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COMMUNITY
•
ALSO BY PETER BLOCK
An Other Kingdom:
Departing the Consumer Culture,
coauthored with Walter Brueggemann and John McKnight
•
mping on spine of cloth cover PETER BLOCK for printing on spine of paper c
Second Edition
Paperback print edition ISBN 978-1-5230-9556-8
PDF e-book ISBN 978-1-5230-9557-5
IDPF e-book ISBN 978-1-5230-9558-2
2018-1
Welcome xi
I N T R O D U C T I O N The
Fragmented Community
and Its Transformation 1
vii
C H A P T E R 1 0 Questions
Are More Transforming
Than Answers 105
viii • Contents
The first human who hurled an insult
instead of a stone
was the founder of civilization.
Sigmund Freud
This page intentionally left blank
Welcome
T his book is written to support those who care for the well-being
of their community. It is for anyone who wants to be part of creating
an organization, neighborhood, city, or country that works for all, and who
has the faith and the energy to create such a place.
I am one of those people. Whenever I am in a neighborhood or small
town and see empty storefronts, watch people floating aimlessly on the
sidewalks during school or working hours, visit somewhere that seems like
a hard place to raise a child or grow old, I am distressed and anguished.
It has become impossible for me to ignore the fact that the world we are
creating does not work well for all and increasingly does not work for most.
Along with this distress comes the knowledge that each of us, myself
included, is participating in creating this world. If it is true that we are
creating this world, then each of us has the power to heal its woundedness.
This is not about guilt; it is about accountability. Citizens, in our capacity to
come together and choose to be accountable, are our best shot at making a
difference. This is true whether you want to improve conditions inside an
organization or advance a cause or profession that you believe in, or are
engaged in making your neighborhood or city a better place for all who
live there.
To act on whatever our intentions might be to make the world better
requires something more than individual action. It requires, in almost every
case, people who may have little connection with each other, or who may
even be on opposite sides of a question, to decide to come together for
xi
some common good. The need and the methodology to make this happen
simply and quickly are what this book is about.
This truth has become clear in the wide range of unexpected invitations
I have received since the book was originally published in 2006. I have been
invited to a water scarcity conference in Calgary, Canada. I know nothing
about water conservation; in fact, I am one of those people who leaves the
water running while brushing my teeth. Companies have asked for help in
building a community of mothers who purchase a certain diaper for their
children. Ken Jaray was running for mayor of Manitou Springs and wanted
to talk about using the community ideas both to run a campaign and to
govern when elected. The faith community has repeatedly invited me into
a discussion of ways to bring people together to begin a church where none
exists and to explore ways to help existing churches more fully engage in
the community and not rely on people finding meaning inside the church
building. A university concerned about the safety of its students used the
community-building ideas to engage its neighbors in taking collective action
to make the neighborhood safer. Some cities, such as Colorado Springs,
Colorado, even had several hundred groups use this book for their citywide
book club with the intent of building a more connected community.
This tells me that the need for the experience of community, which is
the collective capacity of citizens to make a difference, has only intensified.
Even with all the means available to connect with each other, we live and
function in ways that keep us isolated. Without new ways to come together,
this isolation will persist.
Whatever it is you care about, to make the difference that you seek
requires a group of people to learn to trust each other and choose to coop-
erate for a larger purpose.
Steve Piersanti, my friend and publisher, called to suggest we put out another
edition of this book. These invitations always make me nervous. I get nervous
because I wonder if I have anything significant to add. After going through
the book again, I chose to create another edition for three reasons. First,
with nine years’ experience putting its ideas into practice in my home city
xii • Welcome
of Cincinnati, I can be clearer in expressing them. I have put more emphasis
on what works, and extracted those thoughts that were nice, but had no
durability. The fresh focus in this edition includes updating prior examples
and adding a few new ones.
Second, there is growing interest in building community. Call it culture
change in organizations, civic engagement in government, neighborhood
building in the social sector, outreach in religion, or democracy in the larger
society, there seems to be more and more awareness of the need to create
places of belonging.
