
 For some seconds he watched her without 
 O 
 
202 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS 
 
 speaking a word. Then at last he broke 
 out. 'What are you going to do, Frida?' 
 he asked, almost anxiously. 
 
 Frida turned and glanced back at him 
 with scornful eyes. Her mien was resolute. 
 The revolver with which he had shot Bertram 
 Ingledew lay close by her feet, among the 
 bracken on the heath, where Monteith had 
 flung it. She picked it up with one hand, 
 and once more waved him backward. 
 
 ' I 'm going to follow him/ she answered 
 solemnly, in a very cold voice, ' where you 
 have sent him. But alone by myself: not 
 here, before you.' And she brushed him away, 
 as he tried to seize it, with regal dignity. 
 
 Monteith, abashed, turned back without 
 one word, and made his way to the inn in 
 the little village. But Frida walked on by 
 herself, in the opposite direction, across the 
 open moor and through the purple heath, 
 towards black despair and the trout-ponds 
 at Broughton. 
 
 THE END 
 
John Lane 
 
 VIGO STREET, LONDON, W. 
 
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 'Miss Farr has talent. "The Dancing Faun " contains writing that is 
 distinctively good. Doubtless it is only a prelude to something much 
 stronger. '—Academy. 
 
 4 As a work of art the book has the merit of brevity and smart writing 
 while the denouement is skilfully prepared, and comes as a surprise. If 
 the book had been intended as a satire on the "new woman" sort of litera- 
 ture, it would have been most brilliant ; but assuming it to be written in 
 earnest, we can heartily praise the form of its construction without 
 agreeing with the sentiments expressed.' — St. James's Gazette. 
 
 Shows considerable power and aptitude.'— Saturday Review. 
 
 ' The book is extremely clever and some of the situations very striking, 
 while there are sketches of character which really live. The final denoue- 
 ment might at first sight be thought impossible, but the effect on those who 
 take part in it is so free of exaggeration, that we can almost imagine that 
 such people are in our mu\st.'—Guardi,>t> 
 
THE KEYNOTES SERIES 
 
 POOR FOLK. Translated from the Russian of Fedor 
 Dostoievsky. By Lena Milman. With an Intro- 
 duction by George Moore, and a Title-page and Cover 
 Design by Aubrey Beardsley. Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 1 The book is cleverly translated. M Poor Folk " gains in reality and pathos 
 by the very means that in less skilful hands would be tedious and common- 
 place. ' —Spectator. 
 
 1 A charming story of the love of a Charles Lamb kind of old bachelor 
 for a young work-girl. Full of quiet humour and still more full of the 
 lachrymce rerum.' — Star, 
 
 'Scenes of poignant realism, described with so admirable a blending of 
 humour and pathos that they haunt the memory.' — Daily News. 
 
 ' No one will read it attentively without feeling both its power and its 
 pathos. ' — Scotsman. 
 
 ' The book is one of great pathos and absorbing interest. Miss Milman 
 has given us an admirable version of it which will commend itself to every 
 one who cares for good literature.' — Glasgow Herald. 
 
 ' These things seem small, but in the hands of Dostoievsky they make 
 a work of genius.' — Black and White. 
 
 'One of the most pathetic things in all literature, heartrending just 
 because its tragedy is so repressed.' — Bookman. 
 
 ' As to novels, the very finest I have read of late or for long is " Poor Folk," 
 by Fedor Dostoievsky, translated by Miss Lena Milman.'— Truth. 
 
 ' A book to be read for the merits of its execution. The translator by 
 the way has turned it into excellent English.' — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 ' The narrative vibrates with feeling, and these few unstudied letters con- 
 vey to us a cry from the depths of a famished human soul. As far as we 
 can judge, the English rendering, though simple, retains that ring of 
 emotion which must distinguish the original.' — Westminster Review. 
 
 ' One of the most striking studies in plain and simple realism which was 
 ever written.' — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 •"Poor Folk" is certainly a vivid and pathetic story.' — Globe. 
 
 ' A triumph of realistic art— a masterpiece of a great writer.' — Morning 
 Post. 
 
 'Dostoievsky's novel has met with that rare advantage, a really good 
 translator. '—Queen. 
 
 * This admirable translation of a great author.' — Liverpool Mercury. 
 
 ' " Poor Folk" Englished does not read like a translation— indubitably a 
 masterpiece.' — Literary World. 
 
 ' Told with a gradually deepening intensity and force, a pathetic truth- 
 fulness which lives in the memory.' — Leeds Mercury. 
 
 ' What Charles Dickens in his attempts to reproduce the sentiment and 
 pathos of the humble deceived himself and others into thinking that he did, 
 that Fedor Dostoievsky actually does.'— Manchester Guardian. 
 
 'It is a story that leaves the reader almost stunned. Miss Milman's 
 translation is admirable.' — Gentlewoman. 
 
 ' The translation appears to be well done so far as we have compared it 
 with the original.' — W. R. Morfill in '1 he Academy. 
 
 'A most impressive and characteristic specimen of Russian fiction. 
 Those to whom Russian is a sealed book will be duly grateful to the trans- 
 lator (who has acquitted herself excellently), to Mr. Moore, and to the 
 publisher for this presentment of Dostoievsky's remarkable novel.' — Times. 
 
THE KEYNOTES SERIES 
 
 A CHILD OF THE AGE. By Francis Adams. Title- 
 page and Cover Design by Aubrey Beardsley. Crown 
 8vo, 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 ' English or foreign, there is no work among those now before me which 
 is so original as that of the late Francis Adams. *' A Child of the Age " is 
 original, moving, often fascinating.' — Academy. 
 
 ' A great deal of cleverness and perhaps something more has gone to the 
 writing of " A Child of the Age." '—Vanity Fair. 
 
 1 It comes recognisably near to great excellence. There is a love episode 
 in this book which is certainly fine. Clearly conceived and expressed with 
 point.'— Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 ' Those whose actual experience or natural intuition will enable them to 
 see beneath the mere narrative, will appreciate the perfect art with which 
 a boy of nineteen— this was the author's age when the book was written — 
 has treated one of the most delicate subjects on which a man can write — 
 the history of his own innermost feelings.' — Weekly Sun. 
 
 'The book possesses a depth and clearness of insight, a delicacy of touch, 
 and a brilliancy and beauty of style very remarkable in so young a writer.' 
 — Weekly Scotsman. 
 
 '"A Child of the Age" is as fully saturated with the individuality of its 
 author as " Wuthering Heights" was saturated with the individuality of 
 Emily Bronte.'— Daily Chronicle. 
 
 ' I am writing about the book because it is one you should read, for it is 
 typical of a certain sort of character and contains some indubitable excel- 
 lences.'— Pall Mall Budget. 
 
 1 Not faultless, indeed, but touched with the magic of real poetry ; with- 
 out the elaborate carving of the chisel. The love incident is exquisite and 
 exquisitely told. "Rosy" lives; her emotions stir us. Wonderfully sug- 
 gested in several parts of the work is the severe irony of nature before 
 profound human suffering.' — Saturday Review. 
 
 ' There is a bloom of romance upon their story which recalls Lucy and 
 
 Richard Feverel It is rarely that a novelist is able to suffuse his 
 
 story with the first rosy purity of passion as Mr. Adams has done in this 
 book.' — Realm. 
 
 ' Only a man of big talent could have produced it.'— Literary World. 
 
