“Are you there?” inquired Victor de Laumel of Lionel through the telephone, a few days before the opening of the palace.

“Is that you, Victor?”

“Yes; we are all very much amused over here, and wonder if you are really in earnest about your Palace of Happiness?”

“Nothing more serious, my dear boy. It will be the crowning of all our social reforms.”

“Bah, mon cher! you have lost all your sense of humour! When I think of our diners fins, and our pleasant chats together, I cannot understand your making such fools of yourselves—especially over a mere trifle.”

“Trifle, my dear Victor! This is the most important event in our history, and the results to which this trifle will lead are colossal. But you will one day perhaps be induced to imitate us.”

“Nonsense, my dear man; we are too eclectic to return to paradisaical fashions. Rabelais, with his boisterous jovialty, and sound doctrine of good health united to good spirits, is more to the taste of a race which to this day, in some provinces, speaks his sixteenth-century vernacular, and inherits his practical views of life.”

“Ah! but we have read Carlyle, my dear Victor, and seen through the hollowness of our former social fabric.”

“Mon cher ami, had you carefully read Montaigne, you would know that the great essayist had hurled a stone at the tawdriness of our clothes-screens long before the Recluse of Cheyne Walk. But I forget that you take this kind of thing to heart! You are a moral race—oh! a very moral one—whatever you may do.”

“I think, dear Victor, you will be impressed with our national reforms when you are thoroughly acquainted with them.”

“Well, well, what is the upshot of all this? I can quite realise the scientific import of the Seer’s discovery; though, for my own part, I should very much object to seeing the inner soul of a Loubet or the secret motives of a Combes. But I can imagine that in business dealings, or in matrimonial transactions, it might be of great advantage to be able to investigate the motives of financiers or of mothers-in-law. Still, I want to know what part you, the English aristocracy, are playing in this burlesque?”

“We are the leaders in this great bloodless revolution; and we have, owing to our self-abnegation, saved the masses, and rebuilt our social edifice on a stronger basis than before.”

“My poor Lionel, that’s been done long ago! Our revolution of 1789 was nothing but a noble renunciation of all prerogatives and privileges on the part of our noblesse; still, the outrages of 1793 very soon showed how futile were the attempts at reform—from within.”

“Different countries have different customs, dear Victor, and you must never judge our self-controlled commonwealth from the standpoint of your bloodthirsty democracy. It is not so much that our aristocracy is unlike yours, but that your lower classes are utterly different from our own.”

“Anyhow, dear Lionel, I have made up my mind to go over and see things for myself.”

“Ah, that’s a good fellow! Come along, and we will do all that lies in our power to make you happy. You won’t be bored, I declare; and your visit over here will at all events furnish you with some topics of conversation on your return to Paris.”

And Victor de Laumel arrived next day in the afternoon, after a lovely crossing in his yacht (for the Calais-Dover had ceased running, and he was the first foreigner who had landed in England since the storm). He stood on the Charing Cross platform as God made him; it having occurred to him that the Londoners might be offended at his Parisian outfit and at his disregarding the new fashion of denudation. On the day following his arrival, his first visit was to Montagu Vane; but on his arrival at his house, he found to his great surprise that it had been pulled down. He inquired after the little dilettante from several of his friends, on his way to Selby House, but quite in vain, for no one could tell him anything; and he thought that London Society had certainly not improved, if it could forget the existence of its arbiter in all matters of art. He did not, however, ponder long over such questions; he had come over to judge impartially the London reforms, and he was not going to allow his prejudices to influence him; so he made the most of his short stay in the capital, seeing everything, escorted either by Lionel or by Sinclair, who, by the way, seemed to him to have become dreadfully dull. His rambles with Danford rather amused him, although he saw no novelty in the admission to fashionable households of these little truth-tellers, for this had been done before in mediÆval times; but what baffled him was the good-fellowship with which the Upper Ten appeared to treat these little buffoons. He dined at the dining-halls, attended meetings at the ex-clubs in Pall Mall, went to tournaments, plays, even drove in a chariot with Tom Hornsby, and above all admired Gwendolen beyond expression. But, after he had done these things and thrown himself body and soul in the spirit of the new civilisation, he came to the conclusion that it was all very well for a race which took things au serieux, but that it would never do for Parisians; and he could not for one instant believe that on the borders of the Seine political rancour could ever be uprooted and replaced by love and charity, because one man had seen another in nature’s garb.

“Ah! quelle plaisanterie, mon cher!” Victor would ejaculate, when his friend highly extolled the beauties of their Paradise Regained.

“But how on earth,” exclaimed Lionel, one day, as he and Victor walked along Bond Street together, “are you able to recognise everyone as you do? It took Society a very long time before it could distinguish a Duke from a hall porter!”

“Que vous Êtes drÔle, mon pauvre ami! I never found any difficulty! You see, we French people are not lacking in perspicacity, and although we excel in all matters of elegance, and attach perhaps more importance to our appearance than your nation ever did, yet we never lose sight of the person’s individuality hidden beneath the woven tissues.”

