The Napoleon of Notting Hill Read online

  CHAPTER II--_The Council of the Provosts_

  The King got up early next morning and came down three steps at a timelike a schoolboy. Having eaten his breakfast hurriedly, but with anappetite, he summoned one of the highest officials of the Palace, andpresented him with a shilling. "Go and buy me," he said, "a shillingpaint-box, which you will get, unless the mists of time mislead me, ina shop at the corner of the second and dirtier street that leads outof Rochester Row. I have already requested the Master of theBuckhounds to provide me with cardboard. It seemed to me (I know notwhy) that it fell within his department."

  The King was happy all that morning with his cardboard and hispaint-box. He was engaged in designing the uniforms and coats-of-armsfor the various municipalities of London. They gave him deep and noinconsiderable thought. He felt the responsibility.

  "I cannot think," he said, "why people should think the names ofplaces in the country more poetical than those in London. Shallowromanticists go away in trains and stop in places calledHugmy-in-the-Hole, or Bumps-on-the-Puddle. And all the time theycould, if they liked, go and live at a place with the dim, divine nameof St. John's Wood. I have never been to St. John's Wood. I dare not.I should be afraid of the innumerable night of fir trees, afraid tocome upon a blood-red cup and the beating of the wings of the Eagle.But all these things can be imagined by remaining reverently in theHarrow train."

  And he thoughtfully retouched his design for the head-dress of thehalberdier of St. John's Wood, a design in black and red, compoundedof a pine tree and the plumage of an eagle. Then he turned to anothercard. "Let us think of milder matters," he said. "Lavender Hill! Couldany of your glebes and combes and all the rest of it produce sofragrant an idea? Think of a mountain of lavender lifting itself inpurple poignancy into the silver skies and filling men's nostrils witha new breath of life--a purple hill of incense. It is true that uponmy few excursions of discovery on a halfpenny tram I have failed tohit the precise spot. But it must be there; some poet called it byits name. There is at least warrant enough for the solemn purpleplumes (following the botanical formation of lavender) which I haverequired people to wear in the neighbourhood of Clapham Junction. Itis so everywhere, after all. I have never been actually toSouthfields, but I suppose a scheme of lemons and olives representtheir austral instincts. I have never visited Parson's Green, or seeneither the Green or the Parson, but surely the pale-green shovel-hatsI have designed must be more or less in the spirit. I must work in thedark and let my instincts guide me. The great love I bear to my peoplewill certainly save me from distressing their noble spirit orviolating their great traditions."

  As he was reflecting in this vein, the door was flung open, and anofficial announced Mr. Barker and Mr. Lambert.

  Mr. Barker and Mr. Lambert were not particularly surprised to find theKing sitting on the floor amid a litter of water-colour sketches. Theywere not particularly surprised because the last time they had calledon him they had found him sitting on the floor, surrounded by a litterof children's bricks, and the time before surrounded by a litter ofwholly unsuccessful attempts to make paper darts. But the trend ofthe royal infant's remarks, uttered from amid this infantile chaos,was not quite the same affair.

  For some time they let him babble on, conscious that his remarks meantnothing. And then a horrible thought began to steal over the mind ofJames Barker. He began to think that the King's remarks did not meannothing.

  "In God's name, Auberon," he suddenly volleyed out, startling thequiet hall, "you don't mean that you are really going to have thesecity guards and city walls and things?"

  "I am, indeed," said the infant, in a quiet voice. "Why shouldn't Ihave them? I have modelled them precisely on your politicalprinciples. Do you know what I've done, Barker? I've behaved like atrue Barkerian. I've ... but perhaps it won't interest you, theaccount of my Barkerian conduct."

  "Oh, go on, go on," cried Barker.

  "The account of my Barkerian conduct," said Auberon, calmly, "seemsnot only to interest, but to alarm you. Yet it is very simple. Itmerely consists in choosing all the provosts under any new scheme bythe same principle by which you have caused the central despot to beappointed. Each provost, of each city, under my charter, is to beappointed by rotation. Sleep, therefore, my Barker, a rosy sleep."

  Barker's wild eyes flared.

  "But, in God's name, don't you see, Quin, that the thing is quitedifferent? In the centre it doesn't matter so much, just because thewhole object of despotism is to get some sort of unity. But if anydamned parish can go to any damned man--"

  "I see your difficulty," said King Auberon, calmly. "You feel thatyour talents may be neglected. Listen!" And he rose with immensemagnificence. "I solemnly give to my liege subject, James Barker, myspecial and splendid favour, the right to override the obvious text ofthe Charter of the Cities, and to be, in his own right, Lord HighProvost of South Kensington. And now, my dear James, you are allright. Good day."