 'A tale of fresh originality, deep spiritual meaning, and exceptional 
 power. It fairly buds, blossoms^ and fruits with suggestions that search 
 the human spirit through. No similar production has come from the hand 
 of any author in our time. It exalts, inspires, comforts, and strengthens 
 all together. It instructs by suggestion, spiritualises the thought by its 
 elevating and purifying narrative, and feeds the hungering spirit with 
 food it is only too ready to accept and assimilate.' — Boston Courier, U.S. A 
 
 1 It is a remarkable work— as a pathological study almost unsurpassed. 
 It produces the impression of a photograph from life, so vividly realistic is 
 the treatment. To this result the author's style, with its fidelity of micro- 
 scopic detail, doubtless contributes.'— Evening Traveller, U.S.A. 
 
 ' The story by Francis Adams is one to read slowly, and then to read a 
 second time. It is powerfully written, full of strong suggestion, unlike, 
 in fact, anything we have recently read. What he would have done in the 
 way of literary creation, had he lived, is, of course, only a matter of con- 
 jecture. What he did we have before us in this remarkable book. '— Boston 
 Advertiser, U.S.A. 
 
THE KEYNOTES SERIES 
 
 Second Edition now ready. 
 
 THE GREAT GOD PAN and THE INMOST LIGHT. 
 By Arthur Machen. With Title-page and Cover 
 Design by Aubrey Beardsley. Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. 
 net. 
 
 'Since Mr. Stevenson played with the crucibles of science in "Dr. 
 Jekyll and Mr. Hyde " we have not encountered a more successful experi- 
 ment of the sort.' — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 ' Nothing so appalling as these tales has been given to publicity within 
 our remembrance ; in which, nevertheless, such ghastly fictions as Poe's 
 "Telltale Heart," Bulwer's "The House and the Brain," and Le Fanu's 
 " In a Glass Darkly" still are vividly present. The supernatural element 
 is utilised with extraordinary power and effectiveness in both these blood- 
 chilling masterpieces.' — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 ' He imparts the shudder of awe without giving rise to a feeling of disgust. 
 Let me strongly advise anyone anxious for a real, durable thrill, to get it.' — 
 Woman. 
 
 ' A nightmarish business it is— suggested, seemingly, by " Dr. Jekyll and 
 Mr. Hyde " — and capital reading, we should say, for ghouls and vampires 
 in their leisure moments.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 ' The rest we leave for those whose nerves are strong, merely saying that 
 since "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," we have read nothing so uncanny.'— 
 The Literary World. 
 
 'The literature of the "supernatural" has recently been supplemented 
 by two striking books, which carry on with much ability the traditions of 
 Sheridan Le Fanu : one is "The Great God Pan," by Arthur Machen.'— 
 Star. 
 
 'Will arouse the sort of interest that was created by "Dr. Jekyll and 
 Mr. Hyde." The tales present a frankly impossible horror, which, never- 
 theless, kindles the imagination and excites a powerful curiosity. It is 
 almost a book of genius, and we are not sure that the safeguarding adverb 
 is not superfluous.' — Birmingham Post. 
 
 ' The coarser terrors of Edgar Allen Poe do not leave behind them the 
 shudder that one feels at the shadowed devil-mysteries of " The Great God 
 Pan." ' — Liverpool Mercury. 
 
 ' If any one labours under a burning desire to experience the sensation 
 familiarly known as making one's flesh creep, he can hardly do better thau 
 read "The Great God Pan."'— Speaker. 
 
 ' For sheer gruesome horror Mr. Machen's stoiry, " The Great God Pan, 
 surpasses anything that has been published for u long time.' — Scotsman. 
 
 ' Nothing more striking or more skilful than this book has been produced 
 in the way of what one may call Borderland fiction since Mr. Stevenson's 
 indefatigable Brownies gave the world "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde."'— 
 Glasgow Herald. 
 
 4 The mysteries he deals with lie far beyond the reach of ordinary human 
 experience, and as they are vague, though so horror-producing, he wisely 
 treats them with a reticence that, while it accords with the theme, im- 
 mensely heightens the effect.' — Dundee Advertiser. 
 
 'The author is an artist, and tells his tale with reticence and grace, 
 hinting the demoniac secret at first obscurely, and only gradually permit- 
 ting the reader to divine how near to us are the infernal powers, and how 
 terribly they satiate their lusts and wreak their malice upon mankind. It 
 is a work of something like genius, fascinating and fearsome.'— Bradford 
 Observer. 
 
THE KEYNOTES SERIES 
 
 ' They arc fitting companions to the famous stories by Edgar Allan Poe 
 both in matter and style,' — Boston Home Journal, U.S.A. 
 
 ' They are horror stories, the horror being of the vague psychologic kind 
 and dependent in each case upon a man of science, who tries to effect a 
 change in individual personality by an operation upon the brain cells. 
 The implied lesson is that it is dangerous and unwise to seek to probe the 
 mystery separating mind and matter. These sketches are extremely 
 strong, and we guarantee the shivers to anyone who reads them.' — Hart- 
 ford Cour ant, U.S.A. 
 
 Fourth Edition now ready. 
 
 DISCORDS. By George Egerton. With Title-page and 
 Cover Design by Aubrey Beardsley. Crown 8vo, 
 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 ' We have the heights as well as the depths of life. The transforming 
 touch of beauty is upon it, of that poetry of conception beneath whose spell 
 nothing is ugly or unclean.' — Star. 
 
 'The writer is a warm-blooded enthusiast, not a cold-blooded 
 "scientist." In the long run perhaps it will do some good.' — National 
 Observer. 
 
 1 The power and passion which every reader felt in " Keynotes " are 
 equally present in this new volume. But there is also in at least equal 
 measure that artistic force and skill which went so far to overcome the 
 repugnance which many felt to the painful dissection of feminine nature.' — 
 North British Daily Mail. 
 
 ' Force of conception and power of vivid presentment mark these sketches, 
 and are sure to impress all who read them. — Birmingham Post. 
 
 'Written with all "George Egerton's " eloquence and fervour.'— York- 
 shire Herald. 
 
 ' It almost takes one's breath away by its prodigious wrong-headedness, 
 Its sheer impudence.'— Mr. A. B. Walkley in The Morning Leader. 
 
 ' The wonderful power of observation, the close analysis and the really 
 brilliant writing revealed in parts of this volume . . . . " George Egerton 
 would seem to be well equipped for the task.' — Cork Examiner. 
 
 ' Readers who have a leaning to psychological fiction, and who revel in 
 such studies of character as George Meredith's " Diana of the Crossways" 
 will find much to interest them in these clever stories.' — Western Daily 
 Press. 
 
 'There is no escape from the fact that it is vividly interesting.'— The 
 Christian World. 
 
 'With all her realism there is a refinement and a pathos and a brilliance 
 of style that lift the book into a region altogether removed from the merely 
 sensational or the merely repulsive. It is a book that one might read with 
 a pencil in his hand, for it is studded with many fine, vivid passages.' — 
 Weekly Scotsman. 
 
 ' She has many fine qualities. Her work throbs with temperament, and 
 here and there we come upon touches that linger in the memory as of things 
 felt and seen, not read of.' — Daily News. 
 
 ' Mrs. Grundy, to whom they would be salutary, will not be induced to 
 read either " Keynotes" or "Discords." — Westminster Gazette. 
 
 ' What an absorbing, wonderful book it is : How absolutely sincere, and 
 how finely wrong ! George Egerton may be what the indefatigable Mr. 
 Zangwill calls a one-I'd person, but she is a literary artist of exceptional 
 endowment— probably a genius.'— Woman. 
 
THE KEYNOTES SERIES 
 
 ' She has given, times without number, examples of her ripening powers 
 that astonish us. Her themes astound ; her audacity is tremendous. In 
 the many great passages an advance is proved that is little short of amaz- 
 ing.' — Literary World. 
 
