who sold margarine as butter should have felt that there was a stain on the escutcheon of the Higginses.  Instead of doing this, the democrats made the appalling mistake—­a mistake at the root of the whole modern malady—­of decreasing the human magnificence of the past instead of increasing it.  They did not say, as they should have done, to the common citizen, ’You are as good as the Duke of Norfolk,’ but used that meaner democratic formula, ‘The Duke of Norfolk is no better than you are.’

For it cannot be denied that the world lost something finally and most unfortunately about the beginning of the nineteenth century.  In former times the mass of the people was conceived as mean and commonplace, but only as comparatively mean and commonplace; they were dwarfed and eclipsed by certain high stations and splendid callings.  But with the Victorian era came a principle which conceived men not as comparatively, but as positively, mean and commonplace.  A man of any station was represented as being by nature a dingy and trivial person—­a person born, as it were, in a black hat.  It began to be thought that it was ridiculous for a man to wear beautiful garments, instead of it being—­as, of course, it is—­ridiculous for him to deliberately wear ugly ones.  It was considered affected for a man to speak bold and heroic words, whereas, of course, it is emotional speech which is natural, and ordinary civil speech which is affected.  The whole relations of beauty and ugliness, of dignity and ignominy were turned upside down.  Beauty became an extravagance, as if top-hats and umbrellas were not the real extravagance—­a landscape from the land of the goblins.  Dignity became a form of foolery and shamelessness, as if the very essence of a fool were not a lack of dignity.  And the consequence is that it is practically most difficult to propose any decoration or public dignity for modern men without making them laugh.  They laugh at the idea of carrying crests and coats-of-arms instead of laughing at their own boots and neckties.  We are forbidden to say that tradesmen should have a poetry of their own, although there is nothing so poetical as trade.  A grocer should have a coat-of-arms worthy of his strange merchandise gathered from distant and fantastic lands; a postman should have a coat-of-arms capable of expressing the strange honour and responsibility of the man who carries men’s souls in a bag; the chemist should have a coat-of-arms symbolizing something of the mysteries of the house of healing, the cavern of a merciful witchcraft.

There were in the French Revolution a class of people at whom everybody laughed, and at whom it was probably difficult, as a practical matter, to refrain from laughing.  They attempted to erect, by means of huge wooden statues and brand-new festivals, the most extraordinary new religions.  They adored the Goddess of Reason, who would appear, even when the fullest allowance has been made for their many virtues,