Chapter XXI: Melbourne

To know what real hospitality means, a man must needs go to Australia. Let him journey through the length of the land, in the solitude of the back country or in the busiest of the towns, he has nothing to do but to say he is a stranger to ensure him a welcome. Whether he brings letters of introduction or not, as long as he behaves like a gentleman he will find no door in the country closed against him; and if he stays any length of time he will ever after attach a meaning to the word hospitality, such as he never realised in any other country in the world.

In England hospitality is a lukewarm and cheerless commodity, occasionally doled out in the form of patronage to those from whom no return can be expected, but generally only extended in carefully measured quantities to those from whom an equivalent in kind is anticipated at no distant date. In Australia the word has a very different significance. Hospitality there is no respecter of persons, but is extended alike to rich and to poor, to those who have come from ten miles off, or to people from the other side of the world, who are extremely unlikely ever to be able to return it.

Prompted neither by a recollection of past benefits nor by expectation of favours to come, it originates in a real honest care for the comfort of others, and looks for no other reward than that of giving happiness, and for no other thanks than a kindly recollection on the part of those to whom it is offered.

It is deeply to be regretted that even this small return is so frequently not forthcoming. Too many of our own countrymen are, I fear, open to a charge of the basest ingratitude in this respect. They go out to visit Australia with a sort of notion that they are conferring a favour on the inhabitants by doing so. While they are there they avail themselves to the utmost of the kindness that is everywhere shown them, and on their return to England they abuse the country that they have just left, and run down its institutions and inhabitants in every possible way.

It is difficult to imagine a more disgusting picture of humanity than a young man, educated as a gentleman, who does not scruple to extract all the pleasure and profit he can from people upon whom he has not the slightest claim, and who, as soon as his back is turned, has not the generosity to acknowledge the kindness with which he has been treated, or to refrain from laughing at some solecism which the extreme delicacy of his insular breeding imagines it has been able to detect in his entertainers.

And yet it is a picture that I have seen only too often. Many of my own countrymen only think it necessary to behave like gentlemen so long as they are in England, and when they get to Australia offer but a sorry sample of the manners and customs of the country that raised them. They seem to consider that because they are in a new country they can behave just as they please, and often do not wait till their return to requite with rudeness the hospitality they seem to expect as a right.

The rampart of pseudo-refinement and class prejudice behind which that portion of English society known as the “Upper Ten” is accustomed to shelter itself is usually supposed to be the result of birth, breeding, and education. Since I have had an opportunity of observing the altered behaviour of the members of that mystic guild who find their way to Australia, I have come to the conclusion that their “insular reserve” is not so much a question of class as of climate.

Probably there is something in the genial atmosphere of Australia that so quickly thaws the reserve of Englishmen, and causes them to enter heart and soul into all the amusement that is to be found there, and to accept without hesitation the hospitality that is offered them by perfect strangers.

It must be the warmth of the climate that does this, for I have noticed that the reverse process takes place when they return to the lower temperature of their mother country. There, if chance throws them, as it often does, into the society of those with whom they have made merry in Australia, they find it convenient once more to esconce themselves behind the barrier of their own society’s law, which holds that except in a foreign land a man cannot associate with anyone out of his own set without losing caste, and at home must not introduce any outsider into its enchanted circle unless he be the possessor of fabulous wealth.

Armed with this, the Australian in London may hope for a certain percentage of return hospitality from those whom he may have entertained in his own country. If he takes a house in a fashionable situation, he may even hope to find a few people so inquisitive as to wish to make his acquaintance. But, wherever he goes, he must always expect to be reminded that he is only there on sufferance; and, if he has a wife, he must not mind her being stared at as if she were a wild beast by members of a society that prides itself on being the most refined in the world. If people who consider themselves in the best society in London were simply to declare that anyone who was born south of the equator is unfit to associate with them, and refuse to recognise Australians at all, such conduct, though open to a charge of prejudice, would at least have the merit of consistency.

What is difficult to understand is how people who pride themselves on the perfection of their breeding can ask Australians to their houses and then be gratuitously rude to them. The prejudice that exists in England against Australians is a perfect discredit to an age so enlightened as the present, and is calculated to do serious injury to the prospect of maintaining the permanent union of the two countries, which is of such vital importance to both. There is no doubt that this prejudice is partly owing to the bad impression created by some few Australians who have brought their money to England to make such fools of themselves with it that many people are only too ready to tar all their compatriots with the same brush.

