_Monday, Sept. 7th_, 189-. I am one year old to-day.
I imagine that most people regard their first birthday as something
of an event; a harvest-home of innocence, touched with I know not how
delicate a bloom of virginal anticipation; of emotion too volatile
for analysis, or perhaps eluding analysis by its very simplicity.
But whatever point the festival might have had for me was rudely
destroyed by my parents, who chose this day for jolting me back to
London in a railway-carriage. We have just arrived home from
Newquay, Cornwall, where we have been spending the summer holidays
for the sake of my health, as papa has not scrupled to blurt out,
once or twice, in my presence.
There is a strain of coarseness in papa; or perhaps I should say--for
the impression it leaves is primarily negative, as of something
_manque_--an incompleteness in the sensitive equipment. As yet it
can hardly be said to embarrass me; though I foresee a time when I
shall have to apologise for it to strangers. There is nothing absurd
in this. If a man may take pride in his ancestry, why may he not
apologise for his papa? My papa will be forgiven, for he is so
splendidly virile! He left our compartment at Bristol and did not
return again until the train stopped at Swindon for him to eat a bun.
In the interval, mamma took me from nurse and endeavoured to hush me
by singing--
Father's gone a-hunting. . . .
Which was untrue, for he had lit a pipe and withdrawn to a smoking
compartment. My nurse--an egregious female--had previously remarked,
"The dear child _do_ take such notice of the puff-puff!" As a matter
of fact, I took no interest in the locomotive; but I had observed it
sufficiently to be sure that it offered no facilities for hunting.
A few months ago I might have accepted the explanation: for our
family has affinity with what is vulgarly termed the upper class, and
my father inherits its crude and primitive instincts; among them a
passion for the chase. His appearance, as he returned to our
compartment, oppressed me for the hundredth time with a sense of its
superabundant and even riotous vitality. His cheeks were glowing,
and his whiskers sprouted like cabbages on either side of his
otherwise clean-shaven face. An indefinable flavour of the sea
mingled with the odour of tobacco which he diffused about the
carriage. It seemed as if the virile breezes of that shaggy Cornish
coast still blew about him; and I felt again that constriction of the
chest from which I had suffered during the past month.
After all, it is good to be back in London! Newquay, with its
obvious picturesqueness, its violent colouring, its sands, rocks,
breakers and by-laws regulating the costume of bathers, merely
exasperated my nerves. How far more subtle the appeal of these grey
and dun-coloured opacities, these tent-cloths of fog pressed out into
uncouth, dumbly pathetic shapes by the struggle for existence that
seethes below it always--always! Decidedly I must begin to-morrow to
practise walking. It seems a necessary step towards acquainting
myself with the inner life of these inchoate millions, which must be
well worth knowing. Papa, on arriving at our door, plunged into an
altercation with a cab-tout. What a man! And yet sometimes I could
find it in my heart to envy his robustness, his buoyancy. A Huntley
and Palmer's Nursery Biscuit in a little hot water has somewhat
quieted my nerves, which suffered cruelly during the scene.
I believe I shall sleep to-night.
_Tuesday, 8th_. The beginning of _Sturm und Drang_; I am learning to
walk. Moreover I have surprised in myself, during the day, a
tendency to fall in love with my nurse. On the pretence that walking
might give me bandy legs she caught me up and pressed me to her
bosom. We have no affinities; indeed, beyond cleanliness and a
certain unreasoning honesty, she can be said to possess no attributes
at all. I am convinced that a serious affection for her could only
flourish on an intellectual atrophy; and yet for a while I abandoned
myself. We went out into the bright streets together, and it was
delicious to be propelled by her strong arms. We halted, on our way
to Kensington Gardens, to listen to a German band. The voluptuous
waltz-music affected me strangely, and I was sorry that, owing to my
position in the vehicle, her face was hidden from me. In the midst
of my ecstasy, a square object on wheels came round the street
corner. It was painted a bright vermilion and bore the initials of
K.V.--"Kytherea Victrix!" I cried in my heart; but as it passed, at a
slow pace, it rained a flood of tears upon the dusty road-way.
For some time after I sat in a strange calm, but with a sensation in
the region of the diaphragm as if I had received a severe blow; and
in truth I had. But the shock was salutary, and by the time that
nurse and I were seated together by the Round Pond, I was able to
listen to her talk without a quiver of the eyelids. Poor soul!
What malefic jest of Fate led her to select the story of
Georgie-Porgie?
Georgie-Porgie, pudding and pie. . . .
It is as irrelevant as life itself.
Georgie-Porgie, pudding and pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry. . . .
Why pudding? Why pie? Why--if you ask this--why _any_ realism?
These concrete accidents solidify a thin and abstract love-story for
our human comprehension. Or are they, perchance, symbolical?
Georgie-Porgie's promises, like pie-crust, were made to be broken.
He--
Kissed the girls and made them cry.
When the girls came out to play,
Georgie-Porgie ran away.
--Simple solution of the difficulty! And I am already learning to
walk! Poor woman!
_Wednesday, 9th_. I am troubled whenever I reflect on the subject of
heredity. It terrifies me to think that I may grow up to resemble
papa. Mamma, too, is hardly less a savage: she wore diamonds in her
hair when she came up to the nursery, late last night, to look at me.
She believed that I was asleep; but I wasn't, and I never in my life
felt so sorry that I couldn't speak. The appalling barbarism of
those trinkets! I got out of the cradle and rocked myself to sleep.
It is raining this afternoon--the sky weeping like a Corot--and
I am forced to stay indoors and affect an interest in Noah and his
ark! Nurse's father came up and accosted her in the Gardens this
morning. He is one of the Submerged Tenth, and extremely
interesting. On the threat of running off with me and pitching me
neck and crop into the Round Pond, he extracted half a crown from
her. She gave him the coin docilely. I found myself almost hoping
that he would raise his price, that I might discover how much the
poor creature was ready to sacrifice for my sake. She is looking
pale this afternoon; but this may be because I cried half the night
and kept her awake. The fact is, I was cutting a tooth. I have
given up learning to walk; but have some idea of trying somnambulism
instead.
_Thursday, 10th_. To-day I was spanked for the first time. When I
have stopped crying, I mean to analyse my sensations. Sometimes, in
Kensington Gardens, I feel like a boy who is never growing up. . .