 ' Interesting and skilfully written.' — Sunday Times. 
 
 'A series of undoubtedly clever stories, told with a poetic dreaminess 
 which softens the rugged truths of which they treat. Mothers might benefit 
 themselves and convey help to young girls who are about to be married by 
 the perusal of its pages.'— Liverpool Mercury. 
 
 ' They are the work of an author of considerable power, not to say genius.' 
 — Scotsman. 
 
 ' The book is true to human nature, for the author has genius, and, let us 
 add, has heart. It is representative; it is, in the hackneyed phrase, a 
 human document.' — Speaker. 
 
 ' It is another note in the great chorus of revolt ... on the whole 
 clearer, more eloquent, and braver than almost any I have yet heard.' — 
 T. P. (' Book of the Week'), Weekly Sun, December 30. 
 
 1 These masterly word-sketches.' — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 ' Were it possible to have ray favourite sketches and stories from both 
 volumes (" Keynotes" and "Discords") bound together in one, I should 
 look upon myself as a very fortunate traveller ; one who had great pleasure, 
 if not exactly happiness, within her reach.' — Lady's Pictorial. 
 
 ' But in all this there is a rugged grandeur of style, a keen analysis of 
 motive, and a deepness of pathos that stamp George Egerton as one of the 
 greatest women writers of the day.' — Boston Traveller, U.S.A. 
 
 ' The story of the child, of the girl, and of the woman is told, and told 
 by one to whom the mysteries of the life of each are familiarly known, In 
 their very truth, as the writer has so subtly analysed her triple characters, 
 they sadden one to think that such things must be ; yet as they are real, 
 they are bound to be disclosed by somebody, and in due time.'— Boston 
 Courier, U.S.A. 
 
 Eighteenth Edition just ready. 
 
 THE WOMAN WHO DID. By Grant Allen. With 
 Title-page and Cover Design by Aubrey Beardsley. 
 Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. net 
 
 'There is not a sensual thought or suggestion throughout the whole 
 volume. Though I dislike and disbelieve in his gospel, I thoroughly 
 respect Mr. Grant Allen for having stated it so honourably and so bravely.' 
 — Academy. 
 
 ' Even its bitterest enemies must surely feel some thrill of admiration for 
 its courage. It is, once more, one philosopher against the world. Not in 
 our day, perhaps, can it be decided which is right, Mr. Grant Allen, or the 
 world. Perhaps our children's children will some day be canonising Mr. 
 Grant Allen for the very book for which to-day he stands a much greater 
 chance of being stoned, and happy lovers of the new era bless the name of 
 the man who, almost single-handed, fought the battle of Free Love. 
 Time alone can say. . . . None but the most foolish or malignant reader 
 of 'The Woman Who Did ' can fail to recognise the noble purpose which 
 animates its pages. . . . Label it as one will, it remains a clever, stimu- 
 lating book. A real enthusiasm for humanity blazes through every page 
 of this, in many ways remarkable and significant little book. ' — Sketch. 
 
 'The book is interesting, as embodying the carefully thought-out 
 theories of so distinguished a writer.' — Literary World. 
 
THE KEYNOTES SERIES 
 
 ' Mr. Grant Allen has undoubtedly produced an epoch-making book, and 
 one which will be a living voice when most of the novels of this generation 
 have passed away into silence. It is epoch-making in the sense that 
 "Uncle Tom's Cabin" was; — the literary merits of that work were by no 
 means great, but yet it rang like a tocsin through the land, arousing mankind 
 to a sense of the slavery under which a large portion of humanity suffered. 
 — Humanitarian. 
 
 ' Interesting, and even absorbing.' — Weekly Sun. 
 
 ' His sincerity is undeniable. And in the mouth of Herminia are some 
 very noble and eloquent passages upon the wrongs of our marriage sys- 
 tem. '—Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 ' A tale of purity and innocence unparalleled since the " Garden of 
 Eden " or " Paul and Virginia." ' — Daily Express. 
 
 'A remarkable and powerful story. It increases our respect for Mr. 
 Allen's ability, nor do we feel inclined to join in throwing stones at him as 
 a perverter of our morals and our social institutions. However widely we 
 may differ from Mr. Allen's views on many important questions, we are 
 bound to recognise his sincerity, and to respect him accordingly.'— Speaker. 
 
 ' The story is as remarkable for its art as its daring, and well deserves a 
 place in the remarkab'^ series in which it has been published.'— The 
 Scotsman. 
 
 ' Herminia is a rare and fine creature.'— Daily Chronicle. 
 
 'An artist in words and a writer of deep feeling has lavished his best 
 powers in the production of "The Woman Who Did." The story is 
 charmingly told. Delineated with a delicacy and strength of touch that 
 cannot but delight the most fastidious reader. Mr. Grant Allen draws a 
 picture of a sweet and pure and beautiful woman. The book is very 
 beautiful and very sad.' — Liverpool Mercury. 
 
 ' The book (for it is well written and clever) ought to be the last note in 
 the chorus of revolt. For it proves to demonstration the futility of the 
 attempt.' — Sun. 
 
 ' We cannot too highly commend the conspicuous and transparent purity 
 of the handling.' — Public Opinion. 
 
 • He conclusively shows that if the marriage laws need revision, yet the 
 sweetness and'seemliness of home, the dignity of woman as mother or as 
 man's helpmeet, are rooted in the sanctity of wedlock.' — Daily News. 
 
 ' Mr. Grant Allen deserves thanks for treating with such delicacy 
 problem which stands in such pressing need of solution as the reform of 
 our stern marriage laws.' — Echo. 
 
 ' Its merits are large and its interest profound.'— Weekly Scotsman. 
 
 ' It may not merit praise, but it merits reading.'— Saturday Review. 
 
 PRINCE ZALESKI. By M. P. Shiel. With Title-page 
 by Aubrey Beardsley. Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 'Mr. M. P. Shiel has in this volume produced something which is 
 always rare, and which is every year becoming a greater rarity— a work 
 of literary invention characterised by substantial novelty. We hav ; 
 Poe's analysis and Poe's glamour, but they are no longer distinct ; they 
 are combined in a new synthesis which stamps a new imaginative impres- 
 sion. A finely wrought structure in which no single line impairs the 
 symmetry and proportion. One of the most boldly-planned and strik- 
 ingly-executed stories of its kind which has appeared for many a long 
 
THE KEYNOTES SERIES 
 
 day. We believe there is nothing in "Prince Zaleski" which that great 
 inventor and masterly manipulator of the spoils of invention (Poe) would 
 have disdained to father.'— Daily Chronicle. 
 
 ' Should obtain popularity. Written in an easy and clear style. The 
 author shows an amount of ingenuity and capacity for plot considerably 
 above the average. The reader will find it difficult to put the book down 
 before he has satisfied his curiosity to the last page.'— Weekly Sun. 
 
 'The Prince was a Sherlock Holmes, with this difference: that while 
 yielding nothing to Conan Doyle's hero in mere intellectual agility, he 
 had that imaginative insight which makes poets more frequently than 
 detectives. Sherlock Holmes was a clever but essentially commonplace 
 man. Prince Zaleski was a great man, simply. Enthralling . . . once 
 begun they insist on being finished. Broadly and philosophically con- 
 ceived, and put together with rare narrative skill, and feeling for effect.' 
 — Woman. 
 
 There is a strange, fantastic ingenuity in all the stories, while a strong 
 dash of mysticism gives them a peculiar flavour that differentiates them 
 from the ordinary detective story. They are clever and curious, and will 
 appeal to all lovers of the transcendental and improbable.'— The Scotsman. 
 