The third reason for developing a new edition is just my frustration and
pain in seeing what is occurring in the world. Community building now
seems to be an idea whose time has come. Its promise, though, is not well
implemented. We still do a poor job of bringing people together. At best we
convene a social event, a block party, or a reception, with food and music. All
good things to do, but people most often huddle with like-minded people,
and strangers remain strangers.
In the midst of the growing awareness of and innovation in thinking
about the need to build community, the dominant practices for how to
engage people, civically and organizationally, remain essentially unchanged.
We still hold town meetings where one person talks and the rest ask vetted
questions. City councils still sit on a platform with microphones and give
citizens two minutes each to make their point. Too many gatherings still
use PowerPoints for clarity and efficiency. Professional conferences con-
tinue to be designed around inspiring keynote speeches and content-filled
workshops to attract attendees. Presenting data in this way becomes a weak
substitute for learning and education.
Here is one example where the intention was mismatched with the
design of the engagement process: In the face of growing poverty, a major
city brought together the leaders from business, city government, social
service institutions, and neighborhoods to form a task force to reduce pov-
erty. The issue could have been any concern anywhere: education, health,
safety, economic growth. In this case it was poverty. Great intention.
The strategy, however, was to follow the same predictable process that
has not worked time and time again: First, a high-level steering committee
was formed. Next, a sizeable amount of money was committed. Third, an
expert outside research group was paid to analyze the problem. The group’s
Welcome • xiii
findings were predictable: poverty is indeed a problem. This then led to
setting bold goals and creating blueprints for actions, with timetables,
milestones, and measures. This classic problem-solving approach basi-
cally called for trying harder at all the things that had been done for years.
More mentoring of youth, better school achievement, more job training,
greater commitment of large companies to hire more people from poverty
neighborhoods. All useful, but nothing in the process raised awareness that
poverty is basically a problem of economic isolation. Poverty is not just
about the money; it is about the absence of possibility due to our isolation
across economic classes, between elite and marginalized neighborhoods,
between schools and their neighborhoods, between the elderly and young
people. If this isolation, which is the breakdown of community, does not
hold center stage, then nothing important will shift. Well-intentioned leaders
and citizens, without the consciousness and the tools to produce authentic
community, will simply be left with more programs, more funding, and
eventually another study to analyze progress.
The option, with respect to poverty, is to realize that people living in eco-
nomic isolation have skills, wisdom, capacities, and productive entrepreneurial
energy. They have assets we don’t see when we view them as problems to be
analyzed, measured, and fixed. They don’t need more schooling, services, and
programs. They need access and relatedness to the wider community. They
need to be seen as citizens worthy of investment capital and loans. They need
partnerships with people and institutions across class and geographical bound-
aries. They require real partnerships, not mentors. There must be relatedness
and trust where both sides give and receive. Building this kind of community
is central to a strategy to create conditions where real transformation occurs.
This is what is working in a few special places. This is the point being made
in this book.
Shifting this consciousness and clarifying the tools are what this revised
edition is about. To summarize, the following is what I have tried to empha-
size in this edition:
xiv • Welcome
in our institutions, cities, and larger world seems to be increasing
rather than decreasing. The extremism and rigid ideology that
flood all forms of public conversation are painful to witness and,
to my mind, partial determinants of the violence that surrounds
us. Although social media promises to connect us, we still sit in
Starbucks, walk down the street, and dine together staring at a flat
screen. To restore our connectedness, we need to see clearly the
isolation we are part of and to not be taken in by the myth of com-
munal progress.
Interest and practice in restoring community are
increasing. This trend goes under the name of civic engagement,
community building, organizational outreach, community rela-
tions, democracy projects, cooperative movements—all caring for
the well-being of the whole. A small example of interest in engage-
ment is that communities and organizations have been selecting
Community to share in local book clubs.
Institutional awareness of the need for community is
growing. The not-so-obvious insight is that restoring community
is increasingly seen as a productive strategy to address business and
civic concerns. What is important, and new, is that our traditional
institutions, such as the church, are moving their attention and
faith efforts outside their buildings and into their neighborhoods.
Places of congregation are now in taverns, common houses, and
storefronts.
Rabbis and pastors are leading the community-building move-
ment in forms such as the Parish Collective based in Seattle and the
Hive and Just Love in Cincinnati.
