| | | | | | Every now and then, as the fashionable season comes | round, in some corner of its space the daily press records a | wholesale slaughter of the pigeon species. The world is | informed of a series of sweep-stakes, in which guardsmen | and peers and foreigners of distinction take part. So many | birds are shot at, so many are killed, so many get away. The | quality of the birds and the skill of the shooters is specified. | As the minutest details of the sport are interesting, we are | even told who supplies the birds, and whether the day of | their massacre was bright or cloudy. This is quite as it | should be. The British public can never hear too much of | the doings of its gilded youth. Sweet to it is sporting news, | but

"aristocratic sporting news"

is sweeter still. | And apart from this twofold source of interest, an element | of deeper satisfaction mingles in the complacency with | which it gloats over these pigeon holocausts. It is | something to know that, in the last resort, we have these | high-born and fashionable marksmen to protect our hearths | and homes from the French invader and the irrepressible | Beales. The nervous householder sleeps in his bed with a | greater sense of security after reading of the awful havoc | | which Captain A. and the Earl of B. are making of the | feathery tribe. In the accuracy of their aim he sees a | guarantee of order, and of the maintenance of his glorious | Constitution. Foreign menace and internal discord lose | something of their terrors for him as often as his eyes light | upon the significant little paragraph to which we have | referred. Here is an item of intelligence for the haughty | Prussian and the dashing Zouave to ponder. Here is | something for the mole-like Fenian and the blatant | Leaguesman to put in their pipes and smoke. | The fate of the pigeons awaits all who would violate our | shores, or light up the flame of sedition in the land. If, as | some philosophers aver, the pigeon does not all die, but in | some tranquil limbo flutters on in an eternity of innocent | cooing, it must console the poor bird to reflect that, | however cheap he may be held, he has not perished | altogether in vain. To serve a useful purpose is the great | economy of things, to point a warning, at the cost of one’s | heart’s blood, to England’s foes and traitors ~~ to the | plotter in Munster as well as the safe conspirator of the | parks ~~ might content even a greater ambition than that | which animates the gentle bosom of a fantail. | But suppose some vindictive pouter to survive his less | lucky comrades, and, escaping among the birds who are | duly chronicled as

"getting away,"

to perch, full | of resentment at the probable extinction of his species, in | the fashionable quarter of London. He would there witness | a grand act of retaliation. He would learn how Belgravia | avenges Hornsey and | | Shepherd’s bush. He would see the very men from whom | his relatives had received their quietus flying to their clubs | for shelter, and calling on their goddesses of the | demi-monde to cover them. He would perceive, by an | unerring instinct, that a contest was afoot in which the | conditions of that suburban sweepstakes at which he had | involuntarily assisted were exactly reversed. He would see | those self-same sportsmen converted into the target, the | flutterers of the dovecot themselves in a flutter. And he | would be more than pigeon if he could repress a thrill of | savage glee at the spectacle of the enemies of his race | realizing by experience all the difference between shooting | and being shot at. | Suppose, further, that curious to watch the operations of |

"aristocratic sport,"

the intelligent bird, following | the precedent of Edgar Poe’s Raven, should alight, unseen | and uninvited, on some object of art in a fashionable | ballroom. Here he would find himself at once in the thick | of the brilliant competition. He would see a row of lovely | archers, backed by a second row of older and more | experienced markswomen. And in the human pigeons now | cowering before their combined artillery he would | recognize the heroes so lately engaged in dispatching | thousand of the feathered branch of the family to oblivion. | At first sight it might strike an animal of his well-known | gallantry that there was nothing so very terrible in their | impending fate. To fall slain by bright eyes, and with the | strains of Coote and Tinney lingering on the ear, to sigh out | one’s soul over a draught of | | seltzer and champagne or the sweet poison of a strawberry | ice, might seem to the winged spectator a blissful ending. | The doorway of the perfumed saloon might seem but the | portal of a Mahomedan paradise, in which young and | beautiful houris are deporting themselves under the | guardian eye of the older and less beautiful houris. To the | denizen of the air all, save the want of oxygen, might | appear divine. But when he surveyed more closely that | sexual row of sportswomen, he would know at once that he | beheld the true avengers of his race. In their stony glare, in | the cold glitter of their diamonds, in the ample proportions | of their well-developed shoulders, in their sliding scale of | manners, now adjusted to a sugary smile and now to a stare | of annihilation, he would read a deadly purpose. Nor would | the diversities of skill which this fringe of amazons | exhibited in the use of their weapons escape his notice. He | would see some whom success had made affable, and | others whom failure had made desperate; some who | covered their victim with an aim of pitiless precision, and | others who spoilt their chances by bungling audacity. | Conspicuous among them he would observe a giddy | sexagenarian, whose random attempts to share in the sport | made her the laughing-stock of the circle. | And as he surveyed the battle he would | gradually discern its tactics. The beautiful beings in tulle he | would feel, by instinct, were a lure and a decoy. Once | within reach of their victims, these lovely skirmishers | would be seem to inflict on them a sudden | | wound, leaving them to be dispatched by the heavy reserve | in moire and lace. As he watched the terror | which these formidable beings inspired, and the business-like | manner in which they addressed themselves to their | task, as he noticed the jaunty destroyers of his race | succumbing one by one to fate, or ignominiously | attempting to