 'Thoroughly entertaining, and the chief figure is undeniably pic- 
 turesque.' — Yorkshire Post. 
 
 ' An abundance of ingenuity and quaint out-of-the-way learning mark 
 the three stories contained in this volume.'— Liverpool Mercury. 
 
 1 He has imparted to the three tales in this volume something of that 
 atmosphere of eerie fantasy which Poe knew how to conjure, proceeding 
 by the analysis of a baffling intricacy of detail to an unforeseen conclusion. 
 The themes and their treatment are alike highly imaginative.'— Daily 
 News. 
 
 ' Manifestly written by one of Poe's true disciples. His analytical skill 
 is not that of the detective, even of so brilliant a detective as Mr. Sherlock 
 Holmes. Probably his exploits will interest the public far less than did 
 those of Mr. Doyle's famous character; but the select few, who can 
 appreciate delicate work, will delight in them exceedingly.'— Speaker. 
 
 'Truth to tell we like our Sherlock better in his new dress. The 
 book will please those who love a good old-fashioned riddle, and a good 
 new-fangled answer.' — National Observer. 
 
 ' Has genuine literary merit, and possesses entrancing interest. A kind 
 of Sherlock Holmes, though of a far more finished type than Mr. Conan 
 Doyle's famous creation. _ The remarkable ingenuity of Mr. Shiel— worthy 
 of Edgar Allen Poe at his best — in tracing out the mystery surrounding 
 the death of Lord Pharanx, the Stone of the Edmundsbury Monks, and the 
 Society of Sparta, constitutes a veritable tour deforce. We have nothing 
 but praise for this extraordinarily clever and interesting volume.' — White- 
 hall Review. 
 
 ' Worked out very ingeniously, and we are thoroughly impressed by the 
 Prince's mental powers. ' — Sunday Times. 
 
 ' A clever, extravagant, and lurid little book.' — Westminster Gazette. 
 
 ' Mr. Shiel's mysteries are very good, and he has put them into literary 
 form. ' — Bookman. 
 
 'They are fascinating in spite of the demands they make upon our 
 credulity. ' — Times. 
 
 ' Imagination of the weirdest and the strangest runs rife. The personage 
 of the title is a sort of dilettante Sherlock Holmes, but with far weirder 
 problems to unravel than ever fell to the lot of Dr. Doyle's detective. The 
 book contains three stories, reminding one now of Poe and now of Steven- 
 son's " New Arabian Nights," all told with convincing art and a power of 
 uncommon invention which few writers have equalled. Will give you some 
 exciting hours.' — Review of Reviews. 
 
THE KEYNOTES SERIES 
 
 WOMEN'S TRAGEDIES. By H. D. Lowry. With Title- 
 page and Cover Design by Aubrey Bkardsley. Crown 
 8vo, 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 * He is the master of a style singularly strenuous and sensitive. What he 
 sees he can express with marvellous vividness. There is nothing more 
 terrible and perfect of its kind than his story, "The Man in the Room." 
 It is magnificently done, powerfully imagined, and convincingly presented.' 
 —Black and White. 
 
 'Mr. Lowry's "Women's Tragedies" are the most striking thumbnail 
 sketches since Mr. Quiller Couch idly ceased to write his wonderful 
 " Noughts and Crosses.'" — Star. 
 
 * A collection of vivid sketches from life.'— Liverpool Mercury, 
 
 ' A wide and critical section of the reading public will be ready to welcome 
 " Women's Tragedies." The author has not a little of the ancient mariner's 
 power. He creates a situation which holds the reader mentally spellbound, 
 and leaves an impression not readily effaced . . . sombre, even eerie, they 
 prove, and yet strong with the author's power to fascinate.' — Dundee 
 Advertiser. 
 
 ' The chief charm of the stories is the delicacy and strength with which 
 they are wrought, and the genuine insight into human nature which they 
 show. ' — Scotsman. 
 
 ' He is a master of a simple, forcible style ; he has a deep insight into 
 human nature, a strong and active imagination ; and, above all, he has 
 that indescribable knack of making interesting the commonplace things of 
 existence. This collection of stories will be read with genuine pleasure, 
 and will do much to advance the reputation of the author.'— Weekly Scots- 
 man. 
 
 ' In Mr. Lowry's latest book we have some healthy studies of human 
 nature, stories which are full of strong, deep, and simple emotion. This is 
 the fiction, simple and human, real and beautiful, which rebukes at one 
 and the same time the sentimentality of English art and the unhealthiness 
 of French.' — Western Daily Mercury. 
 
 ' It is a profoundly interesting and powerful volume.' — Whitehall Review. 
 
 •"The Man in the Room" is certainly the strongest There is a subtle 
 and complete knowledge of the woman of the tragedy, an insight and 
 mastery which is never paraded, but is governed, restrained, and used. 
 The author is an artist well understanding the use of a touch of the 
 grotesque for the heightening of the tragedy. ' — Realm. 
 
 ' His stories are clever and intensely dramatic. We cannot overlook the 
 power of imagination and of literary expression which Mr. Lowry's book 
 reveals. Stamps its writer as a man of great gifts.' — Independent. 
 
 ' Is written with a good deal of distinction. No one can deny the charm 
 of such stories as "Beauty's Lovers" and "The Sisters," and "The Man 
 in the Room" has both a gracefully drawn heroine and a good deal of 
 weird power.'— Queen. 
 
 ' He can imagine scenes and incidents of the most dramatic intensity and 
 put them before us in half a dozen pages.' — Glasgow Evening News. 
 
 ' Remind us frequently of Mr. Hardy's " Life's Little Ironies." Exhibit 
 no little artistic power.' — Methodist Recorder. 
 
 'Are very real and strong, very grim. The language is very simple, 
 direct, and, in necessary consequence, expressive.'— Natitnal Observer. 
 
 ' The stories are told in fresh, bright, unaffected fashion.' — Sunday 
 Times. 
 
THE KEYNOTES SERIES 
 
 AT THE FIRST CORNER, and other Stories. By 
 H. B. Marriott Watson. With Title-page and Cover 
 Design by Aubrey Beardsley. Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 1 We willingly bear witness to Mr. Watson's brilliance, versatility, and 
 literary power. "An Ordeal of Three " is a fancy that is full of beauty and 
 delicate charm. When, again, Mr. Watson deals with the merely sordid and 
 real side of East-end London he justifies his choice by a certain convincing 
 realism which is never dull, and which is always inevitably true.' — Pall 
 Mall Gazette. 
 
 ' Made up of exceedingly good stories. . . . The mere writing of them 
 makes them a pleasure to read.' — Star. 
 
 'Have the charm of individuality.' — Globe. 
 
 ' Exceedingly well written. There is no denying Mr. Marriott Watson's 
 strength and delicacy of style. ' — Queen. 
 
 'There is an impressive "grip" in Mr. Watson's narrative from which 
 the reader cannot easily escape.'— Whitehall Review. 
 
 ' They all show a vigorous pen and a command of forcible language. ' — 
 Dundee Advertiser. 
 
 'The stories are all told with very considerable vigour and skill, and 
 show a strong vein of imagination. ' — Scotsman. 
 
 ' Mr. Marriott Watson can write, and in these new stories he shows, more 
 manifestly than in any previous work, his capacity for dramatic realisation. 
 "An Ordeal of Three " has not only strength but charm.'— Daily Chronicle. 
 
 ' Admirably conceived and brilliantly finished ; the book will be read. '— 
 Saturday Review. 
 
 ' Knowledge of life, literary cleverness, charm, and, above all, style, are 
 present all through. One cannot dip into his volume without being taken 
 captive and reading every story.' — Realm. 
 