The city government of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, is sponsor-
ing an Abundant Community Initiative, which supports neighbors
in identifying and gathering together the gifts of people on their
block in projects aimed at producing more safety and revitalization.
The Rochester Health Foundation has an eight-year strategy to
reduce major illnesses in the community by organizing residents
in vulnerable neighborhoods to make their place better, address-
ing concerns that would seem to have nothing to do with major
Welcome • xv
iseases. They are investing in such projects as beautification, com-
d
munity gardens, fixing up distressed buildings, and pushing drug
traffic out. What does having residents care for their six-block area
have to do with fighting cancer, diabetes, and heart disease? There
is evidence that some of the major determinants of disease are
social, relational, and communal.
When we have serious structural innovation in community
engagement on the part of the church, the government, and foun-
dations, something important is going on.
One more motivation for revising the book is to confront the reality that
even when social pioneers do amazing work and manage to bring people
together to make a place better, their work remains an untold story. It com-
petes poorly for all the attention drawn to crisis. Building trust, relation-
ships, and social capital as a strategy for improving health, well-being, and
safety and for raising productive children does not make a lot of money for
anybody and does not feed the media’s—social media included—appetite
for drama and entertainment. What works in the world, as opposed to what
is failing in the world, still gets treated as a human interest story.
All the more reason to keep clarifying why building community and
belonging is going to be our most powerful strategy for ending the displace-
ment and isolation that plagues so many aspects of our world. Building
community is also a powerful strategy for creating resilient organizations,
a healthier planet, and safer streets. The purpose of this book is to put the
capacity to do this in the hands of citizens, supported, as a backup in the end,
by the usual solutions of designing programs, making blueprints, getting
funding, and trying all the things that institutions do.
The challenge in this enterprise is that building community seems
too simple. If you choose to shift toward a context of possibility instead
of staying with a context of deficiency, and you follow the questions and
protocols outlined in part 2, you will discover how simple it is to end peo-
ple’s isolation. When you reduce people’s isolation, they learn that they are
not crazy and that there is nothing wrong with them. To this end, here is a
preview of how I approached this edition:
xvi • Welcome
clean and busy with pedestrians, their housing a string of jewels, the center
city vital and alive, and neighborhoods the source of great pride.
These prosperous places, though, are only the partial story. Take it
from Jim Keene, a very wise and successful public servant. He has brought
his humanity and vision into the cauldron of building community as city
manager for Berkeley, Tucson, and now Palo Alto, California. Jim once said
that for every city that prospers, there is another city nearby that is paying
the price for that prosperity.
We know we have a shrinking middle class, a growing separation between
the well off and the underclass. You cannot look closely at even the great cities
in the world without seeing serious underemployment, poverty, homeless-
ness, neighborhoods with empty buildings, a deteriorating environment,
youth hanging out on street corners day and night, and concerns about
public safety.
We know about the dropout rates and deplorable conditions of our
urban schools and the difficulty of achieving affordable health care for all.
The list goes on. But this is not the point. The question here is not about the
nature of the struggles; it is about the nature of the cure. The belief here is
that without the foundation of a connected community, these conditions
will not improve, regardless of the money and programs we are constantly
delivering.
So the focus in this book is about shifting these conditions in our com-
munities, in both those places that are paying the price and their more
prosperous neighbors. For even in prosperous places, the idea and expe-
rience of community are elusive. If you look closely, you realize that the
social fabric of our culture is more fragile than we imagine.
8• Introduction
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is true, had put on a white and cobwebby kind of blouse, which together with
her short walking skirt and the innocent droop of her fair hair about her little
ears made her look at the most eighteen, and Mrs. Menzies-Legh had tricked
herself out in white too, producing indeed for our admiration a white skirt as
well as a white blouse, and achieving at the most by these efforts an air of
(no doubt spurious) cleanliness; but the others were still all spattered and
disfigured by the muddy accumulations of the past day.
