SOCIETY IN 1874.
THE pessimist view, whether as to politics or society, is probably in an immense majority of cases the erroneons,view. English- men are very fond of it, especially as regards their own affairs, those of France, and those of America—that is, the affairs of the three countries they know best, or are most keenly interested in—but their fondness is the result rather of a certain sombre- ness of imagination than of intellectual conviction. They enjoy the prospect of public ruin as they enjoy day- dreams about their individual prosperity. The public Mill does not arrive, any more than the realisation of the Alnaschar dream, but the pessimist view nevertheless loses but little of its perennial attraction. It would be possible just now, for instance, to draw a very sad-coloured picture of the condition of society in London,—of all society, that is, not merely of " Society " technically so called. The latter, always more or less frivolous, had in 1874, as the historian of the future may write, given itself-with an almost insane avidity to the pursuit of an unattainable excitement. Not, perhaps, so vicious as the society of the Regency, and certainly not so cynical, it was, nevertheless, much feebler and less sanguine, more impressed with that weariness of time, that indifference to healthy interests which have always been the curses of safe pluto- cracies. Enormously expanded in volume, inordinately rich, ser- rated by deep caste fissures, it had split into coteries, each en- deavouring in its own more or less frivolous way to allay in excitement the universal feeling of unrest. Society had no dignity, no calm, and very little content. The better and braver of the jeunesse dor& wearied of country sport, and sought in every part of the globe for fiercer and deeper ex- citement, which yet was always of the same unintellectual kind. They ranged the world in search of "grand shots," traversed both hemispheres to see if barbarism were attractive, or searched through mankind to discern if anywhere a profitable speculation might be found. One great noble built a palace in an African desert, to enjoy its air and freedom ; another sailed through the summer seas, only to tell society bow impudent the Sirens of their islands were ; while a third gave fortunes for formless bits of china an accident might destroy. A new game began to interest the rich risore than a new law, and one in particular, imported from the East, and described in "The Arabian Nights," roused as much enthusiasm as if those who pursued it believed, like the doctors of Bagdad, that the mallets with which the game was pursued could have medicated handles. Falconry, the cruellest and most dangerous of sports, regained the favour it held before the idea that an animal could suffer had entered the British mind. The safe slaughter of pigeons became a national sport, and skill in it excited the applause of women. Nothing but the determination of the magistrates prevented a similar revival of cock-fighting. Racing became from an amusement a pursuit, cricket from a healthy game became a profession, the Universities publicly contended with each other for distinction in billiards. Within the houses of the rich extravagance rose to a mania, yet was accompanied by a previously unknown thirst for gain. Every noble became a trades- man. Rents were raised to the highest figure, and their preser- vation at that figure became such a desire, that the slightest event which menaced them—a strike, for example, among the labourers
of a few villages—was treated as a public calamity ; and while for- tunes were lavished on furniture,sthe money to rehouse the people whose civilisation had outgrown their dwellings was actually asked from the State. All this while, Art scarcely advanced, ennui did not decrease, the multitude of spendthrifts were none the less sad. A strange form of weariness—a weariness which was not satiety, yet prompted men, like satiety, to nothing but imbecile repetition of the same hunts for excitement, some- times assuming almost lunatic forms — had taken posses- sion of the prosperous. The millionaire thought he enjoyed flowers because he filled a ball-room with them at an expense perceptible even to him, and earth was ransacked for new things of beauty,—but by traders, not the rich. The latter only indolently bought. Alone among the intellectual faculties curiosity became intensified, and the rich, tired of luxury as of politics, sought in efforts to search beyond the grave, in half- contemptuous examinations of new doctrines, in a gloomily languid study of science, the distraction which daily life could not afford.