“As you will not take me to see your wonderful palace,” said Victor to Lionel the day before the opening, “you might at least tell me where it is.”

“We chose Regent’s Park as a suitable place, and built in the centre of it a monumental edifice, not unlike our old Crystal Palace, though twice as large, and covered with a glass dome. Round the top of the hall runs a gallery out of which doors open into rooms of about twenty feet square. In these private laboratories scientific experiments can be developed by anyone who brings an invention to the Committee of Public Reforms.”

“What anarchy, my dear Lionel; I cannot imagine how such a plan would work at our Sorbonne!”

“Ah! but you are an academical country!” replied Lord Somerville. “You would be astonished at the number of young scientists who are coming to the fore. Ever since education ceased to be compulsory, personal initiative has become more frequent amongst men of the younger generation who are eager to play a useful part on our world stage. After the scientific discovery has been thoroughly tested in a private laboratory, and its results declared to be satisfactory by the inventor, it is publicly tried in the central hall before all who can comfortably assemble there, and repeated each day, until all Londoners, together with representatives of every town in England, have judged whether or no the discovery is like to add happiness to humanity.”

“I suppose it was you who chose the name by which the palace is called?” inquired Victor.

“I suggested it, but there was a long discussion about that. The clergy, desirous to immortalise their union with other churches, were anxious to call it the Palace of Scientific Religion; the bigwigs of the old War Office, who have become more pacific than the Little Englanders of our past civilisation, insisted that the place should be named the Palace of Bloodless Victories.”

“Then what did you do to bring them round to your way of thinking?”

“My dear man, I did not bring them round at all; they gradually came round of their own accord, when they realised that happiness was our aim, and that all our efforts were but means to that end.”

“Strange people you are,” thoughtfully remarked Victor.

“Never has man been so thoroughly disciplined, my dear Victor, or so free to develop his faculties to the utmost, as since he voluntarily gave up the attempt to dominate his fellows.”

“All the positivists, past and present, have preached that felonious doctrine,” said Victor, shrugging his shoulders. “Even your great Herbert Spencer—who was what one may call a pessimistic reformer—owned that before man could realise a perfect state of freedom, he would have to master the passions which give a bias to all his actions, and render him powerless to create a social Utopia. May this blissful state of things continue, and may the Seer find your hearts as pure as newborn babes when he turns his searchlight on to you.”

“There is no fear of that, dear Victor; London has been going through mental gymnastics for a few weeks, and you could not find one creature that did not harbour the purest intentions. Even that uninteresting couple, the Mowbrays, have not in their whole composition a grain of malice, although they started late in their career of reform.”

The Palace of Happiness opened next day, on what Londoners were formerly wont to call Goodwood Day. Thousands and thousands marching in perfect order entered the hall, and seated themselves on the benches which had been erected one above the other and reached right up to the gallery. At one end of the hall, on a marble platform raised three feet from the ground, Lionel and Gwen, Sinclair and Eva, with many others who formed part of the committee, were reclining on couches. Victor de Laumel sat discreetly behind the Somervilles, for they had hinted to their Parisian friend that his presence might attract the attention of the public and put it out of humour against the whole performance. Lionel kept saying that until this ceremony was over they were not out of the wood, and could not say positively that John Bull had been won over.

Notwithstanding the size and height of the hall, the scent of flowers was intoxicating, as masses of cut roses, jasmine and carnations were strewed over the platform and the seats, whilst huge garlands of tropical flowers hung in festoons along the upper gallery.

At the other end of the edifice, opposite the platform, an enormous arch had been constructed as an entrance to the hall, through which the crowd could watch the slow progress of the procession in the distance, as it came up the broad avenue bordered with exotic plants. From where they were seated in the hall, it was difficult to distinguish the exact details of that triumphal procession, but they could discern in the sunshine a dazzling object carried in state by several male figures. This was the casket, or, as it was more appropriately called, the Reliquary, which contained the instrument designed by the Seer to bring universal happiness. The bearers of this heavy burden were numerous, for the Reliquary was large and weighty, and strong muscles were needed to lift up and down this solid mass of gold. Not only had the great of the land volunteered to fulfil the humble duties of bearers in this unparalleled pageant, but men who held exalted positions at Court had of one accord given up their coronets and decorations, their military orders and medals, in order that these might be melted down and recast into this magnificent casket. Likewise had Royal Princesses, and the flower of feminine aristocracy, unhesitatingly handed over to the Seer all their tiaras, necklaces and costly jewels, to ornament the outside of this precious receptacle. It was an impressive sight, and one which no living man could compare with any past pageant in history, to see these men, who three months ago had firmly believed in the power of wealth and position, standing now shoulder to shoulder divested of their worldly masks and leading the way to the happy goal. Perhaps also their hearts throbbed with pride as they thought of the private ceremony which was to follow this public function: a special train was to carry the Reliquary and the bearers to Dover, where, from the pier, they would hurl the symbol of all past vanities into the Channel. They thirsted for this last act of self-abnegation, and moreover they felt that it would be a salutary hint to the nation over the way.