 'Remarkable for diversity of subject and distinction of style. Every 
 page of this charming volume is original.'— Black and White. 
 
 ' Mr. Watson can tell a story in a terse, vigorous, and thrilling manner.' 
 — Westminster Gazette. 
 
 ' Contains the best work he has yet done. Uncommonly well written.'— 
 Sketch, 
 
 'There is undeniable power in the volume of stories, "At the First 
 Corner," and there is something very like the fire of genius behind this 
 power. The style is terse, vivid, and imaginative.' — Guardian. 
 
 GREY ROSES. By Henry Harland. With Title-page 
 and Cover Design by Aubrey Beardsley. Crown 8vo, 
 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 ' Exceedingly pleasant to read. You close the book with a feeling that 
 you have met a host of charming people. "Castles Near Spain" comes 
 near to being a perfect thing of its kind.' — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 'They are charming stories, simple, full of freshness, with a good deal of 
 delicate wit, both in the imagining and in the telling. The last story of 
 the book, in spite of improbabilities quite tremendous, is a delightful story.' 
 — Daily Chronicle. 
 
THE KEYNOTES SERIES 
 
 ' "Castles near Spain" as a fantastic love episode is simply inimitable, 
 and " Mercedes" is instinct with a pretty humour and child-like tenderness 
 that render it peculiarly— nay, uniquely— fascinating. "Grey Roses" are 
 entitled to rank among the choicest flowers of the realms of romance.' — 
 Daily Telegraph. 
 
 ' Never before has the strange, we might almost say the weird, fascina- 
 tion of the Bohemianism of the Latin Quarter been so well depicted.'— 
 Whitehall Review. 
 
 '"Castles near Spain" is an altogether charming and admirable bit of 
 romance.' — Glasgow Herald. 
 
 'We envy Mr. Harland his beautiful story, "A Bohemian Girl.'" — 
 Literary World. 
 
 ' Mr. Harland is capital company. He is always entertaining.' — New 
 Budget. 
 
 ' They are gay and pathetic, and touched with the fantasy that gives to 
 romance its finest flavour. Each has a quaintness and a grace of its own.' 
 — Daily News. 
 
 ' " Castles near Spain " is a lovely idyll, in which young passion and a 
 quaint humour are blended into a rare harmony.' — Star. 
 
 MONOCHROMES. By Ella D'Arcy. With Title-page 
 and Cover Design by Aubrey Beardsley. Crown 8vo, 
 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 'If Miss D'Arcy can maintain this level, her future is secure. She has 
 produced one story which comes near to being a masterpiece.' — Daily 
 Chronicle. 
 
 ' We doubt if any other living woman-writer could have written quite so 
 well.'— Saturday Review. 
 
 1 It is rare indeed to meet, in English, with a number of short stories of 
 such distinction from an English pen.'— -Graphic. 
 
 ' Thoroughly interesting, and in many respects strikingly original.' — 
 Whitehall Review. 
 
 ' Style, characterisation, dramatic intensity, artistic sanity, pathos and 
 imagination — all these Miss D'Arcy has.' — Echo. 
 
 ' Written with much skill, observation and style. Very interesting and 
 well told.'— Westminster Gazette. 
 
 ' All the stories show keen observation and literary power.' — Independent. 
 
 'Distinguished by power, imagination, and a polished and facile style.' — 
 Weekly Scotsman. 
 
 ' They are word-pictures of no little power, displaying an admirable 
 technique in their design, treatment of light and shade, and artistic finish.' 
 —Daily Telegraph. 
 
 AT THE RELTON ARMS. By Evelyn Sharp. With 
 Title-page and Cover Design by Aubrey Beardsley. 
 Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 ' Miss Evelyn Sharp is to be congratulated on having, through the mouth 
 of one of her characters, said one of the wisest words yet spoken on what is 
 rather absurdly called "The Marriage Question" (page 132). It is an in- 
 teresting and well-written story, with some smart characterisation and quite 
 a sufficiency of humour.'— Daily Chronicle. 
 
THE KEYNOTES SERIES 
 
 ' The book is full of cleverness, sly irony peeps out at every corner. . . . 
 There is a touch of fantastic humour which reminds one of Peacock.'— 
 Realm. 
 
 ' Miss Evelyn Sharp is a clever writer, and her story is decidedly worth 
 reading.' — Dundee Advertiser. 
 
 'The book is cleverly and smartly written.'— Weekly Scotsman. 
 
 'There is a good deal of cleverness in "At the Relton Arms." '—Man- 
 chester Guardian. 
 
 THE GIRL FROM THE FARM. By Gertrude Dix. 
 With Title-page and Cover Design by Aubrey Beardsley. 
 Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 ' Miss Dix has a pleasant and graceful style. The dean is well and sym- 
 pathetically portrayed, and some of the scenes between him and Katherine 
 bear the»6tamp of truth.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 'The novel is exceptionally well written, the characters are admirably 
 drawn ; there is a vividness, too, about several of the descriptions and 
 scenes which is a great deal more than mere patient realism.' — Glasgow 
 Herald. 
 
 ' A decidedly clever little book.' — Saturday Review. 
 
 ' The work of a writer with real gifts for fiction, gifts of characterisation 
 and story-telling.'— 6" tar. 
 
 * The story is cleverly constructed and well written.'— Weekly Scotsman. 
 
 ' A thoroughly wholesome book and very clever. Katherine is a charming 
 character. ' — Queen. 
 
 ' A powerful piece of writing. The dean and his daughter are drawn in 
 masterly fashion.' — Whitehall Review. 
 
 ' It shows a good grasp of peculiarities of human nature, and is written 
 with very considerable literary skill.'— Scotsman. 
 
 ' Miss Dix's style is charming, and here and there come out flashes of 
 descriptive power.' — Bristol Times and Mirror. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN LOVERS. By Fiona Macleod. With 
 Title-page and Cover Design by Aubrey Beardsley. 
 Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 ' An exquisite and delicious idyll with which Miss Macleod has now 
 enriched our contemporary literature. A beautiful and pathetic tale of 
 young love that stands out against the deeply tragic background.' — Glasgow 
 Herald. 
 
 ' A beautiful prose poem, while possessing strong interest as a romance.' — 
 Queen. 
 
 'Almost savage in its power, yet not without its beauty.'— Dundee 
 Advertiser. 
 
 ' The loves of Alan and Sorcha are wholesome and breezy, if uncon- 
 ventional, and recall nothing more fin de siecle than the garden of Eden. ' 
 -Athencpum. 
 
mm JOHN LANE J 
 
 sas!^ 
 
 THE M K 
 BODLEX ? 
 HEADi3* 
 VIGOS T } 
 
 CATALOCUEg/TUB LICATION S 
 
 £2 BELLES \ ETTRES alTatmr/trecej- 
 
1895. 
 
 List of Books 
 
 IN 
 
 BELLES LETTRES 
 
 {Including some Transfers) 
 
 Published by John Lane 
 
 VIGO STREET, LONDON, W. 
 
 N.B. — The Authors and Publisher reserve the right of reprinting 
 any book in this list if a new edition is called for, except in cases 
 where a stipulation has been made to the contrary, and of printing 
 a separate edition of any of the books for America irrespective of the 
 numbers to which the English editions are limited. The numbers 
 mentioned do not include copies sent to the public libraries, nor those 
 sent for review. 
 
 Most of the books are published simultaneously in England and 
 America, and in many instances the names of the American 
 Publishers are appended. 
 
 ADAMS (FRANCIS). 
 
 Essays in Modernity. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. [Shortly. 
 
 Chicago : Stone & Kimball. 
 A Child of the Age. {See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 ALLEN (GRANT). 
 
