Author: Arthur Machen
Category: Fiction
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THE DECORATIVE IMAGINATION.
In the course of a few weeks Dyson became accustomed, to the constantincursions of the ingenious Mr. Burton, who showed himself ready to dropin at all hours, not averse to refreshment, and a profound guide in thecomplicated questions of life. His visits at once terrified anddelighted Dyson, who could no longer seat himself at his bureau securefrom interruption while he embarked on literary undertakings, each oneof which was to be a masterpiece. On the other hand, it was a vividpleasure to be confronted with views so highly original; and if here andthere Mr. Burton's reasonings seemed tinged with fallacy, yet Dysonfreely yielded to the joy of strangeness, and never failed to give hisvisitor a frank and hearty welcome. Mr. Burton's first inquiry wasalways after the unprincipled Robbins, and he seemed to feel the stingsof disappointment when Dyson told him that he had failed to meet thisoutrage on all morality, as Burton styled him, vowing that sooner orlater he would take vengeance on such a shameless betrayal of trust.
One evening they had sat together for some time discussing thepossibility of laying down for this present generation and our modernand intensely complicated order of society, some rules of socialdiplomacy, such as Lord Bacon gave to the courtiers of King James I. "Itis a book to make," said Mr. Burton, "but who is there capable of makingit? I tell you people are longing for such a book; it would bringfortune to its publisher. Bacon's Essays are exquisite, but they havenow no practical application; the modern strategist can find but littleuse in a treatise 'De Re Militari,' written by a Florentine in thefifteenth century. Scarcely more dissimilar are the social conditions ofBacon's time and our own; the rules that he lays down so exquisitely forthe courtier and diplomatist of James the First's age will avail uslittle in the rough-and-tumble struggle of to-day. Life, I am afraid,has deteriorated; it gives little play for fine strokes such as formerlyadvanced men in the state. Except in such businesses as mine, where achance does occur now and then, it has all become, as I said, an affairof rough and tumble; men still desire to attain, it is true, but what istheir _moyen de parvenir_? A mere imitation, and not a gracious one, ofthe arts of the soap-vender and the proprietor of baking powder. When Ithink of these things, my dear Dyson, I confess that I am tempted todespair of my century."
"You are too pessimistic, my dear fellow; you set up too high astandard. Certainly, I agree with you that the times are decadent inmany ways. I admit a general appearance of squalor; it needs muchphilosophy to extract the wonderful and the beautiful from the CromwellRoad or the Nonconformist conscience. Australian wines of fine Burgundycharacter, the novels alike of the old women and the new women, popularjournalism,--these things indeed make for depression. Yet we have ouradvantages. Before us is unfolded the greatest spectacle the world hasever seen,--the mystery of the innumerable unending streets, the strangeadventures that must infallibly arise from so complicated a press ofinterests. Nay, I will say that he who has stood in the ways of a suburband has seen them stretch before him all shining, void, and desolate atnoonday, has not lived in vain. Such a sight is in reality morewonderful than any perspective of Bagdad or Grand Cairo. And, to set onone side the entertaining history of the gem which you told me, surelyyou must have had many singular adventures in your own career?"
"Perhaps not so many as you would think; a good deal--the largerpart--of my business has been as commonplace as linen-drapery. But ofcourse things happen now and then. It is ten years since I haveestablished my agency, and I suppose that a house and estate agent whohad been in trade for an equal time could tell you some queer stories.But I must give you a sample of my experiences some night.
"Why not to-night?" said Dyson. "This evening seems to me admirablyadapted for an odd chapter. Look out into the street; you can catch aview of it, if you crane your neck from that chair of yours. Is it notcharming? The double row of lamps growing closer in the distance, thehazy outline of the plane-tree in the square, and the lights of thehansoms swimming to and fro, gliding and vanishing; and above, the skyall clear and blue and shining. Come, let us have one of your _centnouvelles nouvelles_."
"My dear Dyson, I am delighted to amuse you." With these words Mr.Burton prefaced the