  "But--" began Barker.

  "The audience is at an end, Provost," said the King, smiling.

  How far his confidence was justified, it would require a somewhatcomplicated description to explain. "The Great Proclamation of theCharter of the Free Cities" appeared in due course that morning, andwas posted by bill-stickers all over the front of the Palace, the Kingassisting them with animated directions, and standing in the middle ofthe road, with his head on one side, contemplating the result. It wasalso carried up and down the main thoroughfares by sandwichmen, andthe King was, with difficulty, restrained from going out in thatcapacity himself, being, in fact, found by the Groom of the Stole andCaptain Bowler, struggling between two boards. His excitement hadpositively to be quieted like that of a child.

  The reception which the Charter of the Cities met at the hands of thepublic may mildly be described as mixed. In one sense it was popularenough. In many happy homes that remarkable legal document was readaloud on winter evenings amid uproarious appreciation, when everythinghad been learnt by heart from that quaint but immortal old classic,Mr. W. W. Jacobs. But when it was discovered that the King had everyintention of seriously requiring the provisions to be carried out, ofinsisting that the grotesque cities, with their tocsins and cityguards, should really come into existence, things were thrown into afar angrier confusion. Londoners had no particular objection to theKing making a fool of himself, but they became indignant when itbecame evident that he wished to make fools of them; and protestsbegan to come in.

  The Lord High Provost of the Good and Valiant City of West Kensingtonwrote a respectful letter to the King, explaining that upon Stateoccasions it would, of course, be his duty to observe what formalitiesthe King thought proper, but that it was really awkward for a decenthouseholder not to be allowed to go out and put a post-card in apillar-box without being escorted by five heralds, who announced, withformal cries and blasts of a trumpet, that the Lord High Provostdesired to catch the post.

  The Lord High Provost of North Kensington, who was a prosperousdraper, wrote a curt business note, like a man complaining of arailway company, stating that definite inconvenience had been causedhim by the presence of the halberdiers, whom he had to take with himeverywhere. When attempting to catch an omnibus to the City, he hadfound that while room could have been found for himself, thehalberdiers had a difficulty in getting in to the vehicle--believehim, theirs faithfully.

  The Lord High Provost of Shepherd's Bush said his wife did not likemen hanging round the kitchen.

  The King was always delighted to listen to these grievances,delivering lenient and kingly answers, but as he always insisted, asthe absolute _sine qua non_, that verbal complaints should bepresented to him with the fullest pomp of trumpets, plumes, andhalberds, only a few resolute spirits were prepared to run thegauntlet of the little boys in the street.

  Among these, however, was prominent the abrupt and business-likegentleman who ruled North Kensington. And he had before long, occasionto interview the King about a matter wider and even more urgent thanthe problem of
the halberdiers and the omnibus. This was the greatquestion which then and for long afterwards brought a stir to theblood and a flush to the cheek of all the speculative builders andhouse agents from Shepherd's Bush to the Marble Arch, and fromWestbourne Grove to High Street, Kensington. I refer to the greataffair of the improvements in Notting Hill. The scheme was conductedchiefly by Mr. Buck, the abrupt North Kensington magnate, and by Mr.Wilson, the Provost of Bayswater. A great thoroughfare was to bedriven through three boroughs, through West Kensington, NorthKensington and Notting Hill, opening at one end into HammersmithBroadway, and at the other into Westbourne Grove. The negotiations,buyings, sellings, bullying and bribing took ten years, and by the endof it Buck, who had conducted them almost single-handed, had provedhimself a man of the strongest type of material energy and materialdiplomacy. And just as his splendid patience and more splendidimpatience had finally brought him victory, when workmen were alreadydemolishing houses and walls along the great line from Hammersmith, asudden obstacle appeared that had neither been reckoned with nordreamed of, a small and strange obstacle, which, like a speck of gritin a great machine, jarred the whole vast scheme and brought it to astand-still, and Mr. Buck, the draper, getting with great impatienceinto his robes of office and summoning with indescribable disgust hishalberdiers, hurried over to speak to the King.

  Ten years had not tired the King of his joke. There were still newfaces to be seen looking out from the symbolic head-gears he haddesigned, gazing at him from amid the pastoral ribbons of Shepherd'sBush or from under the sombre hoods of the Blackfriars Road. And theinterview which was promised him with the Provost of North Kensingtonhe anticipated with a particular pleasure, for "he never reallyenjoyed," he said, "the full richness of the mediaeval garments unlessthe people compelled to wear them were very angry and business-like."