 The Lower Slopes : A Volume of Verse. With Title- 
 page and Cover Design by J. Illingworth Kay. 
 600 copies. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 Chicago : Stone & Kimball. 
 The Woman Who Did. {See Keynotes Series.) 
 The British Barbarians. {See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 BAILEY (JOHN C). 
 
 An Anthology of English Elegies. [In preparation. 
 
THE PUBLICATIONS OF JOHN LANE 
 
 BEARDSLEY (AUBREY). 
 
 The Story of Venus and Tannhauser, in which is set 
 forth an exact account of the Manner of State held by 
 Madam Venus, Goddess and Meretrix, under the 
 famous Horselberg, and containing the adventures of 
 Tannhauser in that place, his repentance, his jour- 
 neying to Rome, and return to the loving mountain. 
 By Aubrey Beardsley. With 20 full-page illus- 
 trations, numerous ornaments, and a cover from the 
 same hand. Sq, i6mo. 10s.6d.net. [In preparation. 
 
 BEDDOES (T. L.). 
 
 See Gosse (Edmund). 
 
 BEECHING (Rev. H. C.). 
 
 In a Garden : Poems. With Title-page designed by 
 Roger Fry. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 New York : Macmillan & Co. 
 
 BENSON (ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER). 
 Lyrics. Fcap. 8vo., buckram. 5s. net. 
 New York: Macmillan & Co. 
 
 BRIDGES (ROBERT). 
 
 Suppressed Chapters and other Bookishness. 
 Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 New York : Charles Scribner's Sons. 
 BROTHERTON (MARY). 
 
 Rosemary for Remembrance. With Title-page and 
 Cover Design by Walter West. Fcap.8vo. 3s.6d.net. 
 
 BUCHAN (JOHN). 
 
 Musa Piscatrix. [In preparation. 
 
 CAMPBELL (GERALD). 
 
 The Joneses and the Asterisks. {See Mayfair Set.) 
 
 CASE (ROBERT). 
 
 An Anthology of English Epithalamies. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 CASTLE (Mrs. EGERTON). 
 
 My Little Lady Anne. (See Pierrot's Library.) 
 
 CASTLE (EGERTON). 
 
 See Stevenson (Robert Louis). 
 
 CRAIG (R. MANIFOLD). 
 
 The Sacrifice of Fools: A Novel. Crown 8vo. 
 4s. 6d. net. [In preparatien. 
 
THE PUBLICATIONS OF 
 
 CRANE (WALTER). 
 
 Toy Books. Reissue, each with new Cover Design and 
 End Papers. 9d. net. 
 The three bound in one volume with a decorative cloth cover, end 
 papers, and a newly written and designed preface and title- 
 page. 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 Vol. i. This Little Pig. 
 Vol. II. The Fairy Ship. 
 Vol. in. King Luckieboy's Party. 
 Chicago : Stone & Kimball. 
 CROSSE (VICTORIA). 
 
 The Woman Who Didn't. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 DALMON (C. W.). 
 
 Song Favours. With a Title-page by J. P. Donne. 
 Sq. i6mo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 Chicago : Way & Williams. 
 D'ARCY (ELLA). 
 
 Monochromes. (See Keynotes Series. ) 
 DAVIDSON (JOHN). 
 
 Plays : An Unhistorical Pastoral ; A Romantic Farce ; 
 Bruce, a Chronicle Play ; Smith, a Tragic Farce ; 
 Scaramouch in Naxos, a Pantomime, with a Frontis- 
 piece and Cover Design by Aubrey Beardsley. 
 Printed at the Ballantyne Press. 500 copies. Small 
 4to. 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 Chicago : Stone & Kimball. 
 Fleet Street Eclogues. Fcap. 8vo, buckram. 4s. 6d. 
 net. [Third Edition. 
 
 Fleet Street Eclogues. 2nd Series. Fcap. 8vo, 
 
 buckram. 4s. 6d. net. 
 A Random Itinerary and a Ballad. With a Fron- 
 tispiece and Title-page by Laurence Housman. 
 600 copies. Fcap. 8vo, Irish Linen. 5s. net. 
 Boston : Copeland & Day. 
 Ballads and Songs. With a Title-page and Cover 
 Design by Walter West. Fourth Edition. Fcap. 
 8vo, buckram. 5s. net. 
 Boston : Copeland & Day. 
 DAWE (W. CARLTON). 
 
 Yellow and White. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 DE TABLEY (LORD). 
 
 Poems, Dramatic and Lyrical. By John Leicester 
 Warren (Lord De Tabley). Illustrations and Cover 
 Design by C. S. Ricketts. Second Edition. 
 Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 New York : Macmillan & Co. 
 
JOHN LANE 
 
 DE TABLEY (LORD). 
 
 Poems, Dramatic and Lyrical. Second Series, uni- 
 form in binding with the former volume. Crown 8vo. 
 5s. net. 
 
 New York : Macmillan & Co. 
 
 DIX (GERTRUDE). 
 
 The Girl from the Farm. {See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 DOSTOIEVSKY (F.). 
 
 See Keynotes Series, Vol. in. 
 
 ECHEGARAY (JOSE). 
 See Lynch (Hannah). 
 
 EGERTON (GEORGE). 
 
 Keynotes. {See Keynotes Series.) 
 Discords. {See Keynotes Series.) 
 Young Ofeg's Ditties. A translation from the Swedish 
 of Ola H ansson. With Title-page and Cover Design 
 by Aubrey Beardsley. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 Boston : Roberts Bros. 
 
 FARR (FLORENCE). 
 
 The Dancing Faun. {See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 FLEMING (GEORGE). 
 
 For Plain Women Only. (5V*Mayfair Set.) 
 
 FLETCHER (J. S.). 
 
 The Wonderful Wapentake. By 'A Son of the 
 Soil.' With 18 full-page Illustrations by J. A. 
 Symington. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net. 
 Chicago : A. C. M c Clurg & Co. 
 
 FREDERIC (HAROLD). 
 
 Mrs. Albert Grundy. {See Mayfair Set.) 
 
 GALE (NORMAN). 
 
 Orchard Songs. With Title-page and Cover Design by J. 
 Illingworth Kay. Fcap. 8vo, Irish Linen. 5s. net. 
 Also a Special Edition limited in number on hand-made paper 
 bound in English vellum. £z, is. net. 
 New York : G. P. Putnam's Sons. 
 
 GARNETT (RICHARD). 
 
 Poems. With Title-page by J. Illingworth Ka^ 
 350 copies. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 Boston : Copeland & Day. 
 
THE PUBLICATIONS OF 
 
 GARNETT (RICHARD). 
 
 Dante, Petrarch, Camoens, cxxiv Sonnets, rendered 
 in English. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. [In preparation. 
 
 GEARY (SIR NEVILL, BART.). 
 
 A Lawyer's Wife: A Novel. Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d. 
 net. [In preparation. 
 
 GOSSE (EDMUND). 
 
 The Letters of Thomas Lovell Beddoes. Now 
 first edited. Pott 8vo. 5s. net. 
 Also 25 copies large paper. 12s. 6d. net. 
 New York : Macmillan & Co. 
 GRAHAME (KENNETH). 
 
 Pagan Papers : A Volume of Essays. With Title- 
 page by Aubrey Beardsley. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net. 
 Chicago : Stone & Kimball. 
 
 [Out of Print at present. 
 The Golden Age. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 Chicago : Stone & Kimball. 
 GREENE (G. A.). 
 
 Italian Lyrists of To-day. Translations in the 
 original metres from about thirty-five living Italian 
 poets, with bibliographical and biographical notes. 
 Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 
 New York : Macmillan & Co. 
 GREENWOOD (FREDERICK). 
 