Though they stopped dancing as I came in I had time to receive a
photograph on my mind’s eye of the various members of our party: of
Jellaby, loose-collared and wispy-haired, gyrating with poor Frau von
Eckthum, of Edelgard, flushed with childish enjoyment, in the grip of a boy
who might very well have been her own if I had married her a few years
sooner and if it were conceivable that I could ever have produced anything
so undeveloped and half-grown, and of, if you please, Menzies-Legh in all
his elderliness, dancing with an object the short voluminousness of whose
clothing proclaimed a condition of unripeness even greater than that of the
two fledglings—dancing, in a word, with a child.
That he should dance at all was, you will agree, sufficiently unworthy but
at least if he must make himself publicly foolish he might have done it with
some one more suited to his years, some one of the age of the lady, for
instance—singularly unlike one’s idea of a ghost—standing at the upper end
of the room playing the violin that had half an hour previously been so
incomprehensible to me.
On seeing me enter he stopped dead, and his face resumed the familiar
look of lowering gloom. The other couples followed his example, and the
violin, after a brief hesitation, whined away into passivity.
“Capital,” said I heartily to Menzies-Legh, who happened to have been in
the act of dancing past the door I came in by. “Capital. Enjoy yourself, my
friend. You are doing admirably well for what you told me is a weed. In a
German ball-room you would, I assure you, create an immense sensation, for
it is not the custom there for gentlemen over thirty—which,” I amended,
bowing, “I may be entirely wrong in presuming that you are—for gentlemen
over thirty——”
But he interrupted me to remark with the intelligence that characterized
him (after all, what ailed the man was, I believe, principally stupidity) that
this was not a German ball-room.
“Ah,” said I, “you are right there, my friend. That indeed is what you
English call a different pair of shoes. If it were, do you know where the
gentlemen over thirty would be?”
He spoiled the neat answer I had all ready of “Not there” by, instead of
seeking information, observing with his customary boorishness, “Confound
the gentlemen over thirty,” and walking his long-stockinged partner away.
“Otto,” whispered my wife, hurrying up, “you must come and be
introduced to the people who are kindly letting us dance here.”
“Not unless they are of decent birth,” I said firmly.
“Whether they are or not you must come,” said she. “The lady who is
playing is——”
“I know, I know, she is a ghost,” said I, unable to forbear smiling at my
own jest; and I think my hearers will agree that a man who can make fun of
himself may certainly be said to be at least fairly equipped with a sense of
humour.
Edelgard stared. “She is the pastor’s wife,” she said. “It is her party. It is
so kind of her to let us in. You must come and be introduced.”
“She is a ghost,” I persisted, greatly diverted by the notion, for I felt a
reaction of cheerfulness, and never was a lady more substantial than the one
with the violin; “she is a ghost, and a highly unattractive specimen of the
sect. Dear wife, only ghosts should be introduced to other ghosts. I am flesh
and blood, and will therefore go instead and release the little Eckthum from
the flesh and blood persistencies of Jellaby.”
“But Otto, you must come,” said Edelgard, laying her hand on my arm as
I prepared to move in the direction of the charming victim; “you can’t be
rude. She is your hostess——”
“She is my ghostess,” said I, very divertingly I thought; so divertingly
that I was seized by a barely controllable desire to indulge in open mirth.
Edelgard, however, with the blank incomprehension of the droll so often
to be observed in women, did not so much as smile.
“Otto,” said she, “you absolutely must——”
“Must, dear wife,” said I with returning gravity, “is a word no woman of
tact ever lets her husband hear. I see no must why I, being who I am, should
request an introduction to a Frau Pastor. I would not in Storchwerder. Still
less will I at Frog’s Hole Farm.”
“But you are her guest——”
“I am not. I came.”
“But it is so nice of her to allow you to come.”
“It is not niceness. She is delighted at the honour.”
“But Otto, you simply can’t——”
I was about to move off definitely to the corner where Frau von Eckthum
sat helpless in the talons of Jellaby when who should enter the door just in
front of which Edelgard was wrangling but the creature I had last parted
from on unfriendly terms in the church a few hours before.
Attired this time from chin to boots in a long and narrow buttoned-down
black garment suggestive of that of the Pope’s priests, with a gold cross
dangling on his chest, his eye immediately caught mine and the genial smile
of the party-giver with which he had come in died away. Evidently he had
been there earlier, for Edelgard as though she were well acquainted with him
darted forward (where, alas, remained the dignity of the well-born?) and
very officiously introduced me to him. Me to him, observe.