  Mr. Buck was both. At the King's command the door of theaudience-chamber was thrown open and a herald appeared in the purplecolours of Mr. Buck's commonwealth emblazoned with the Great Eaglewhich the King had attributed to North Kensington, in vaguereminiscence of Russia, for he always insisted on regarding NorthKensington as some kind of semi-arctic neighbourhood. The heraldannounced that the Provost of that city desired audience of the King.

  "From North Kensington?" said the King, rising graciously. "What newsdoes he bring from that land of high hills and fair women? He iswelcome."

  The herald advanced into the room, and was immediately followed bytwelve guards clad in purple, who were followed by an attendantbearing the banner of the Eagle, who was followed by another attendantbearing the keys of the city upon a cushion, who was followed by Mr.Buck in a great hurry. When the King saw his strong animal face andsteady eyes, he knew that he was in the presence of a great man ofbusiness, and consciously braced himself.

  "Well, well," he said, cheerily coming down two or three steps from adais, and striking his hands lightly together, "I am glad to see you.Never mind, never mind. Ceremony is not everything."

  "I don't understand your Majesty," said the Provost, stolidly.

  "Never mind, never mind," said the King, gaily. "A knowledge of Courtsis by no means an unmixed merit; you will do it next time, no doubt."

  The man of business looked at him sulkily from under his black browsand said again without show of civility--

  "I don't follow you."

  "Well, well," replied the King, good-naturedly, "if you ask me I don'tmind telling you, not because I myself attach any importance to theseforms in comparison with the Honest Heart. But it is usual--it isusual--that is all, for a man when entering the presence of Royalty tolie down on his back on the floor and elevating his feet towardsheaven (as the source of Royal power) to say three times 'Monarchicalinstitutions improve the manners.' But there, there--such pomp is farless truly dignified than your simple kindliness."

  The Provost's face was red with anger, and he maintained silence.

  "And now," said the King, lightly, and with the exasperating air of aman softening a snub; "what delightful weather we are having! You mustfind your official robes warm, my Lord. I designed them for your ownsnow-bound land."

  "They're as hot as hell," said Buck, briefly. "I came here onbusiness."

  "Right," said the King, nodding a great number of times with quiteunmeaning solemnity; "right, right, right. Business, as the sad gladold Persian said, is business. Be punctual. Rise early. Point the pento the shoulder. Point the pen to the shoulder, for you know notwhence you come nor why. Point the pen to the shoulder, for you knownot when you go nor where."

  The Provost pulled a number of papers from his pocket and savagelyflapped them open.

  "Your Majesty may have heard," he began, sarcastically, "ofHammersmith and a thing called a road. We have been at work ten yearsbuying property and getting compulsory powers and fixing compensationand squaring vested interests, and now at the very end, the thing isstopped by a fool. Old Prout, who was Provost of Notting Hill, was abusiness man, and we dealt with him quite satisfactorily. But he'sdead, and the cursed lot has fallen on a young man named Wayne, who'sup to some game that's perfectly incomprehensible to me. We offer hima better price than any one ever dreamt of, but he won't let the roadgo through. And his Council seems to be backing him up. It's midsummermadness."

  The King, who was rather inattentively engaged in drawing theProvost's nose with his finger on the window-pane, heard the last twowords.

  "What a perfect phrase that is!" he said. "'Midsummer madness'!"

  "The chief point is," continued Buck, doggedly, "that the only partthat is really in question is one dirty little street--Pump Street--astreet with nothing in it but a public-house and a penny toy-shop, andthat sort of thing. All the respectable people of Notting Hill haveaccepted our compensation. But the ineffable Wayne sticks out overPump Street. Says he's Provost of Notting Hill. He's only Provost ofPump Street."

  "A good thought," replied Auberon. "I like the idea of a Provost ofPump Street. Why not let him alone?"

  "And drop the whole scheme!" cried out Buck, with a burst of brutalspirit. "I'll be damned if we do. No. I'm for sending in workmen topull down without more ado."

  "Strike for the purple Eagle!" cried the King, hot with historicalassociations.

  "I'll tell you what it is," said Buck, losing his temper altogether."If your Majesty would spend less time in insulting respectable peoplewith your silly coats-of-arms, and more time over the business of thenation--"

  The King's brow wrinkled thoughtfully.

  "The situation is not bad," he said; "the haughty burgher defying theKing in his own Palace. The burgher's head should be thrown back andthe right arm extended; the left may be lifted towards Heaven, butthat I leave to your private religious sentiment. I have sunk back inthis chair, stricken with baffled fury. Now again, please."

  Buck's mouth opened like a dog's, but before he could speak anotherherald appeared at the door.

  "The Lord High Provost of Bayswater," he said, "desires an audience."

  "Admit him," said Auberon. "This _is_ a jolly day."