 Imagination in Dreams. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 New York : Macmillan & Co. 
 HAKE (T. GORDON). 
 
 A Selection from his Poems. Edited by Mrs. 
 Meynell. With a Portrait after D. G. Rossetti, 
 and a Cover Design by Gleeson White. Crown 
 8vo. 5s. net. 
 
 Chicago : Stone & Kimball. 
 HANSSON (LAURA MARHOLM). 
 
 Modern Women : Six Psychological Sketches. [Sophia 
 Kovalevsky, George Egerton, Eleanora Duse, Amalie 
 Skram, Marie Bashkirtseff, A. Edgren Leffler]. Trans- 
 lated from the German by Hermione Ramsden. 
 Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. [In preparation. 
 
 HANSSON (OLA). See Egerton 
 HARLAND (HENRY). 
 
 Grey Roses. (See Keynotes Series.^ 
 
JOHN LANE 
 
 HAYES (ALFRED). 
 
 The Vale of Arden and Other Poems. With a 
 Title-page and a Cover designed by E. H. New. 
 Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 Also 25 copies large paper. 15s. net 
 
 HEINEMANN (WILLIAM) 
 
 The First Step ; A Dramatic Moment. Small 4to. 
 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 HOPPER (NORA). 
 
 Ballads in Prose. With a Title-page and Cover by 
 Walter West. Sq. i6mo. 5s. net. 
 Boston : Roberts Bros. 
 A Volume of Poems. With Title-page designed by 
 Patten Wilson. Cr. 8vo. 5s. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 HOUSMAN (CLEMENCE). 
 
 The Were Wolf. With six full-page Illustrations, Title- 
 page, and Cover Design by Laurence Housman. 
 Sq. i6mo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 HOUSMAN (LAURENCE). 
 
 Green Arras : Poems. With Illustrations by the 
 Author. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. [In preparation. 
 
 IRVING (LAURENCE). 
 
 Godefroi and Yolande : A Play. With three Illus- 
 trations by Aubrey Beardsley. Sm. 4to. 5s. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 TAMES (W. P.). 
 
 Romantic Professions : A Volume of Essays. With 
 Title-page designed by J. Illingworth Kay. 
 Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 
 New York : Macmillan & Co. 
 JOHNSON (LIONEL). 
 
 The Art of Thomas Hardy : Six Essays. With Etched 
 Portrait by Wm. Strang, and Bibliography by John 
 Lane. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net. 
 Also 150 copies, large paper, with proofs of the portrait. £1, is. 
 net. 
 New York : Dodd, Mead & Co. 
 JOHNSON (PAULINE). 
 
 White Wampum : Poems. With a Title-page and Cover 
 Design by E. H. New. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 Boston : Lamson Wolffe & Co. 
 
THE PUBLICATIONS OF 
 
 JOHNSTONE (C. E.). 
 
 Ballads of Boy and Beak. With a Title-page by F. H. 
 Townsend. Sq. 32mo. 2s. net. 
 
 KEYNOTES SERIES. 
 
 Each volume with specially-designed Title-page by Aubrey 
 
 Beardsley. Crown 8vo, cloth. 3s. 6d. net. 
 Vol. 1. Keynotes. By George Egerton. 
 
 [Seventh edition now ready. 
 
 Vol. 11. The Dancing Faun. By Florence Farr. 
 
 Vol. in. Poor Folk. Translated from the Russian of 
 
 F. Dostoievsky by Lena Milm an. With 
 
 a Preface by George Moore. 
 
 Vol. iv. A Child of the Age. By Francis Adams. 
 
 Vol. v. The Great God Pan and The Inmost 
 
 Light. By Arthur Machen. 
 
 [Second edition now ready. 
 Vol. vi. Discords. By George Egerton. 
 
 [Fourth edition now ready. 
 Vol. vii. Prince Zaleski. By M. P. Shiel. 
 Vol. viii. The Woman who Did. By Grant Allen. 
 [Nineteenth edition now ready. 
 Vol. ix. Women's Tragedies. By H. D. Lowry. 
 Vol. x. Grey Roses. By Henry Harland. 
 Vol. xi. At the First Corner and Other Stories. 
 
 By H. B. Marriott Watson. 
 Vol. xii. Monochromes. By Ella D'Arcy. 
 Vol. xiii. AttheRelton Arms. By Evelyn Sharp. 
 Vol. xiv. The Girl from the Farm. By Gertrude 
 Dix. [Second edition now ready. 
 
 Vol. xv. The Mirror of Music. By Stanley V. 
 
 Makower. 
 Vol. xvi. Yellow and White. By W. Carlton 
 
 Dawe. 
 Vol. xvii. The Mountain Lovers. By Fiona 
 
 Macleod. 
 Vol. xviii. The Woman Who Didn't. By Victoria 
 
 Crosse. 
 Vol. xix. The Three Impostors. By Arthur 
 
 Machen. 
 Vol. xx. Nobody's Fault. By Netta Syrett. 
 Vol. xxi. The British Barbarians. By Grant 
 Allen. 
 
JOHN LANE 
 
 KEYNOTES SERIES— continued. 
 
 The following are in rapid preparation. 
 
 Vol. xxii. In Homespun. By E. Nesbit. 
 Vol. xxiii. Platonic Affections. By John Smith. 
 Vol. xxiv. Nets for the Wind. By Una Taylor. 
 Vol. xxv. Orange and Green. By Caldwell 
 Lipsett. 
 Boston : Roberts Bros. 
 
 KING (MAUDE EGERTON). 
 
 Round about a Brighton Coach Office. With 
 Thirty Illustrations by Lucy Kemp Welch. Cr. 
 8vo. 5s. net. 
 
 LANDER (HARRY). 
 
 Weighed in the Balance: A Novel. Crown 8vo. 
 4s. 6d. net. 
 
 LANG (ANDREW). 
 See Stoddart. 
 
 LEATHER (R. K.). 
 
 Verses. 250 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. net. 
 
 Transferred by the Author to the present Publisher. 
 
 LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). 
 
 Prose Fancies. With Portrait of the Author by 
 Wilson Steer. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. Purple 
 cloth. 5s. net. 
 Also a limited large paper edition. 12s- 6d. net. 
 New York : G. P. Putnam's Sons. 
 The Book Bills of Narcissus, An Account rendered 
 by Richard le Gallienne. Third Edition. With 
 a Frontispiece. Crown 8vo. Purple cloth. 3s. 6d. net. 
 Also 50 copies on large paper. 8vo. 10s. 6d. net. 
 New York : G. P. Putnam's Sons. 
 Robert Louis Stevenson, an Elegy, and Other 
 Poems, mainly Personal. With Etched Title-page 
 by D. Y. Cameron. Cr. 8vo. Purple cloth. 4s. 6d. net. 
 
 Also 75 copies on large paper. 8vo. 12s. 6d. net. 
 Boston : Copeland & Day. 
 «» English Poems. Fourth Edition, revised. Crown 8vo. 
 Purple cloth. 4s. 6d. net. 
 Boston : Copeland & Day. 
 
THE PUBLICATIONS OF 
 
 LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). 
 
 Retrospective Reviews, A Literary Log, 1891-1895. 
 2 vols. Crown 8vo. Purple cloth. 9s. net. 
 
 New York : Dodd, Mead & Co. [In preparation. 
 George Meredith: Some Characteristics. With a Biblio- 
 graphy (much enlarged) by John Lane, portrait, etc. 
 Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. Purple cloth. 5s. 6d. net. 
 The Religion of a Literary Man. 5th thousand. 
 Crown 8vo. Purple cloth. 3s. 6d. net. 
 Also a special rubricated edition on hand-made paper. 8vo. 
 10s. 6d. net. 
 