But this is not the real origin of the feeling. The real indictment brought against the Australians is that they come from a land where there was once a penal settlement, and consequently are open to the suspicion of being descended from those who have worked for the good of their country. This may have been all very well in the infancy of the Colonies, but we must remember that Australia is no longer a very young country, and it is fully time that her early social history were relegated to the annals of the past. It is inconceivable how any class of people can be found so bigoted as to keep such a prejudice up.

Any Englishman who is so fortunate as to be able to trace his family history back a couple of centuries, will certainly come across several relations who were executed for treason, if for nothing worse; and if he pursues his inquiries any farther he must inevitably run his ancestors to ground in a rabbit-warren of immorality, from which no College of Heraldry can ever really extricate them. It is difficult to follow the subtle reasoning of a pride that looks up to an ancestor whose head was certainly chopped off for conspiracy, and looks down on an acquaintance whose grandfather was possibly transported for fraud.

Many Englishmen who visit Australia form an erroneous opinion of its society because they persist in applying to it the standard of the one that they have just left. They stay sufficiently long to discover that in some points it differs from what they have been accustomed to, and not long enough to discover that difference does not necessarily imply inferiority. Having in too many cases brought with them the prejudice, and left behind them the polish of England’s society, their views are occasionally still further warped by the discovery that, even in Australia, a man cannot behave otherwise than like a gentleman without an occasional rebuff.

It is from the views of such critics as these that English notions of Australian society are chiefly derived, and upon no point are they more unjustly censorious than upon what they are pleased to call the fastness of the women of Australia. If the canons of English society of the nineteenth century were a fixed standard for determining the propriety of woman’s behaviour, there might be some show of justice in condemning anything that falls short of it. But we all know that nothing of the kind is the case. Society’s laws are constructed on a sliding scale that varies from one generation to another. In the words of Macaulay, “we change the fashion of our morals with our coats and our hats, and wonder at the depravity of our ancestors.”

We have only to look at the relative measure of justice that the same society deals to a man and to a woman for the same offence, to see that it is regulated by arbitrary laws, which have little reference to abstract principles of right and wrong.

Nothing can be more unjust than to try one community by the social laws which govern another; for although there are certain broad rules which cannot with impunity be transgressed in any society at present, still, in minor matters, what constitutes a breach of propriety in one society does not necessarily do so in another.

The frank demeanour and the entire absence of affectation that make an Australian girl such a pleasant companion after ten minutes’ acquaintance, would in England, of course, be set down to fastness, if to nothing worse. Society in England holds affectation in an unmarried woman to be an integral part of modesty, and in order, therefore, to guard against the imputation of forwardness, reserve with a recent acquaintance must be pushed to the verge of stupidity.

Now, as long as critics upon this point recognise that it is simply the veneering of outward demeanour that they are discussing, no harm is done. But any inference as to the morality that may lie beneath it, is most reprehensible. Whether it be a more excellent thing in woman to try and entertain a man to whom she is introduced, or to make it next to impossible for him to entertain her, is a question which should be decided entirely upon its own merits. But it is infamous to say that the absence of reserve, which in some women is the natural outcome of good spirits and a desire to please, argues the slightest inferiority of moral principles to those who have been brought up to consider that purity can only be preserved in ice.

In point of actual immorality, it is doubtful whether fashionable society has varied very much in any country since the age that evoked the satires of Horace and Juvenal. There are periods during which open immorality is fashionable, just as there are some summers hotter than others, but in the end the mean temperature is maintained. Certainly just now there seems to be a fall in the moral thermometer all over the world.

A poet not long dead has declared that London is no better than the cities for whom “God heard Abraham pray in vain.” And assuredly we do not seem far off the time when the words, _quæ jussa coram non sine conscio surgit marito_, will cease to convey any great reproach to those to whom they may apply. At present, however, even in London a departure from the path of virtue derives an additional piquancy from the danger of social ostracism to which detection exposes the offender.

As long as Australia is not more lax than London in upholding the Eleventh Commandment, no one has the slightest right to disparage the tone of her society. But it must be indeed a captious and cynical disposition that would prevent a man, at least during his stay in Australia, from flinging all such considerations as these to the winds, and abandoning himself to the charm of his surroundings.

