g influence! Then might the bright flamboyance which
he gave to Society have made his reign more beautiful than any other--a
real renaissance. But he found London a wild city of taverns and
cock-pits, and the grace which in the course of years he gave to his
subjects never really entered into them. The cock-pits were gilded and
the taverns painted with colour, but the heart of the city was vulgar,
even as before. The simulation of higher things did indeed give the note
of a very interesting period, but how shallow that simulation was and
how merely it was due to Georges own influence, we may see in the light
of what happened after his death. The good that he had done died with
him. The refinement he had laid upon vulgarity fell away, like enamel
from withered cheeks. It was only George himself who had made the sham
endure. The Victorian era came soon, and the angels rushed in and drove
the nymphs away and hung the land with reps.

I have often wondered whether it was with a feeling that his influence
would be no more than life-long, that George allowed Carlton House, that
dear structure, the very work of his life and symbol of his being, to
be rased. I wish that Carlton House were still standing. I wish we
could still walk through those corridors, whose walls were 'crusted with
ormolu,' and parquet-floors were 'so glossy that, were Narcissus to come
down from heaven, he would, I maintain, need no other mirror for his
beaute.' I wish that we could see the pier-glasses and the girandoles
and the twisted sofas, the fauns foisted upon the ceiling and the rident
goddesses along the wall. These things would make Georges memory dearer
to us, help us to a fuller knowledge of him. I am glad that the Pavilion
still stands here in Brighton. Its trite lawns and wanton cupolae have
taught me much. As I write this essay, I can see them from my window.
Last night, in a crowd of trippers and townspeople, I roamed the lawns
of that dishonoured palace, whilst a band played us tunes. Once I
fancied I saw the shade of a swaying figure and of a wine-red face.

Brighton, 1894.

The Pervasion of Rouge

Nay, but it is useless to protest. Artifice must queen it once more in
the town, and so, if there be any whose hearts chafe at her return, let
them not say, 'We have come into evil times,' and be all for resistance,
reformation, or angry cavilling. For did the king's sceptre send the sea
retrograde, or the wand of the sorcerer avail to