"get away,"

he would feel that the |

"irony of the situation"

was complete. In a vague | way he would grasp the fact ~~ hitherto undreamt of in his | dove’s philosophy ~~ that, if the pigeon is preyed upon by | man, man in his turn is preyed upon by the dowager. | There is, however, this difference between the fate of the | pigeon and his human analogue, that, whereas the former is | slain outright, the latter is often subjected to the prolonged | agony of being plucked feather by feather. Not that he | thinks it agony; on the contrary, he decidedly likes it, which | is a wonderful proof of his simplicity, and the difference in | people’s tastes. But in order to pluck a human pigeon at | leisure, you must first catch him. May is a good month for | this operation. About now he begins to resort to the Opera | and the park, and in the purlieus of either a fine specimen | may be flushed. A clever sportswoman will get the earliest | possible information about his movements. Much depends | on forestalling her competition. | A youthful pigeon, just emerging from his minority, or | freshly alighted from the grand tour, is easily captured. | There are two principal contrivances for catching human | pigeons. The first is the matrimonial snare. This is worked | by the dowager, in concert with her daughter, somewhat on | the following plan. The daughter throws herself, as if by | chance, in the pigeon’s way. The brilliancy of her charms | naturally attracts him. Small talk ensues, in which an | extraordinary similarity between her tastes and his is | casually revealed. The simple pigeon, suspecting nothing, | is delighted to find so congenial a soul. Is he musical? She | adores the divine art. A gourmand? She owns to the | possession of a cookery-book. Ritualistic? It was but the | other day that she was at St. Alban’s. Turfy? He must | throw his eyes over her book for the Derby. Even if his pet | passion, like the Emperor Domitian’s, were killing flies, | she would profess her readiness to join him in it. Or she | tries another dodge, and, putting on the airs of a pretty | monitress, asks him with tender interest to confide in her. | The great point is never to lose sight of him; to follow him | to balls, concerts, or races, to cleave to him like his | shadow. Then, when he is fairly caught in the toils of her | encircling sympathy, the older and more experienced ally | appears on the scene. Her task is to cut off his retreat. Upon | her firmness and accuracy in calculating the resisting power | of her pigeon, success depends. Seizing an opportunity | when he is least prepared, she sternly informs him that the | time for dalliance is over, that he has said and done things | of a very marked kind, and that there is only one course | open to him as a pigeon of honor. And under this sort of | compulsion the simple | | creature, with his rent-roll, consols, family diamonds, and | all, hops with fairly good grace into the matrimonial toils. | The second contrivance to which he is apt to fall a victim is | the infatuation trap. This is a much more elaborate | machine, and is worked by one of those semi-attached | couples who might sit to a new Hogarth for a new edition | of Marriage a la Mode. The husband’s part is | very simple. It is to be as little in the way as possible, and | to afford his sprightlier half every facility for pursuing her | little game. The chief business devolves on the lady. It is | her task to make the pigeon fall madly in love with her, and | to keep him so, without overstepping the bounds of | conventional propriety. Happily this can be managed | nowadays without either elopement or scandal. Among the | improvements of the mechanical age, it has been found | possible to enlarge the limits of wedlock so as to include a | third person. | A life-long tete-a-tete, which was the old | conception of marriage, is quite obsolete. It has given way | to the triangular theory, by which a new element, in the | shape of a parasitical adorer, has been introduced into the | holy state. Matrimony, as reconstituted by fashionable | scholiasts, comprises husband, wife, and, to relieve the | tedium of the situation, a good-looking appendage of the | male sex, who is an agreeable companion of the one and | the devoted slave of the other. Each contributes to the | harmony of the arrangement ~~ the husband, a background; | the wife, the charms of her presence; the adorer, cash. | Whatever other | | experience it brings, marriage generally sharpens the | appreciation of the value of money; sentiment is sweet, but | it is an article of confectionery, for which its fair dispensers | in the married ranks exact an equivalent. | In trapping her victim, therefore, a sharp young matron is | careful to let her choice fall on a plump specimen of the | pigeon species ~~ a pigeon with a long purse and little | brains. Once reduced to a state of infatuation, almost | anything may be done with him. The luxury of plucking | him will employ her delicate fingers for a long time to | come. He may be sponged upon to any extent. The one | thing he can do really well is to pay. His yacht, his drag, his | brougham, his riding-horses, his shooting-box, all are at her | disposal. At his expense she dines at Greenwich; at his | expense she views the Derby; at his expense she enjoys an | opera-box. And in return for all this she has only to smile | and murmur

