London, during hot weather, after the close of the wise season, suggests
to the upper ten thousand, and to the lower twenty thousand who reflect
their ways, and to the lowest millions who minister to them all, a scene
of doleful dullness. I call the time which has passed wise, because that
which succeeds is universally known as the silly season. Then the
editors in town have recourse to the American newspapers for amusing
murders, while their rural brethren invent great gooseberries. Then the
sea-serpent again lifts his awful head. I am always glad when this
sterling inheritance of the Northern races reappears; for while we have
_him_ I know that the capacity for swallowing a big bouncer, or for
inventing one, is not lost. He is characteristic of a fine, bold race.
Long may he wave! It is true that we cannot lie as gloriously as our
ancestors did about him. When the great news-dealer of Norse times had
no home-news he took his lyre, and either spun a yarn about Vinland such
as would smash the "Telegraph," or else sung about "that sea-snake
tremendous curled, whose girth encircles half the world." It is
wonderful, it is awful, to consider how true we remain to the traditions
of the older time. The French boast that they invented the _canard_.
Let them boast. They also invented the shirt-collar; but hoary legends
say that an Englishman invented the shirt for it, as well as the art of
washing it. What the shirt is to the collar, that is the glorious, tough
old Northern _saga_, or maritime spun yarn, to the _canard_, or duck.
The yarn will wash; it passes into myth and history; it fits exactly,
because it was made to order; its age and glory illustrate the survival
of the fittest.
I have, during three or four summers, remained a month in London after
the family had taken flight to the sea-side. I stayed to finish books
promised for the autumn. It is true that nearly four million of people
remain in London during the later summer; but it is wonderful what an
influence the absence of a few exerts on them and on the town. Then you
realize by the long lines of idle vehicles in the ranks how few people in
this world can afford a cab; then you find out how scanty is the number
of those who buy goods at the really excellent shops; and then you may
finally find out by satisfactory experience, if you are inclined to
grumble at your lot in life or your fortune, how much better off you are
than ninety-nine in a hundred of your fellow-murmurers at fate.
It was my wont to walk out in the cool of the evening, to smoke my cigar
in Regent's Park, seated on a bench, watching the children as they played
about the clock-and-bull fountain,--for it embraces these objects among
its adornments,--presented by Cowasie Jehanguire, who added to these
magnificent Persian names the prosaic English postscript of Ready Money.
In this his name sets forth the history of his Parsee people, who, from
being heroic Ghebers, have come down to being bankers, who can "do" any
Jew, and who might possibly tackle a Yankee so long as they kept out of
New Jersey. One evening I walked outside of the Park, passing by the
Gloucester Bridge to a little walk or boulevard, where there are a few
benches. I was in deep moon-shadow, formed by the trees; only the ends
of my boots shone like eyes in the moonlight as I put them out. After a
while I saw a nice-looking young girl, of the humble-decent class, seated
by me, and with her I entered into casual conversation. On the bench
behind us were two young Italians, conversing in strongly marked
Florentine dialect. They evidently thought that no one could understand
them; as they became more interested they spoke more distinctly, letting
out secrets which I by no means wished to hear.
At that instant I recalled the famous story of Prince Bismarck and the
Esthonian young ladies and the watch-key. I whispered to the girl,--
"When I say something to you in a language which you do not understand,
answer '_Si_' as distinctly as you can."