 New York : G. P. Putnam's Sons. 
 LIPSETT (CALDWELL). 
 
 Orange and Green. (See Keynotes Series. ) 
 LOWRY (H. D.). 
 
 Women's Tragedies. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 LUCAS (WINIFRED). 
 
 A Volume of Poems. Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 LYNCH (HANNAH). 
 
 The Great Galeoto and Folly or Saintliness. Two 
 Plays, from the Spanish of Jose Echegaray, with an 
 Introduction. Small 4to. 5s. 6d. net. 
 Boston : Lamson Wolffe & Co. 
 MACHEN (ARTHUR). 
 
 The Great God Pan. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 The Three Impostors. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 MACLEOD (FIONA). 
 
 The Mountain Lovers. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 MAKOWER (STANLEY V.). 
 
 The Mirror of Music. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 MARZIALS (THEO.). 
 
 The Gallery of Pigeons and Other Poems. Post 
 8vo. 4s. 6d. net. [ Very few remain. 
 
 Transferred by the Author to the present Publisher. 
 
 MATHEW (FRANK). 
 
 The Wood of the Brambles : A Novel. With Title- 
 page and Cover design by Patten Wilson. Crown 
 8vo. 4s. 6d. net. [In preparation. 
 
 THE MAYFAIR SET. 
 
 Each volume Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 Vol. 1. The Autobiography of a Boy. Passages 
 selected by his friend G. S. Street. With a 
 Title-page designed by C. W. Furse. 
 
 [Fifth Edition now ready. 
 
JOHN LANE 
 
 THE MAYFAIR SET— continued. 
 
 Vol. ii. The Joneses and the Asterisks. A Story 
 in Monologue. By Gerald Campbell. With 
 a Title-page and Six Illustrations by F. H. 
 Townsend. [Second edition now ready. 
 
 Vol. in. Select Conversations with an Uncle, 
 now extinct. By H. G. Wells. With a 
 Title-page by F. H. Townsend. 
 
 The following are in preparation. 
 Vol. iv. For Plain Women Only. By George 
 
 Fleming. 
 Vol. v. The Feasts of Autolycus : The Diary of 
 a Greedy Woman. Edited by Elizabeth 
 Robins Pennell. 
 Vol. vi. Mrs. Albert Grundy : Observations in 
 Philistia. By Harold Frederic. 
 New York : The Merriam Co. 
 MEREDITH (GEORGE). 
 
 The First Published Portrait of this Author, 
 engraved on the wood by W. Biscombe Gardner, 
 after the painting by G. F. Watts. Proof copies on 
 Japanese vellum, signed by painter and engraver. 
 £1, is. net. 
 MEYNELL (MRS.) (ALICE C. THOMPSON). 
 
 Poems. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. [ Third edition. 
 
 A few of the 50 large paper copies (First Edition) remain, 12s. 6d. net. 
 
 The Rhythm of Life and Other Essays. Fcap. 
 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. [Second edition \ 
 
 A few of the 50 large paper copies (First Edition) remain. 12s. 6d. net. 
 
 See also Hake. 
 MILLER (JOAQUIN). 
 
 The Building of the City Beautiful. Fcap. 8vo. 
 With a Decorated Cover. 5s. net. 
 Chicago : Stone & Kimball. 
 MILMAN (LENA). 
 
 Dostoievsky's Poor Folk. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 MONKHOUSE (ALLAN). 
 
 Books and Plays : A Volume of Essays on Meredith, 
 Borrow, Ibsen, and others. 400 copies. Crown 8vo. 
 5s. net. 
 
 Philadelphia : J. B. Lippincott Co. 
 MOORE (GEORGE). 
 
 See Keynotes Series, Vol. m. 
 
THE PUBLICATIONS OF 
 
 NESBIT (E.). 
 
 A Pomander of Verse. With a Title-page and Cover 
 designed by Laurence Housman. Crown 8vo. 
 5s. net. \In preparation. 
 
 Chicago : A. C. M c Clurg & Co. 
 In Homespun. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 NETTLESHIP (J. T.). 
 
 Robert Browning : Essays and Thoughts. Third 
 Edition. With a Portrait. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net. 
 New York : Chas. Scribner's Sons. 
 
 NOBLE (JAS. ASHCROFT). 
 
 The Sonnet in England and Other Essays. Title- 
 page and Cover Design by Austin Young. 600 
 copies. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 Also 50 copies large paper. 12s. 6d. net. 
 
 O'SHAUGHNESSY (ARTHUR). 
 
 His Life and His Work. With Selections from his 
 Poems. By Louise Chandler Moulton. Por- 
 trait and Cover Design. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net. 
 Chicago : Stone & Kimball. 
 
 OXFORD CHARACTERS. 
 
 A series of lithographed portraits by Will Rothenstein, 
 with text by F. York Powell and others. To be 
 issued monthly in term. Each number will contain 
 two portraits. Parts I. to VII. ready. 200 sets only, 
 folio, wrapper, 5s. net per part ; 25 special large 
 paper sets containing proof impressions of the por- 
 traits signed by the artist, 10s. 6d. net per part. 
 PENNELL (ELIZABETH ROBINS). 
 
 The Feasts of Autolycus. [See Mayfair Set.) 
 PETERS (WM. THEODORE). 
 
 Posies out of Rings. Sq. i6mo. 2s. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 PIERROT'S LIBRARY. 
 
 Each volume with Title-page, Cover Design, and End Papers, 
 designed by Aubrey Beardsley. Sq. i6mo. 
 2S. net. 
 
 The following are in preparation. 
 Vol. 1. Pierrot. By H. de Vere Stacpoole. 
 Vol. 11. My Little Lady Anne. By Mrs. Egerton 
 
 Castle. 
 Vol. in. Death, the Knight, and the Lady. By 
 H. de Verb Stacpoole. 
 
JOHN LANE i 3 
 
 PIERROT'S LIBRARY— continued. 
 
 Vol. iv. Simplicity. By A. T. G. Price. 
 Philadelphia : Henry Altemus. 
 
 PLARR (VICTOR). 
 
 In the Dorian Mood : Poems. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 PRICE (A. T. G.). 
 
 Simplicity. (See Pierrot's Library.) 
 
 RADFORD (DOLLIE). 
 
 Songs and other Verses. With a Title-page by 
 Patten Wilson. Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net. 
 Philadelphia : J. B. Lippincott Co. 
 
 RAMSDEN (HERMIONE). 
 See Hansson. 
 
 RHYS (ERNEST). 
 
 A London Rose and Other Rhymes. With Title-page 
 designed by Selwyn Image. 350 copies. Crown 
 8vo. 5s. net. 
 
 New York : Dodd, Mead & Co. 
 
 RICKETTS (C. S.)and C. H. SHANNON. 
 
 Hero and Leander. By Christopher Marlowe 
 and George Chapman. With Borders, Initials, and 
 Illustrations designed and engraved on the wood by 
 C. S. Ricketts and C H. Shannon. Bound in 
 English vellum and gold. 200 copies only. 35s. net. 
 Boston : Copeland & Day. 
 
 ROBERTSON (JOHN M). 
 
 Essays- towards a Critical Method. (New Series.) 
 Crown 8vo. 5s. net. [In preparation. 
 
 ROBINSON (C. NEWTON). 
 
 The Viol of Love. With Ornaments and Cover design 
 by Laurence Housman. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 Boston : Lamson Wolffe & Co. 
 ST. CYRES (LORD). 
 
 The Little Flowers of St. Francis : A new ren- 
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