In Melbourne especially it is impossible for a man to stay long without feeling that he is in an atmosphere of cheerfulness, and amongst people who are determined to enjoy life thoroughly. A single introduction makes him free of the guild, and before he has been there a week he will know everyone in the place. In this respect Melbourne has a great advantage over Sydney, where society is split up into several sets, each of which, for some unaccountable reason, refuses to mix with the others.

Whatever a man’s tastes may be, it must be his own fault if they are not gratified in Melbourne. If he is inclined for sport, from October to March he will see as good racing as he ever saw in his life, and during the remainder of the year he will have an excellent opportunity of breaking his neck with the Melbourne hounds. If he is fond of good living, he will find that it is with good reason that the “viveurs” of Melbourne pride themselves on the excellence of their wines and the proficiency of their “chefs.” After dinner, if he wishes to gamble, at either of the clubs he will find a certain number of congenial spirits, and, whether he win or lose, it is extremely unlikely next morning that he will complain of the smallness of the stakes.

There are two exceedingly comfortable clubs, the “Australian” and the “Melbourne,” both of which admit honorary members for a period of not more than six months in two years--a very liberal allowance, which adds considerably to the pleasure of a visitor’s stay in the place, without putting him to any expense. Occasionally rather heavy play goes on at both the clubs. I have known a single player to drop over ten thousand pounds at a sitting.

For several miles to the south-east the suburbs consist of nothing but detached houses, each surrounded by more or less extensive gardens and grounds. Many of these houses have been constructed at an enormous expense, and fitted up by their owners with every comfort and luxury that can be imagined. The grounds of some of them are really beautifully laid out, and there is invariably a well-kept, prosperous kind of look about the whole concern, from the gatepost to the weather-cock.

A glorious ballroom is a very common appendage to one of these Melbourne houses. Dancing, with the people of Melbourne, is a passion; and, like everything else that they go in for, they do it well. The ballroom is strictly sacred to its legitimate use, and no profane feet are allowed to invade its precincts between whiles. All the anxious care of a mother for a delicate child is lavished by the hostess on her ballroom floor, when she is about to give a dance. The music is generally excellent, and they have a happy knack in Melbourne of filling their rooms without crowding them.

Most of the women dance divinely. All through Australia dancing seems to come as naturally to girls as walking; and in Melbourne it is as rare to find a woman between fifteen and fifty who dances badly as it is in England to find one who dances well. Altogether, if a man goes to a ball to dance and not to lean against a doorpost, it is odd if he does not look back to some of these small dances in Melbourne, where everyone knows each other, as amongst the pleasantest he ever was at in his life.

Lawn-tennis is everywhere immensely popular. Young men and maidens, old women and children, at it they go, with the enthusiasm which, whether in the pursuit of business or of pleasure, is a distinctive feature of the inhabitants of Melbourne. Really the energy with which some of the fair sex devote themselves to the game savours rather of work than of play. Those who do play, play for four hours every day of their lives, and those who do not, come to look on. A round of afternoon calls means visiting the various lawn-tennis courts in succession. Here, between the hours of three and seven, the youth, beauty, and fashion of the place are every day to be found, comfortably located in a summer-house overlooking the court, drinking tea and talking scandal, and watching the enthusiasts below, who are playing as if their lives depended upon every stroke of the game.

Hotbeds of scandal are these lawn-tennis parties, but here the people of Melbourne show their wisdom by declining to spoil two good things by mixing them. No one who plays is expected to talk scandal on the same afternoon. The players may sit down to rest their aching limbs, and if there is time they may have some tea; but they must be prepared to put down their cups untasted, and start up again at a moment’s notice to make up another set, lest a minute’s interval in the play should take place. To display the slightest inclination to sit still is to risk offending an otherwise most indulgent hostess, who is certain to be an indefatigable player herself.