The clock struck twelve, and as the last stroke vibrated through the clear atmosphere, the head of the procession passed through the porch.

Mrs David Pottinger, holding the hand of the American Seer, entered first; behind her came the twenty bearers carrying the Reliquary. The public stared in amazement at its size—twelve feet long and eight feet wide—and they were dazzled by the beauty of the mass of solid gold all inlaid with precious stones. As the bearers slowly advanced into the middle of the hall, the whole assembly rose, and many were moved to tears as they read on the top of the casket the magic word, Happiness, spelt in diamonds, rubies and sapphires. Not one word, not one clap of hands were heard to disturb the sanctity of the ceremony. Immediately behind the Reliquary came the American colony, walking three abreast. They were all there, proud of their kinsman, to whom the world in future would owe an eternal debt of gratitude, and they were honoured at being allowed to be of use to dear old England, whose hospitality they so thoroughly appreciated. Behind these marched the Music Hall Artists, men and women; and at their approach a thrill ran through the audience. They fluttered with wild excitement at the sight of these dapper men and spruce little women, who seemed to bring with them an element of good-natured fun, and to whom England owed, in a sense, its salvation. What the audience felt was similar to that which they formerly experienced in the days when the Horse Guards used to appear on the scene, to announce the approach of a Royal carriage. Still, no words rose to their lips; their gratitude for these wise jesters was too deeply rooted in their hearts to find expression in vulgar applause. Their eyes lingered in rapture on the ranks of the satirists whose action had, at a critical moment, pulled Society together, and taught its members how to observe and how to remember.

From these the audience looked up at the twenty bearers, and marvelled at their transformation, recognising in one a Royal Highness, in others a Prime Minister, a Field-Marshal, an Archbishop, a South African millionaire and various Members of Parliament.

Mrs Pottinger and the Seer were within a few steps of the platform, when the procession suddenly came to a standstill; the members of the committee, rising from their seats, came forward and bowed to the couple, whilst Gwendolen and her friends remained behind with their guest from the other side of the Channel, to whom they were anxious to show the utmost courtesy. The twenty bearers carefully lifted the heavy burden from their shoulders, and deposited on the ground, the Reliquary which rested on ten sphinxes’ heads carved in solid gold. The twenty representatives of a vanished civilisation showed no signs of lassitude after their long pilgrimage, but stood upright, facing the committee with the tranquil expression which heroes bear on their faces when they have accomplished their duty.

The bells began to peal in honour of the new era just dawning on the world, and the men and women gathered in thousands in the hall, gazed in silent admiration at the beauty of the Reliquary enveloped in the burning rays of sunshine. They remembered what that word spelt in precious stones had meant to each of them. They called up in their mind’s eye the pageants of the last few years, with all the morbid excitement and savage rowdiness which accompanied such shows; and they blushed at what they were brought up to regard as happiness, which was in reality merely a fierce love of enjoyment and a wrong notion of national honour. The topsy-turvyism of past London was so revolting and so incongruous with their present mode of life, that to many who were present, Hogarth’s print of Gin Lane came before their eyes, as a symbol of an intoxicated world in which even the houses reeled on the top of each other in a universal culbute.

Suddenly the bells stopped, and Mrs Pottinger and the Seer, having bowed to the committee, turned round and walked back to the Reliquary. There was a slight nervousness about the inventor’s movements, and his hand shook visibly as he held it above the casket. Gradually he lowered it until the precious stones came in contact with the palm of his hand; and when his sinewy fingers grasped the golden latch, which he lifted with a sharp snap, the noise sounded, in the intense silence, like a gun fired in the distance. To Lionel’s memory it brought back the first exodus of Londoners three months ago.

At that moment, as if compelled by some higher power, the assembly broke into a shout of joy, which was echoed by the thousands who were gathered outside the hall; and a few seconds afterwards they gave expression to their pent-up emotion by shouting the word which was inscribed on the Reliquary.

“Happiness! Happiness!” they unceasingly vociferated, whilst the Seer slowly opened the lid encrusted all over with diamonds.

“Happiness! Happiness!”

The bells began to peal once more, and the sun flooded the hall through every aperture. The Seer brought out of the Reliquary a small instrument in the shape of a revolving wheel, which he held at arm’s length above his head. At that instant the shouting was so deafening that the Seer had to exercise all his self-control not to break down under the emotion which mastered him.

The rays of the sun streaming into the hall were so dazzling, that every detail was blurred; the glass dome seemed to lift itself away in the azure, and the walls to crumble down, as the last barrier which had separated man from man was annihilated.

An unfettered world wrapped in a golden vapour stood under the blue sky, shouting for ever and ever, “Happiness! Happiness! Happiness!”