  The halberdiers of Bayswater wore a prevailing uniform of green, andthe banner which was borne after them was emblazoned with a greenbay-wreath on a silver ground, which the King, in the course of hisresearches into a bottle of champagne, had discovered to be the quaintold punning cognisance of the city of Bayswater.

  "It is a fit symbol," said the King, "your immortal bay-wreath. Fulhammay seek for wealth, and Kensington for art, but when did the men ofBayswater care for anything but glory?"

  Immediately behind the banner, and almost completely hidden by it,came the Provost of the city, clad in splendid robes of green andsilver with white fur and crowned with bay. He was an anxious littleman with red whiskers, originally the owner of a small sweet-stuffshop.

  "Our cousin of Bayswater," said the King, with delight; "what can weget for you?" The King was heard also distinctly to mutter, "Coldbeef, cold 'am, cold chicken," his voice dying into silence.

  "I came to see your Maj
esty," said the Provost of Bayswater, whosename was Wilson, "about that Pump Street affair."

  "I have just been explaining the situation to his Majesty," said Buck,curtly, but recovering his civility. "I am not sure, however, whetherhis Majesty knows how much the matter affects you also."

  "It affects both of us, yer see, yer Majesty, as this scheme wasstarted for the benefit of the 'ole neighbourhood. So Mr. Buck and mewe put our 'eads together--"

  The King clasped his hands.

  "Perfect!" he cried in ecstacy. "Your heads together! I can see it!Can't you do it now? Oh, do do it now!"

  A smothered sound of amusement appeared to come from the halberdiers,but Mr. Wilson looked merely bewildered, and Mr. Buck merelydiabolical.

  "I suppose," he began bitterly, but the King stopped him with agesture of listening.

  "Hush," he said, "I think I hear some one else coming. I seem to hearanother herald, a herald whose boots creak."

  As he spoke another voice cried from the doorway--

  "The Lord High Provost of South Kensington desires an audience."

  "The Lord High Provost of South Kensington!" cried the King. "Why,that is my old friend James Barker! What does he want, I wonder? Ifthe tender memories of friendship have not grown misty, I fancy hewants something for himself, probably money. How are you, James?"

  Mr. James Barker, whose guard was attired in a splendid blue, andwhose blue banner bore three gold birds singing, rushed, in his blueand gold robes, into the room. Despite the absurdity of all thedresses, it was worth noticing that he carried his better than therest, though he loathed it as much as any of them. He was a gentleman,and a very handsome man, and could not help unconsciously wearing evenhis preposterous robe as it should be worn. He spoke quickly, but withthe slight initial hesitation he always showed in addressing the King,due to suppressing an impulse to address his old acquaintance in theold way.

  "Your Majesty--pray forgive my intrusion. It is about this man in PumpStreet. I see you have Buck here, so you have probably heard what isnecessary. I--"

  The King swept his eyes anxiously round the room, which now blazedwith the trappings of three cities.

  "There is one thing necessary," he said.

  "Yes, your Majesty," said Mr. Wilson of Bayswater, a little eagerly."What does yer Majesty think necessary?"

  "A little yellow," said the King, firmly. "Send for the Provost ofWest Kensington."

  Amid some materialistic protests he was sent for, and arrived with hisyellow halberdiers in his saffron robes, wiping his forehead with ahandkerchief. After all, placed as he was, he had a good deal to sayon the matter.

  "Welcome, West Kensington," said the King. "I have long wished to seeyou touching that matter of the Hammersmith land to the south of theRowton House. Will you hold it feudally from the Provost ofHammersmith? You have only to do him homage by putting his left armin his overcoat and then marching home in state."

  "No, your Majesty; I'd rather not," said the Provost of WestKensington, who was a pale young man with a fair moustache andwhiskers, who kept a successful dairy.

  The King struck him heartily on the shoulder.

  "The fierce old West Kensington blood," he said; "they are not wisewho ask it to do homage."

  Then he glanced again round the room. It was full of a roaring sunsetof colour, and he enjoyed the sight, possible to so few artists--thesight of his own dreams moving and blazing before him. In theforeground the yellow of the West Kensington liveries outlined itselfagainst the dark blue draperies of South Kensington. The crests ofthese again brightened suddenly into green as the almost woodlandcolours of Bayswater rose behind them. And over and behind all, thegreat purple plumes of North Kensington showed almost funereal andblack.

  "There is something lacking," said the King--"something lacking. Whatcan--Ah, there it is! there it is!"

  In the doorway had appeared a new figure, a herald in flaming red. Hecried in a loud but unemotional voice--

  "The Lord High Provost of Notting Hill desires an audience."