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    The City of Pleasure
    The City of Pleasure
    The City of Pleasure
    Ebook292 pages3 hours

    The City of Pleasure

    By Arnold Bennett

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    The remarkable City of Pleasure is the background for a story of mystery, romance, humour and numerous complications. The dour, uninteresting, but rich Josephus Ilam finances Charles Carpentaria's dream amusement park, which in addition to all of the usual attractions has a concert hall, theatres, and an art gallery. They go up in a balloon, but Ilam is not amused and a business disagreement results. However, Illam is not all he seems - late one night Carpentaria sees him with something draped in black upon his back. Shots are fired, rope ladders used, poison administered...

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPublishdrive
    Release dateAug 9, 2017
    The City of Pleasure
    Author

    Arnold Bennett

    Arnold Bennett was a prolific English novelist and leading realist author during the early twentieth century. In addition to his fictional work, he also wrote selected nonfiction and criticism, including his insightful book How to Live on Twenty-Four Hours a Day.

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      Book preview

      The City of Pleasure - Arnold Bennett

      2017

      All rights reserved

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      PART I—CARPENTARIA

      CHAPTER I—Over the City

      CHAPTER II—Interviewed

      CHAPTER III—Inspiration

      CHAPTER IV—Mrs. Ilam

      CHAPTER V—The Band

      CHAPTER VI—The Black Burden

      CHAPTER VII—The Cut

      CHAPTER VIII—Disappearance of Juliette

      CHAPTER IX—The Dead Dog

      CHAPTER X—A Pinch of Snuff

      CHAPTER XI—The Return to Life

      CHAPTER XII—On the Wheel

      CHAPTER XIII—Performances of Mr. Jetsam

      PART II—THE TWINS

      CHAPTER XIV—Entry of the Twins

      CHAPTER XV—Proposal of Josephus

      CHAPTER XVI—The Box

      CHAPTER XVII—The Man on the Balcony

      CHAPTER XVIII—An Arrangement for a Marriage

      CHAPTER XIX—The Heart of the City

      CHAPTER XX—What Jetsam Wanted

      CHAPTER XXI—Interrupting a Concert

      CHAPTER XXII—Carpentaria as Detective

      CHAPTER XXIII—The Talk in the Garden

      PART III—JETSAM

      CHAPTER XXIV—The Boat

      CHAPTER XXV—-A Wholesale Departure

      CHAPTER XXVI—The Empty Bedroom

      CHAPTER XXVII—The Photograph

      CHAPTER XXVIII—The Dead March

      CHAPTER XXIX—Mr. Jetsam’s Recital

      CHAPTER XXX—The Words of Mrs. Ilam

      CHAPTER XXXI—Unison

      PART I—CARPENTARIA

      CHAPTER I—Over the City

      Carpentaria!

      One of the three richly-uniformed officials who were in charge of the captive balloon, destined to be a leading attraction of the City of Pleasure, murmured this name warningly to his companions, as if to advise them that the moment had arrived for them to mind their p’s and q’s. And each man looked cautiously through the tail of his eye at a striking figure which was approaching through crowds of people to the enclosure. The figure was tall and had red hair and a masterful face, and it was clothed in a blue suit that set off the red hair to perfection. Over the wicket of the enclosure a small enamelled sign had been hung:

      "CITY OF PLEASURE.

      "President: Josephus Ilam.

      "Managing and Musical Director: Charles Carpentaria.

      "Balloon Ascents every half-hour after three o’clock. Height of a thousand feet guaranteed. Seats, half-a-crown, including field-glass."

      The sign was slightly askew, and the approaching figure tapped it into position, and then entered the enclosure.

      Good afternoon, it said. Everything ready?

      ’d afternoon, Mr. Carpentaria, said the head balloonist respectfully. Yes, sir.

      The three men with considerable ostentation busied themselves among ropes, while a young man in gold-rimmed spectacles gazed with sudden self-consciousness into the far distance, just as if he had that very instant discovered something there that demanded the whole of his attention.

      Going up, sir? inquired the head balloonist.

      Yes, replied Carpentaria. Mr. Ilam and I are going up together. We have time, haven’t we? It’s only half-past two.

      Yes, sir.

      Carpentaria examined the vast balloon, which was trembling and swaying and lugging with that aspiration towards heaven and the infinite so characteristic of well-filled balloons. He ignored the young man in spectacles.

