In these troublous times Cinemaland is about the only foreign country
in which it is possible to travel for pleasure. It has occurred to me
that some account of its curious manners and customs may not be without
interest for such readers as are still unacquainted with them.
As Cinemaland contains many departments, each of which has
peculiarities of its own, I cannot attempt more than a general
description.
The chief national industry is the chase of fugitives. In some
departments this is done on horseback, with a considerable and rather
aimless expenditure of ammunition; in others by motor car, or along the
roofs of railway carriages. It seems a healthy pursuit and provides all
concerned with exercise and excitement. The women are, almost without
exception, young and extremely prepossessing. Nature has endowed them,
among other personal advantages, with superb teeth, of which they make
a pardonably ostentatious display on the slightest provocation. They
are all magnificent horsewomen and fearless swimmers, and they do not
in the least mind spoiling their clothes.
In their domestic circles, however, they show a feminine and clinging
disposition, with a marked tendency to fall in love at first sight with
any undesirable stranger.
The principal occupation of the children is reconciling estranged
parents by contracting serious illnesses or getting run over.
The latter is even easier to manage in Cinemaland than in any
London thoroughfare. I have seldom, if ever, seen an aged Cinemian
grandparent, a long-lost wife, or a strayed child try to cross the
emptiest street without being immediately bowled over by a motor-car.
The mere wind of it has the strange potency not only of knocking down a
pedestrian, but inflicting the gravest internal injuries. Fortunately,
Cinemaland is a country rich in coincidences, so the car is invariably
occupied by the very person who has been vainly seeking the sufferer
for years. This of course is some compensation, but, all the same, it
is hardly the ideal method of running across people one is anxious to
meet.
The victims are always removed to the nearest hospital, but, if I may
judge from what I have seen of their wards, I should say that medical
science in Cinemaland is still in its infancy, and it has never
surprised me that so many patients die soon after admission.
But then Science of any kind seems to be a dangerous and unprofitable
occupation there. The inventor, designer, or discoverer of anything
is simply asking for trouble. If he doesn't blow himself up in his
laboratory and get blinded for life, some envious rival is certain to
undertake this for him. Or else a vague villain will steal his formula
or plans and sell them to a Foreign Power with Dundreary whiskers. And
the extraordinary part of it is that no Cinemian has ever invented
anything yet of which the secret could possibly be worth more than
twopence. I fancy the stealing must be done from sheer wanton devilry.
Crime in Cinemaland is invariably detected sooner or later, though I
doubt if it would be but for a careless practice among criminals there
of carrying in their breastpockets the document that proves their
guilt. They seem to have a superstitious idea that to destroy it would
bring them bad luck.
The exterior of a private mansion in a fashionable Cinemian suburb is
stately and imposing, but the interior is generally disappointing,
the rooms being small and overcrowded with furniture that is showy
without being distinguished. In some houses the owners appear to have a
taste for collecting antiques and to have been grossly imposed upon by
dealers.
It is usual for young couples with a very moderate income to keep
not only a smart parlourmaid but a butler as well. The manner of all
Cinemian domestics is one of exaggerated deference; an ordinary English
employer would be painfully embarrassed if his servants bowed to him so
low and so often, but they appear to like it in Cinemaland.
Social etiquette there has exigencies that are all its own. For
example, a guest at an evening party who happens to lose a brooch or
necklace is expected at once to stop the festivities by complaining
to her hostess and insisting on a constable being called in to search
everybody present. It might be thought that Cinemian Society would have
learnt by this time that the person in whose possession the missing
article is discovered is absolutely sure to be innocent. But the
supposed culprit is always hauled off (with quite unnecessary violence)
to prison, amidst the scorn and reprobation of the hostess and her
other guests. It is true they make the handsomest amends afterwards,
which are gratefully accepted, but in any other country the hostess's
next invitation to any social function would be met with the plea of
a previous engagement. If these amiable and impulsive people _have_ a
failing, I should say it was a readiness to believe the worst of one
another on evidence which would not hang an earwig.
They are indefatigable letter-writers, but, after having had the
privilege of inspecting numerous examples of their correspondence, I
am compelled to own that, while their penmanship is bold and legible,
their epistolary style is apt to be a trifle crude.
The clergy of Cinemaland all wear short side whiskers and are a
despised and servile class who appear to derive most of their
professional income from marrying runaway couples in back parlours.
In certain departments it is a frequent practice to dress up in Federal
and Confederate uniforms and engage in desperate conflict. I have
witnessed battles there with over a hundred combatants on each side.
There was a profusion of flags and white smoke on these occasions, but,
so far as I was able to observe, no blood was actually shed.
There is another department which is inhabited by a singularly
high-strung, not to say jerky, race, the women especially betraying
their emotions with a primitive absence of self-control. There, the
pleasure of the cause has become a delirious orgy, though much valuable
time is lost both by pursuers and pursued, owing to an inveterate habit
of stopping and leaping high at intervals. Squinting is a not uncommon
affliction, as is also abnormal stoutness, the latter, however, being
always combined with a surprising agility. In personal encounters,
which are by no means uncommon, it is considered not only legitimate
but laudable to kick the adversary whenever he turns his back, and also
to spring at him, encircle his waist with your legs, and bite his ear.
The local police are all either overgrown or undersized, and have been
carefully trained to fall over one another at about every five yards.
As guardians of the peace, however, I prefer our own force.
I could not have written even so brief an account as this unless I had
paid many visits to Cinemaland. If I am spared I fully expect to pay
many more. The truth is that I cannot keep away from the country. Why,
I can't explain, but I fancy it is because it is so absolutely unlike
any other country with which I happen to be familiar.