Many a time have I watched a recent arrival in the colony, whose ignorance of its customs leads him to suppose that an hour’s hard play under a broiling sun entitles him to a few minutes’ repose. Having secured a cup of tea and asked permission to smoke, he lights a cigar, and, establishing himself comfortably in an armchair, prepares to enjoy the society of one of his fair neighbours who does not play. Just then the set is finished. The relentless eye of his hostess marks him out for another, and he is forthwith invited to play again. It is no use refusing. He will have to give in. His hostess is going to play again herself, and for very shame he cannot say he is too tired. There is something sublime in the vitality of a woman who can handle a lawn-tennis racquet for three hours at a stretch under the afternoon fire of an Australian sun. Gradually he will find himself infected by such heroism, and by the time that he has been a week in the town he will never dream of refusing to play when he is asked.

The climate of the town itself is rather enervating at times, especially in summer, when hot winds blow occasionally for one or two days at a time; and before a stranger has been long in Melbourne society, especially if he goes much into the bachelor portion of it, he will find that he needs a good constitution and a hard head to drink fair with some of his entertainers. The excellent quality of the wine he is drinking is apt to make him rather careless about the quantity. One of these hot winds, therefore, coming on the top of a “Burgundy night” at the Melbourne Club, will probably recall to a visitor’s mind the numerous invitations that he is certain to have received to go and spend a few days in the country.

Away to the north of Melbourne the plain country rises gradually for about forty miles to an elevation of about 1500 feet. Beyond this are heavily-timbered mountain ranges, on the southern slopes of which are some of the most exquisitely-situated country houses in the world. The owners of many of them seem to keep open house the whole year round, and are never happy unless they have a succession of visitors from Melbourne to keep their houses full. When Melbourne is suffocated with dust and heat, the climate up here is delightfully cool and pleasant. Anything more beautiful than some of these places cannot be imagined. Of course the grounds around them are artificially made, being clearances in the endless forest of huge gum-trees, but they have been turned by the genius of their owners into perfect paradises of beauty. Ornamental trees, flowering shrubs, and creepers of every description, grow as if they were determined to make up for lost time in never having been planted before. Wild flowers flourish as if nature had upset her basket here and never stopped to pick it up, and exotics are scattered around with a profusion that quite takes a stranger’s breath away, and makes him rub his eyes to be sure that good living in Melbourne has not had the effect of making him see double.

Here the exhausted lawn-tennis player from Melbourne can stretch his weary limbs in perfect peace, idly drinking in the pure mountain air and feasting on the beauty of the scene around him, without risk of any less pleasant interruption than a stroll round the garden and through the fern-tree gullies. With a pipe to keep away mosquitoes, and the conversation of one of Australia’s daughters to keep away care, a man must be indeed hard to please who cannot enjoy himself thoroughly. He need not exert himself. He has nothing to do but to allow his fair companion to entertain him. She will do it with an ease that no other woman in the world is so thoroughly mistress of as an Australian.

The scene is one which is not readily forgotten. Around on three sides rise wild mountain ranges, covered to the very summit with dense masses of dark-green forest. Behind them the sun sinks to rest--

“Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one unclouded blaze of living light.”

In front a garden bright with every conceivable shade of colouring slopes gently down to a miniature lake, whose glassy surface, unmarred by a single ripple, reflects with startling distinctness the trees that fringe its edges. Beyond this the plains go rolling down to Melbourne, forty miles away, dimly visible, except on a very clear day; but its whereabouts is distinctly marked by a murky cloud of smoke, which rises up and drifts away to seaward over the shining expanse of Port Philip harbour. It is pleasant to watch the storm-clouds gathering in the south, and to see the steamers creeping out to sea, to fight their way along the most pitiless coast in the world. “Suave mari magno” rises to the spectator’s lips, and as he turns to the home-like comfort and fairy beauty of the scene around him, the conviction comes across him that by no race in the world is the philosophy of life better understood than by the inhabitants of Australia.

Small wonder if the lawn-tennis player who comes up here to recruit occasionally imbibes something else besides mountain air. The perfect repose of his surroundings, the sensation of “masterly inactivity” in himself, which is never felt to perfection out of a hot climate, will make him feel that the world is very pleasant to live in; an impression that will deepen as he listens to his entertainer’s refreshing views of life, and notes her unaffected interest in everything, which proclaims her a stranger to the meaning of the word _ennui_.

The stillness of the evening air is heavy with the scent of orange-flowers, gardenias, and stephanotis; and as the charm of his companion’s manner grows upon him, he will own to himself that some of the daughters of the South are wondrous fair.