THE DIGNITY OF PRICE.
THE mere bread and butter" should be—temporarily- altered. ed. Since white bread became priceless and butter a luxury, it has lost its restrictive significance.. An income which suffices without margin for the maintenance of a family might now be described as " grey bread and jam." The above reflection raises several side-issues. How much does price add to the dignity of the purchase ? A good deal. Let us continue for the moment to take our illustrations from among foodstuffs. Oranges and bananas have entirely altered their position in the store cupboard. They rank almost with peaches and grapes. Salad-oil is as cream in the kitchen, and, counting coupons as coins, butter may be considered upon an equality with pate de foie grae. Will the distinction to which these common articles have attained outlive the shortage ? We have a feeling that in the minds of the rationed they can never resume their humble place. We shall never despise them again. 'there will be no more slighting of plain food. The joint is now the king of dishes. The occupation of the chef is gone. Certain of the Silly complaints of the luxurious have become, as it were, dead grumbles ; their dynamic force is spent. We may show a little discontent now, for the best of us cannot always keep his mind upon the reason for his abstinence; but contentment will return with the grease, and, so far as greedy cavilling is concerned, we are all ready to promise that we will never do it again.
But joking apart, we do judge what we buy very much by what we pay for it. Are rare wines really so much better than the more moderately priced brands ? Is the very best tobacco so very different from the second-best 7 Half the world—the feminine half—cannot be persuaded that they are. Is real lace so greatly superior to the best machine-made ? Are real pearls much more delightful than those imitations whose fraud only experts armed with acids can detect ? Half the world—the masculine half—finds it hard of credence. Of course there is a great deal to be said for fine tobacco and champagne. They do have a pleasant mental effect over and above what their effervescent, alcoholic, or sedative qualities can account for. They suggest their usual accompani- ments, and create an atmosphere of what we might call acute well- being. They typify an ease the very recollection of which is refresh- ing, and are the hall-marks of the pride of life. This power to create a rich atmosphere is true of very many dear things which are not intrinsically so very desirable. We do not suppose that men living in rough places, in the Bush or on the Prairie, value tobacco or alcohol any less than their city brothers ; also no doubt they like them good. We do not imagine, however, that they want the rarer kinds. These carry with them to the wild places of the earth no significance. They belong to a completed civilization, and association does not carry outside its barriers. Much the same theory would explain the dignity of real lace. It suggests the effort of an advanced social organization to adorn and flatter its favoured women. Many, many hours of work go to the perfecting of a small piece of lace, and much money is, or should be, the reward of such skilled labour. All this is done that a woman's loveliness may be set oft or her value graciously affirmed. Human nature, feminine human nature, is dimly conscious of all this. An aroma of incense hangs about the fretted linen. The analogy of altar- cloths and vestments throws a light on our theory, and the offering of the pearl necklace to the Red Cross is the sacrifice of a sacrifice.
Apart from ornament, and where ordinary clothes are concerned, the sexes are in nearer agreement. In this case it would be easy to argue that price, after a reasonable limit has been reached, is simply a form of shibboleth. There are certain types of clothes which can only be had by rich people, not because of the worth of their material—we no longer know the inhabitants of " King's Houses " by their " soft raiment "—but because of that mysterious thing called" out." " Cut " is a shibboleth. It is of the nature of a passport. Not that it will take a man or a woman with certainty to any given place. Many a social mountaineer attains or main- tains his or her eminence without thought of attire. At best it is a passport which must be constantly " vised " by authority, to see that it is correct in many particulars which have no reference to tailor or dressmaker. Still "cut," which simply means unosten- tatious expenditure, does lend dignity. Everybody cannot have it, therefore those who can are distinguished—in some sense. In like manner the rents give dignity to certain quarters of London. Beauty and convenience have no doubt a say in the matter, but not all say. Bloomsbury and Belgravia command very different Prices. Chelsea is changing its position altogether. It is going up by leaps and bounds. Now no one could call Chelsea convenient. Except in a narrow area where the sight of the river delightsthe eye, it is as squalid as the back parts of Bloomsbury. But the rent gives a dignity to a small house when once some subtle attraction has made a neighbourhood " the fashion."
If we could imagine some event which could render cheap the stocks of most of the ever-increasing curiosity-shops of London, we do not think they would be quickly bought up. We are setting aside, of course, all question of art and of established beauty or celebrated origin, such as might attract a collector. A great part of the stuff sold in such places is sheer rubbish. Hideous cracked Toby jugs, coarsely made representations of ugly people, and ill-formed animals, metal and glass objects remarkable only for dirt, fascinate the eyes and make holes in the pockets of those who, while they are really bowing before the dignity of price, imagine themselves to be driving bargains.
When we approach the subject of art, however, the question of cost may become a real thing and one not to be laughed at. Indeed, the point of view of those who ridicule it as despicable is often a very vulgar one. How is the man who is conscious of his own ignorance to judge of such a marvel as a great picture ? He knows perhaps that it has a European reputation, that for centuries it has delighted the souls of those who know. All this is proved to him by the price which some great gallery is ready to give for it. He goes to see it, hoping to understand, but he does not. He feels a deference towards it on account of the price paid. He says to his children " Look well at that, it is an immensely valuable thing " ; and if he sees that they see its attraction apart from its price he is delighted. That, it seems to us, is the right point of view for a humble-minded and open-minded man, whether his ignorance be the invincible ignorance of the congenitally inartistic, or merely accidental ignorance arising from want of education. The only objectionable point of view is that of the carping vul- garian who says that because to him it is worth its weight in paint and canvas, that, and that only, is its worth to the world.
We suppose the man never lived who was not a little elated upon being offered a high price for his work. There have been men, we know, who have refused to make fortunes by their genius, but that does not mean that they did not feel the dignity of the world's appreciation conveyed by a money token. Could any man believe in his own gift if no other person in the world ever thought it worth twopence ? Yes. But the fact is a testimony to the miraculous power of even the lowest form of faith—i.e., faith in oneself.
Has the dignity which belongs to price at the present moment a money value ? The question sounds rather Irish, but this is what we mean. Is it cynical to wonder whether a good deal of money could not be raised by shutting all the ordinary " sights " to the poorer public during one day in the week, or even month, and charging a very high fee for entrance ? The proceeds might go to the Red Cross or the hospitals. Many people would be inter- ested in these things if they were not offered to them—and to all and sundry—for little or nothing. Perhaps some professors who could and would " explain " them might go round instead of the ordinary guides, and add the true dignity of learning to the fictitious one of the entrance-fee.
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