“Let me,” said my wife, “introduce my husband, Baron Ottringel.”
And she did.
It was of course the pastor who ought to have been introduced to me on
such neutral ground as an impromptu ball-room, but Edelgard had, as the
caravan tour lengthened, acquired the habit of using the presence of a third
person in order to do as she chose, with no reference whatever to my known
wishes. This is a habit specially annoying to a man of my disposition,
peppery perhaps, but essentially bon enfant, who likes to get his cautions and
reprimands over and done with and forgotten, rather than be forced to allow
them to accumulate and brood over them indefinitely.
Rendered helpless by my own good breeding—a quality which leads to
many a discomfort in life—I was accordingly introduced for all the world as
though I were the inferior, and could only show my sensibility of the fact by
a conspicuous stiffening.
“Otto thinks it is so very kind of you to let us come in,” said Edelgard, all
smiles and with an augmentation of officiousness and defiance of me that
was incredible.
“I am glad you were able to,” replied the pastor looking at me, politeness
in his voice and chill in his eye. It was plain the creature was still angry
because, in church, I would not pray.
“You are very good,” said I, bowing with at least an equal chill.
“Otto wishes,” continued the shameless Edelgard, reckless of the private
hours with me ahead, “to be introduced to your—to Mrs.—Mrs.——”
“Raggett,” supplied the pastor.
And I would certainly have been dragged up then and there to the round
red ghost at the top of the room while Edelgard, no doubt, triumphed in the
background, if it had not itself come to the rescue by striking up another tune
on its fiddle.
“Presently,” said the pastor, now become crystallized for me into Raggett.
“Presently. Then with pleasure.”
And his glassy eye, fixed on mine, had little of pleasure in it.
At this point Edelgard danced away with Jellaby from under my very
nose. I made an instinctive movement toward the slender figure alone in the
corner, but even as I moved a half-grown boy secured her and hurried her off
among the dancers. Looking round, I saw no one else I could go and talk to;
even Mrs. Menzies-Legh was not available. There was nothing for it,
therefore, but unadulterated Raggett.
“It is nice,” observed this person, watching the dancers—he had a hooky
profile as well as a glassy eye—“to see young people enjoying themselves.”
I bowed, determined to keep within the limits of strict iciness; but as
Jellaby and my wife whirled past I could not forbear adding:
“Especially when the young people are so mature that they are fully
aware of the extent of their own enjoyment.”
“Yes,” said he; without, however, any real responsiveness.
“It is only,” said I, “when a woman is mature, and more than mature, that
she begins to enjoy being young.”
“Yes,” said he; still with no real responsiveness.
“You may possibly,” said I, nettled by this indifference, “regard that as a
paradox.”
“No,” said he.
“It is, however,” said I more loudly, “not one.”
“No,” said he.
“It is on the contrary,” said I still louder, “a rather subtle but undeniable
truth.”
“Yes,” said he; and I then perceived that he was not listening.
I do not know what my hearers feel, but I fancy they feel with me that
when a gentleman of birth and position is amiable enough to talk to a person
of neither it is particularly galling to discover that that person is so unable to
grasp the true aspect of the situation as to neglect even to follow the
conversation. Good breeding (as I have before remarked, a great hinderer)
prevents one’s explaining who one is and emphasizing who the other person
is and doing then and there a sum of subtraction between one’s own value
and his and offering him the result for his closer inspection, so what is one to
do? Stiffen and go dumb, I suppose. Good breeding allows no more. Alas,
there are many and heavy drawbacks to being a gentleman.
Raggett had evidently not been listening to a word I said, for after his last
abstracted “Yes,” he suddenly turned the glassiness of his eye full upon me.
“I did not know,” he said, “when I saw you in church——”
Really the breeding that could go back to the church and what happened
there was too bad for words. My impulse was to stop him by saying “Shall
we dance?” but I was too uncertain of the extent, nay of the existence, of his
powers of seeing fun to venture.
“—that you were not English, or I should not have asked——”
“Sir,” I interrupted, endeavouring to get him at all cost out of the church,
“who, after all, is English?”