      Where’s the parachutist? Carpentaria demanded.

      A parachutist was to give éclat to the first public ascent of the silken monster by dropping from it into the Thames or somewhere else. His apparatus hung beneath the great circular car.

      He’ll be here before three, sir, said the head balloonist.

      He’s been here once, sir, added the second balloonist, anxious to prove to himself that he also had the right to converse with the mighty Carpentaria.

      A few seconds later the august President arrived. Mr. Josephus Ilam was tall, like his partner, but much stouter. He had, indeed, almost the inflated appearance which one observes constantly in the drivers of brewers’ drays; even his fingers bulged. His age was fifty, ten years more than that of Carpentaria, and it was probably ten years since he had seen his own feet. Finally, he was clean-shaven, with areas of blue on his chin and cheeks like the sea on a map, and his hair—what remained of it—seemed to be hesitating between black and grey.

      What’s the matter? he asked of Carpentaria.

      Oh, I thought I would just like to make the first ascent with you alone, Carpentaria answered, and added, smiling, I have something to show you up there.

      His hand indicated the firmament, and his peculiar smile indicated that he took Ilam’s consent for granted.

      Ilam sighed obesely, and agreed. He did not care to argue before members of the staff. Nevertheless, the futility of ascending to the skies on this, the opening day, when the colossal organism of the show cried aloud for continual supervision on earth, was sufficiently clear to his mind. He climbed gingerly over the edge of the wickerwork car, which had a circumference of thirty feet, with a protected aperture in the middle, and Carpentaria followed him.

      Let go, said Carpentaria, gleefully. Let go! he repeated with impatience, when the balloon was arrested at a height of about ten feet.

      Right sir, responded briskly the head balloonist. There appeared to have been some altercation between the balloonists.

      The day was the first of May, but the London spring had chosen to be capricious and unseasonable. Instead of the snow and frost and east wind which almost invariably accompany what is termed, with ferocious irony, the merry month, there was strong, brilliant sunshine and a perfect calm. The sun glinted and glittered on the upper surfaces of the balloon, but of course the voyagers could not perceive that. They, in fact, perceived nothing except that the entire world was gradually falling away from them. The balloon had ceased to shiver; it stood as firm as consols, while the City of Pleasure sank and sank, and the upturned faces of more than fifty thousand spectators grew tinier and tinier.

      It would be interesting and certainly instructive to unfold some of the many mysteries and minor dramas which had diversified the history of the making of the City of Pleasure, from the time when Carpentaria, having conceived the idea of the thing, found the necessary millionaire in the person of Josephus Ilam, to the hurried and tumultuous eve of the opening day; but these are unconnected with the present recital. It needs only to remind the reader of the City’s geography. Towards the lower left-hand corner of any map of London not later than 1905, may be observed a large, nearly empty space in the form of an inverted letter U. This space is bounded everywhere, except across the bottom, by the Thames. It is indeed a peninsula made by an extraordinary curve of the Thames, and Barnes Common connects if with the mainland of the parish of Putney. Its dimensions are little short of a mile either way, and yet, although Hammersmith Bridge joins it to Hammersmith at the top, it was almost uninhabited, save for the houses which lined Bridge Road and a scattering of houses in Lonsdale Road and the short streets between Lonsdale Road and the reservoir near the bridge. The contrast was violent; on the north side of the Thames the crowded populousness of Hammersmith, and on the south side—well, possibly four people to the acre.

      Ilam and Carpentaria, with Ilam’s money, bought or leased the whole of the middle part of the peninsula—over three hundred acres—with a glorious half-mile frontage to the Thames on the east side. They would have acquired all the earth as far as Barnes Common but for the fact that the monomaniacs of the Ranelagh Club Golf Course could not be induced to part with their links, even when offered a fantastic number of thousand pounds per hole. They obtained the closing of the Bridge Road, which cut the peninsula downwards into two halves, and the omnibus traffic between Hammersmith and Barnes was diverted to Lonsdale Road—not without terrific diplomacy, and pitched battles in the columns of newspapers and in Local Government offices. They pulled down every house in Bridge Road, thus breaking up some seventy presumably happy English homes, and then they started upon the erection of the City of Pleasure, which they intended to be, and which all the world now admits to be, the most gigantic enterprise of amusement that Europe has ever seen.