A worse feature yet is noted in this strange period. Wealthy society has always been ennuyed, and usually feeble in its efforts to get rid of ennui, but the mass of mankind, bound to labour for its bread, has usually, since Rome fell, looked on such efforts with a dislike sometimes, as in France, bitter to slaying ; sometimes as in Italy, tolerantly forgiving ; sometimes, as in Germany and England, stolidly apathetic. But in 1874, it seems almost certain that the masses liked and enjoyed the exhibitions of this rage for consuming time. If anything is certain, it is certain that an unpopular ephemeral literature could not circulate, and that a literature devoted in great part to the verbal photographing of frivolities did circulate immensely; that the most popular journals found it pay to record the feats accomplished at polo, at cricket, at billiards as they recorded events ; to devote columns upon columns to the merits of horses ; to write elaborate descriptions of artificial skating-grounds and the movements performed upon them ; to publish essays raising mere games into occupations ; to exclude Parliamentary debates for lists of persons present at garden parties,—lists meaning nothing to their readers, not even instruction in social ways, but only conveying to the outside world some faint aroma of the grandiose ceremonial of society. A habit of observing the idle grew even on the workers, who were, for other reasons, as sad as the idle, and who vainly sought in keen scrutiny of pastimes, the distractions with which those to whom life was pastime were helping themselves to endure the insupportable burden of wealth, leisure, and opportunity. The overladen bees flagged under their load of honey, which they could scarcely taste, yet were compelled, as by a destiny, to accumulate ; and the bees not yet laden, found a consolation in watching the efforts of the successful to enjoy without the first condition of enjoy- ment,—joyousness.
Another strange symptom marked that period, which in its infinite variety—variety with no connecting link save a universal weariness—so baffles analysis, viz., the rise of an intense interest in ecclesiastical contentions. No new faith rose within this period. No new dogma can be said to have been promulgated, influencing Protestant thought to our own time. No mighty divine arose to affect half the population. Under the surface, dimly perceptible to one or two men, who hated it as they watched, might be noticed one or two signs of that vast revival of the religious spirit among the mass which in a few more years produced consequences so permanent ; but as yet society, and those who watched society, cared only for ecclesiasticisms, for the external symbols of internal half-beliefs. But they did care about then. No ceremonial, or absence of ceremonial, was too trumpery to excite fierce contest, no Bill affecting the Churches too colourless to rend Ministries, no proposal too cautious to escape instant drowning in vitriolic acid. The literature of Ritual filled shops, the literature of Church organisation libraries. The periodicals, written mainly by Sadducees, were hot with discussions on phy]acteries. The absolute Minister for India declared publicly that be could gain from the heads of society a hearing for his plans for benefiting a fifth of the human race, only by inserting his Bills between other measures for regulating the details in the organisation of Churches. The House of Commons confessed that it only kept aloof from the subject, lest its discussion should break up the calm of Parliamentary deliberation, or strain the power of Government to enforce its laws. This disposition, at first sight so opposed to frivolity, has from the age of Justinian frequently marked a people given up for the moment to frivolity, and probably proceeds from the same cause,—a deep dissatisfaction with life which has not yet been ripened, either by new leaders or new circumstances, into a determination that there shall be a change.
What the writer of the future will be obliged to assign as the cause of the change we do not know, though it may possibly be a serious war ; but we do know that this picture, though, of course, one-sided to a degree, intentionally one-sided, is true. We 'do not think it will remain true for any length of time, for the unrest is too conscious, and men who feel it are too ready to renounce frivolity for work, which, wise or unwise, shall at least be real; but it exists now, and we confess we are among those who regard it as a rather contemptible phase in English life. We do not quite go the length of the Bishop of Manchester in some recent denun- ciations, because, as we think, many of the phenomena he mentions are temporary, and many more which are permanent have been brought by accident into a ridiculous prominence on the surface of the national life ; but still we cannot deny that society, and indeed the country, is in rather a contemptible mood. The people seems to feel itself in a sort of theatre, where it has nothing to do but sit and watch with languid amusement the efforts of amateur actors to amuse, not so much their audience as themselves ; and is inclined to ask, as Orientals do, why the richer classes do not pay people to go through all that for them. We do not believe the interest in reading about matches and sports and parties and sales of bric-a-brac is genuine, except when connected with betting, and know perfectly well that one breath of cold air will clear off all that tepid and malarious vapour, but still it would be all the better if the breeze would come. Luxury and waste and frivolity may be all unimportant, as the economists say, and certainly their importance may be easily exaggerated, but incessant description of them all, as if they were evidences of civilisation, instead of mere efflorescences of wealth in the hands of people with nothing to do, and no idea of doing it in dignified calm, is as tiring to the observer as a constant watching of gold-fish. Those little carp are shiny, too, and move quickly, and keep very carefully within their pretty crystal globes, and are altogether of the gilded kind; but watching them through a wet day is not a beneficial occupation, not half so recuperative as sleep, nor one-tenth so distracting as work. It is to this, however, that the Metropolis has for this summer given itself up, with a half-amused, half-wearied languor, which, in spite of all symptoms, cannot last. The English have many capacities, but lotus-eating for any length of time is beyond them, and whenever they try the occupation, they are sure to awake morose.
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