He looked surprised. “Well,” said he, “I am.”
“Why, you do not know. You cannot possibly be certain. Go back a
thousand years and, as I lately read in an ingenious but none the less
probably right book, the whole of Europe was filled with your fathers and
mothers. Starting with your two parents and four grandparents and going
backward multiplying as you go, the sixteen great-grandparents are already
almost unmanageable, and a century or two further back you find them
irrepressibly overflowing your little island and spreading themselves across
Europe as thickly and as adhesively as so much jam, until in days a trifle
more remote not a person living of white skin but was your father, unless he
was your mother. Take,” I continued, as he showed signs of wanting to
interrupt—“take any example you choose, you will find the same
inextricable confusion everywhere. And not only physically—spiritually.
Take any example. Anything at random. Take our late lamented Kaiser
Friedrich, who married a daughter of your royal house. It is our custom to
regard and even to call our Kaiser and Kaiserin the Father and Mother of the
nation. The entire nation therefore is, in a spiritual sense, half English. So,
accordingly, am I. So, accordingly, to push the point a step further, you
become their nephew, and therefore a quarter German—a spiritual German
quarter, even as I am a spiritual English half. There is no end to the
confusion. Have you observed, sir, that the moment one begins to think
everything does become confused?”
“Are you not dancing?” said he, fidgetting and looking about him.
I think one is often angry with people because, having assumed on first
acquaintance that they are on one’s own level of intelligence, their speech
and actions presently prove that they are not. This is unjust; but, like most
unjust things, natural. I, however, as a reasonable man do my best to fight
against it, and on Raggett’s asking this question for all response to the
opportunity I gave him of embarking on an interesting discussion, I checked
my natural annoyance by realizing that he was what Menzies-Legh probably
was, merely stupid. Stupidity, my hearers will agree, is of various kinds, and
one kind is want of interest in what is interesting. Of course this particular
stupid was hopelessly ill-bred besides, for what can be more so than meeting
a series of, to put them at their lowest, suggestive remarks by inquiring if
one is not dancing?
“My dear sir,” I said, preserving my own manners at least, “in my country
it is not the custom for married gentlemen over thirty to dance. Perhaps you
were paying me the compliment (often, I must say, paid me before) of
supposing I am not yet that age, but I assure you that I am. Nor do ladies
continue to dance in our country once their early youth is past and their
outlines become—shall we say, bolder? Seats are then provided for them
round the walls, and on them they remain in suitable passivity until the oasis
afforded by the Lancers is reached, when the elder gentlemen pour gallantly
out of the room in which they play cards all the evening and lead them
through its intricacies with the ceremony that satisfies Society’s sense of the
becoming. In this country, on the contrary——”
“Really,” he interrupted, his habit of fidgetting more pronounced than
ever, “you talk English with such a flow and volume that after all you very
well might have joined——”
I now saw that the man was a fanatic, a type of unbalanced person I have
always particularly disliked. Good breeding is little if at all appreciated by
fanatics, and I might have been excused if, at this point, I had flung mine to
the winds. I did not do so, however, but merely interrupted him in my turn
by informing him with cold courteousness that I was a Lutheran.
“And Lutherans,” I added, “do not pray. At least, not audibly, and
certainly never in duets. More,” I continued, putting up my hand as he
opened his mouth to speak, “more. I am a philosopher, and the prayers of a
philosopher cannot be confined within the limits of any formula. Formulas
are for the undeveloped. You tie a child into its chair lest, untied, it should
fall disastrously to the floor. You tie the undeveloped adult to a creed lest,
untied, he should fall goodness really knows where. The grown man, of full
stature in mind as well as body, requires no tying. His whole life is his creed.
Nothing cut and dried, nothing blatant, nothing gaudily apparent to the
outside world, but a subtle saturation, a continual soaking——”
“Excuse me,” said he, “one of those candles is guttering.”
And he hurried across the room with an expedition I would not have
thought possible in a man so gray and glassy to where, in the windows, the
illuminating rows of candles had been placed.
Nor did he come back, I am glad to say, for I found him terribly fatiguing;
and I remained alone, leaning against the wall by the door.