      As the balloon rose the general conformation of the City of Pleasure became visible. Running almost north and south from Hammersmith Bridge was the Central Way, the splendid private thoroughfare which had superseded Bridge Road. It was a hundred feet wide, and its surface was treated with westrumite, and a service of gaily coloured cable-cars flashed along it in either direction, between the north and the south entrances to the City. It was lined with multifarious buildings, all painted cream—the theatre, the variety theatre, the concert hall, the circus, the panorama, the lecture hall, the menagerie, the art gallery, the story-tellers’ hall, the dancing-rooms, restaurants, cafés and bars, and those numerous shops for the sale of useless and expensive souvenirs without which the happiness of no Briton on a holiday is complete. The footpaths, 20 feet wide, were roofed with glass, and between the footpaths and the roadway came two rows of trees which were industriously taking advantage of the weather to put forth their verdure. Footpaths and road were thronged with people, and the street was made gay, not only by the toilettes and sunshades of women, but also by processions of elephants, camels, and other wild-fowl, bearing children of all ages in charge of gorgeous Indians and Ethiops. From every roof floated great crimson flags with the legend in gold: City of Pleasure. President: Ilam; Director: Carpentaria. Add to this combined effect the music of bands and the sunshine, and do not forget the virgin creaminess of the elaborate architecture, and you will be able to form a notion of the spectacle offered by the esplanade upon which Ilam and Carpentaria looked down.

      Midway between the north and south entrances, the Central Way expanded itself into a circular place, with a twenty-jetted bronze fountain in the middle. To the west was the façade of what was called the Exposition Palace, an enormous quadrangular building, containing a huge covered court which, with its balconies, would hold twenty thousand people on wet days. The galleries of the palace were devoted to an exhibition of everything that related to woman, from high-heeled shoes to thrones; it was astonishing how many things did relate to woman. North of the Exposition Palace stretched out the Amusements Park, where people looped the loop, shot the chute, wheeled the wheel, switched the switchback, etc.; and here was the balloon enclosure. South of the palace lay the Sports Fields, where a cricket match was progressing.

      Finally, and most important of all, to the east of the circular place in Central Way rose the impressive entrance to the Oriental Gardens, the pride of Ilam and Carpentaria. The Oriental Gardens occupied the entire eastern side of the City, and they sloped down to the Thames. They formed over a hundred acres of gardens, wood, and pleasaunce, laid out with formal magnificence. Flowers bloomed there in defiance of seasons. On every hand the eye was met by vistas of trees and shrubs, and by lawns and statues, and lakes and fountains. In the middle was Carpentaria’s own special bandstand. A terrace, two thousand five. hundred feet long, bordered the river, and from the terrace jutted out a pier at which steamers were unloading visitors.

      CHAPTER II—Interviewed

      The occupants of the balloon could see everything. They saw the debarcation from the steamers; they saw the unending crowd of doll-like persons thrown up out of the ground by the new Tube station at the south end of Hammersmith Bridge; they saw the heavy persistent stream of vehicles and pedestrians over the bridge; they saw the trains approaching Barnes on the South-Western Railway; they saw the struggles for admittance at all the gates of the City; they even saw flocks of people streaming Cityward along the Barnes High Street and the Lower Richmond Road. It was not for nothing that advertisements of the City of Pleasure had filled one solid page of every daily paper in London, and many in the provinces, for a week past. Visitors were now entering the city at the rate of seventy thousand an hour, at a shilling a head.

      There was a gentle tug beneath the car. The thousand feet of rope had been paid out, and the balloon hung motionless.

      Then a faint noise, something between the crackling of musketry and the surge of waves on a pebbly beach, ascended from the city.

      They’re cheering, said Josephus Ilam. What for?

      Cheering us, of course, answered Carpentaria excitedly. Isn’t it immense?

      Immense? said Ilam heavily. It’s hot. What did you want to show me up here?

      That! exclaimed Carpentaria, pointing below to the city with a superb gesture. And that! he added passionately, pointing with another gesture to the whole of London, which lay spread out with all its towers and steeples and its blanket of smoke, tremendous and interminable to the east. That is our prey, he said, our food.

      And he began to sing the Toreador song from Carmen, exultantly launching the notes into the sky.

