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Upside down he stills hangs over Europe, and millions move and breathe only in the life of his Church." King Auberon got up absently. "There is something in what you say," he said. "You seem to have been thinking, young man." "Only feeling, sire," answered the Provost.
"More sportsmanlike," said Buck, grimly, "but a great deal less humane. We are not artists, and streets purple with gore do not catch our eye in the right way." "It is pitiful," said Auberon. "With five or six times their number, there will be no fight at all." "I hope not," said Buck, rising and adjusting his gloves. "We desire no fight, your Majesty. We are peaceable business men."
"I wonder," said Barker, thoughtfully, "if I might speak freely to your Majesty?" "Well," said Auberon, "it's rather late in the day to start speaking respectfully. Flap away, my bird of freedom." "Well, your Majesty," replied Barker, lowering his voice, "I don't think it will be so long to the next war." "What do you mean?" asked Auberon.
"I only know I'd rather you stood on your silly head, than talked so much." "Auberon! for goodness' sake ..." cried Barker, springing forward; but he was too late. Faces from all the benches and avenues were turned in their direction. Groups stopped and small crowds collected; and the sharp sunlight picked out the whole scene in blue, green and black, like a picture in a child's toy-book.
What was my word? Auberon. You are sovereignly unjust to native talent among the actors I leave the dramatists alone. There are many who do excellent, independent work; strive for perfection, completeness in short, the things we want. Dorriforth. I am not in the least unjust to them I only pity them: they have so little to put sous la dent.
"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen," he said, "I will step out for a moment into the air." "I'm so sorry, Auberon," said Lambert, good-naturedly; "do you feel bad?" "Not bad exactly," said Auberon, with self-restraint; "rather good, if anything. Strangely and richly good. The fact is, I want to reflect a little on those beautiful words that have just been uttered.
You rail against scenery, but what could belong more to the order of things extraneous to what you perhaps a little priggishly call the delicacy of personal art than the arrangement you are speaking of? Dorriforth. I was talking of the abuse of scenery. I never said anything so idiotic as that the effect isn't helped by an appeal to the eye and an adumbration of the whereabouts. Auberon.
"It seems to me," said Auberon, "that the tradition of ten centuries is being broken, and the House of Barker is rebelling against the Crown of England. "What I can't understand," said Barker flinging up his fingers with a feverish American movement, "is why you don't care about anything else but your games."
Then you didn't sit spellbound by the little history of the Due d'Enghien? Florentia. I sat yawning. Heavens, what a piece! Amicia. Upon my word I liked it. The last act made me cry. Dorriforth. Wasn't it a curious, interesting specimen of some of the things that are worth trying: an attempt to sail closer to the real? Auberon. How much closer? The fiftieth part of a point it isn't calculable.
Practically Auberon Herbert's distinction of terms is merely playing with words; for the "voluntary State," which I can leave at any moment, from which I can withdraw my financial support if I do not approve of its actions, is Proudhon's federation of groups in its strictest form; perhaps it is even the practical outcome of Stirner's Union of Egoists; at any rate Herbert, like Stirner, prefers the unconditional acceptance of the principle of laisser faire, without reaching it, like Proudhon, by means of the thorny circumlocution of a complicated organisation of work.
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