Down at the further end of the room danced my gentle friend, and also
her sister; also all the other members of our party except Menzies-Legh who,
recalled to decency by my good-natured shafts, spent the rest of his time
soberly either helping the pastor pinch off candle-wicks or turning over the
ghost’s music for it.
Desiring to watch Frau von Eckthum more conveniently (for I assure you
it was a pretty sight to see her grace, and how the same tune that made my
wife whirl moved her to nothing more ruffling than an appearance of being
wafted) and also in order to be at hand should Jellaby become too tactless, I
went down to where our party seemed to be gathered in a knot and took up
my position near them against another portion of the wall.
I had hardly done so before they seemed to have melted away to the
upper end.
As they did not come back I presently strolled after them. They then
appeared to melt back again to the bottom.
It was very odd. It was almost like an optical illusion. When I went up,
they went down; when I went down, they went up. I felt at last as one may
feel who plays at see-saw, and began to doubt whether I were really on firm
ground—on terra cotta, as I (amusingly, I thought) called it to Edelgard
when we alighted from the steamer at Queenboro’, endeavouring to restore
her spirits and make her laugh. (Quite in vain I may add, which inclined me
to wonder, I remember, whether the illiteracy which is one of the leading
characteristics of people’s wives had made it impossible for her to
understand even so simple a classical play on words as that. In the train I
realized that it was not illiteracy but the crossing; and I will say for Edelgard
that up to the time the English spirit of criticism got, like a devastating
microbe, hold of her German womanliness, she had invariably laughed when
I chose to jest.)
But gradually the profitless see-sawing began to tire me. The dance
ended, another began, and still my little white-bloused friend had not once
been within reach. I made a determined effort to get to her in the pauses
between the dances in order to offer to break the German rule on her behalf
and give her one dance (for I fancy she was vexed that I did not) and also to
help her out of the clutches of Jellaby, but I might as well have tried to dance
with and help a moonbeam. She was here, she was there, she was
everywhere, except where I happened to be. Once I had almost achieved
success when, just as I was sure of her, she ran up to the ghost resting at that
moment from its labours and embarked in an apparently endless and
absorbing discussion with it, deaf and blind to all beside; and as I had made
up my mind that nothing would induce me to extend my Raggett
acquaintance by causing myself to be introduced to the psychical
phenomenon bearing that name, I was forced to retreat.
Moodily, though. My first hilarity was extinguished. Bon enfant though I
am I cannot go on being bon enfant forever—I must have, so to speak, the
encouragement of a bottle at intervals; and I was thinking of taking Edelgard
away and giving her, before the others returned to their caravans, a brief
description of what maturity combined with calf-like enjoyment looks like to
bystanders, when Mrs. Menzies-Legh passing on the arm of a partner caught
sight of my face, let her partner go, and came up to me.
“I suppose,” she said (and she had at least the grace to hesitate), “it would
be no good asking—asking you to—dance?”
I stared at her in undisguised astonishment.
“Are you not dreadfully bored, standing there alone?” she said, as I did
not answer. “Won’t you—” (again she had the grace to hesitate)—“won’t
you—dance?”
Pointedly, and still staring amazed, I inquired of her with whom, for
really I could hardly believe——
“With me, if—if you will,” said she, a rather lame attempt at a smile and
a distinctly anxious look in her eyes showing that at least it was only a
momentary aberration.
Momentary or not, however, I am not the man to smile with feigned
gratification when what is needed is rebuke, especially in the case of this
lady who of all others needed one so often and so badly.
“Why,” I exclaimed, not caring to conceal my opinion, “why—this is
matriarchy!”
And turning on my heel I made my way at once to my wife, stopped her
whirlings, drew her away from her partner’s arm (Jellaby’s, by the way),
made her take her husband’s and without a word led her out of the room.
But, as I passed the door I saw the look of (I should think pretended)
astonishment of Mrs. Menzies-Legh’s face give way to the appearance of the
dimple, to a sudden screwing together of the upper and lower eyelashes, and
my friends will be able to form a notion of how complete was the havoc
England had wrought in all she had been taught to understand and reverence
in her youth when I tell them that what she was manifestly trying not to do
was to laugh.
CHAPTER XIX