"so nice,"

for the soft simpleton to | fancy himself amply repaid. Then she exacts a great many | costly presents, to say nothing of gloves, trinkets, and | lorquets. It is curious to note how the code of | propriety has altered in this particular. | In old-fashioned novels the stereotyped dodge for | compromising a lady’s reputation is to force a present or a | loan of money on her. Nowadays Lovelace’s anxiety is just | the other way ~~ to keep the acquisitive propensity of his | liege lady within tolerable bounds. It would be a great | mistake to suppose that a woman can play this game | without special gifts and aptitudes | | for it. It requires peculiar talents, and peculiar antecedents. | First and foremost, she must have married a man whom she | both dislikes and despises. And, further, she must be proof | against the weakness which some of her sex exhibit, of | growing fond of husbands who, without being Admirable | Crichtons, treat them kindly and with forbearance. Next, | she must have thrown overboard all the twaddle about | domestic duties and responsibilities. If her child sickens of | the measles just as she is starting for her bivouac in | Norway, or a course of dinners in the Palais Royal, her duty | is to call in the doctor and go. Weeks afterwards you will | find the little darling picking up flesh, in mamma’s | absence, at some obscure watering-place. Then her | temperament must be cool, calculating, and passionless in | no ordinary degree, and this character is written in the hard | lines of her mouth and the cold light of her fine eyes. | Lastly, she must have, not a superstitious, but an intelligent | regard for the world’s opinion, or rather for the opinion of | the influential part of it. | No-one has a nicer perception of | the difference in the relative importance of stupid country | gossip and ostracism from certain great houses in London. | No-one takes more pains | to study appearances so long as | they don’t clash with her amusements. Indeed, you will | generally find that her dear friend is a young lady of great | simplicity and irreproachable principles, whom she admits | just enough, but not too far, into her confidence, and who | finds it worth while to enact the part, now of a blind, and | now of a foil. | | If anyone asserts that | this treatment of the human pigeon is | cruel, we can only reply, with a correspondent of the | Times who writes to rebuke the humanitarians who | would rob a poor boa of his squealing rabbit ~~ away with | such cant! Is a married woman to be stinted of her

| "small pleasures"

because prudes affect to think the | means by which they are obtained unfeminine? As well | might they think it unfeline in pussy to play with her | mouse. | The walking pigeon is as much intended for the prey of a | stronger species as the pigeon that flies. The plucking | which he receives at the hands of his fair manipulator is | nothing to what he would get at the hands of his own sex, | in the army, on the turf, or in the city. If the pigeon has | reason to think himself lucky in faring no worse, the | non-pigeon section of society has no less reason to be grateful | for a new illustration of female character. Not that the | mercenary development in some of our young matrons is | altogether new. It is only an old domestic virtue, carried to | an extreme ~~ thrift, running into an engaging rapacity.