      Mr. Carpentaria, said Josephus Ilam, with unexpected bitterness, is this your idea of a joke? Bringing me up here to see London and our show, as if I didn’t know London and our show like my pocket!

      Ilam’s concealed, hatred of Carpentaria, which had been slowly growing for more than a year, as a fire spreads secretly in the hold of a ship, seemed to spurt out a swift tongue of flame in the acrimony of his tone. Carpentaria was startled. Even then, in a sudden flash of illumination, he grasped to a certain extent the import of Ilam’s attitude towards him, but he did not grasp it fully. How should he?

      Why, he said to himself, I believe the old johnny dislikes mel What on earth for? He could not understand all Ilam’s reasons. Pity! he reflected further. If the managers of a show like this can’t hit it off together, there may be trouble.

      In which supposition he was infinitely more right than he imagined.

      He balanced himself lightly on the edge of the car, his left leg dangling, and seized one of the field-glasses which hung secured by thin steel chains round the inside of the wicker parapet, and putting it to his eyes, he gazed down at the Oriental Gardens. He must have seen something there that profoundly interested him, for the glasses remained glued to his eyes for a long time.

      I repeat, said Ilam firmly, standing up, is this your idea of a joke?

      He was close to Carpentaria, and his glance was vicious.

      My friend, murmured Carpentaria, dropping the glasses. What’s the matter with you is that you aren’t an artist, not a bit of one. You are an excellent fellow, with a splendid head for figures, and I respect you enormously, but you haven’t the artistic sense. If you had you would share the thrill which I feel as I survey our creation and that London over there. You would appreciate why I brought you up here.

      I’m a business man—a plain business man, that’s what I am, said Ilam. I’ve never pretended to be an artist, and I don’t want to be an artist. Let me tell you that I ought to be in the advertisement department, and not canoodling my time away up here, Mr. Carpentaria.

      My dear sir, said Carpentaria hastily, accept my apologies. Let us descend at once.

      And while I’m about it, pursued Ilam unheedingly—his irritation was like a stone rolling down a hill—while I’m about it, I’ll point out that your objection to having advertisements on the walls of the restaurants is fatuous.

      But, my dear Ilam, Carpentaria protested, people don’t care to have to read advertisements while they’re at their meals. It puts them off. For instance, to have it dinned into you that G. H. Mumm is the only champagne worth drinking when you happen to be drinking Heidsieck, or to have Wall’s sausages thrust down your throat while you are toying with an ice-cream—people don’t like it. We must think of our patrons. And, besides, it’s so inarti——

      Rubbish! said Ilam. One way and another these ads. would be worth a hundred’ a week to us.

      Well, and what’s a hundred a week?

      It’s the interest on a hundred and twenty thousand pounds, Ilam replied vivaciously. And there’s another thing. It would be much better if you employed more time in inspection instead of rehearsing and conducting your precious band. Any fool can conduct a band. Give me a stick and I’d do it myself. But inspection———

      My precious band! stammered Carpentaria, aghast.

      His very soul was laid low; and considering that Carpentaria’s Band had been famous in the capitals of two continents for twelve years at least, it was not surprising that his soul should be laid low by this terrible phrase.

      Yes, said Ilam, I’ve had enough of it. His shoulder touched Carpentaria’s, and his eyes—little, like a pig’s—shot arrows of light. Supposing I shoved you over? I should have the concern to myself then, and no foolish interference.

      He twisted his face into a grim laugh.

      You have a sense of humour, after all, Ilam, responded gaily the man on the edge of the car, fingering his long red moustache, and he, too, laughed, but he got down from his perch.

      I’d just like you to comprehend—— Ilam began again.

      But at that instant a head appeared above the edge of the central aperture of the car, and Ilam stopped.

      It was the head of the young man in spectacles—gold-rimmed spectacles.

      "I’m Smithers, of the Morning Herald, said the young man brightly and calmly, and I took this opportunity of seeing you privately. Your men objected when I got into the parachute attachment, but you told ‘em to let go, and so they let go. I’ve had some difficulty in climbing up here off the parachute bar. Dangerous, rather. However, I’ve done it. I dare say you heard the crowd cheering."

      So it was him they were cheering, muttered Ilam, and then looked at Carpentaria.

      Ilam was not a genius in the art of conversation. He could only say what he meant, and when the running of the City of Pleasure demanded the art of conversation he relied on Carpentaria, even if he was

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