AFTER a few days I went to London for the first time—I do not count the night of my arrival, for I saw nothing but the railway terminus—and, I confess, I was not impressed as much as I might have been. I could not help thinking on this first morning, as we passed from Paddington, via Hyde Park, Marble Arch, Park Lane, Brook1 Street, Grosvenor Square, Berkeley Square, Piccadilly and other streets to Regent Street and the neighborhood of the Carlton Hotel, that it was beautiful, spacious2, cleanly, dignified3 and well ordered, but not astonishingly imposing4. Fortunately it was a bright and comfortable morning and the air was soft. There was a faint bluish haze5 over the city, which I took to be smoke; and certainly it smelled as though it were smoky. I had a sense of great life but not of crowded life, if I manage to make myself clear by that. It seemed to me at first blush as if the city might be so vast that no part was important. At every turn Barfleur, who was my ever-present monitor, was explaining, “Now this that we are coming to,” or “This that we are passing,” or “This is so and so;” and so we sped by interesting things, the city impressing me in a vague way but meaning very little at the moment. We must have passed through a long stretch of Piccadilly, for Barfleur pointed6 out a line of clubs, naming them—the St. James’s Club, the Savile Club, the Lyceum Club, and then St. James’s Palace.
I was duly impressed. I was seeing things which,58 after all, I thought, did not depend so much upon their exterior7 beauty or vast presence as upon the import of their lineage and connections. They were beautiful in a low, dark way, and certainly they were tinged8 with an atmosphere of age and respectability. After all, since life is a figment of the brain, built-up notions of things are really far more impressive in many cases than the things themselves. London is a fanfare9 of great names; it is a clatter10 of vast reputations; it is a swirl11 of memories and celebrated12 beauties and orders and distinctions. It is almost impossible any more to disassociate the real from the fictitious13 or, better, spiritual. There is something here which is not of brick and stone at all, but which is purely14 a matter of thought. It is disembodied poetry; noble ideas; delicious memories of great things; and these, after all, are better than brick and stone. The city is low—universally not more than five stories high, often not more than two, but it is beautiful. And it alternates great spaces with narrow crevices15 in such a way as to give a splendid variety. You can have at once a sense of being very crowded and of being very free. I can understand now Browning’s desire to include “poor old Camberwell” with Italy in the confines of romance.
The thing that struck me most in so brief a survey—we were surely not more than twenty minutes in reaching our destination—was that the buildings were largely a golden yellow in color, quite as if they had been white and time had stained them. Many other buildings looked as though they had been black originally and had been daubed white in spots. The truth is that it was quite the other way about. They had been snow white and had been sooted16 by the smoke until they were now nearly coal black. And only here and there had the wind and rain whipped bare white59 places which looked like scars or the drippings of lime. At first I thought, “How wretched.” Later I thought, “This effect is charming.”
We are so used to the new and shiny and tall in America, particularly in our larger cities, that it is very hard at first to estimate a city of equal or greater rank, which is old and low and, to a certain extent, smoky. In places there was more beauty, more surety, more dignity, more space than most of our cities have to offer. The police had an air of dignity and intelligence such as I have never seen anywhere in America. The streets were beautifully swept and clean; and I saw soldiers here and there in fine uniforms, standing17 outside palaces and walking in the public ways. That alone was sufficient to differentiate18 London from any American city. We rarely see our soldiers. They are too few. I think what I felt most of all was that I could not feel anything very definite about so great a city and that there was no use trying.
We were soon at the bank where I was to have my American order for money cashed; and then, after a short walk in a narrow street, we were at the office of Barfleur, where I caught my first glimpse of an English business house. It was very different from an American house of the same kind, for it was in an old and dark building of not more than four stories—and set down in a narrow angle off the Strand19 and lighted by small lead-paned windows, which in America would smack20 strongly of Revolutionary days. In fact we have scarcely any such buildings left. Barfleur’s private offices were on the second floor, up a small dingy21 staircase, and the room itself was so small that it surprised me by its coziness. I could not call it dingy. It was quaint22 rather, Georgian in its atmosphere, with a small open fire glowing in one corner, a great rolltop desk entirely60 out of keeping with the place in another, a table, a book-case, a number of photographs of celebrities23 framed, and the rest books. I think he apologized for, or explained the difference between, this and the average American business house, but I do not think explanations are in order. London is London. I should be sorry if it were exactly like New York, as it may yet become. The smallness and quaintness24 appealed to me as a fit atmosphere for a healthy business.
I should say here that this preliminary trip to London from Bridgely Level, so far as Barfleur was concerned, was intended to accomplish three things: first, to give me a preliminary glimpse of London; second, to see that I was measured and examined for certain articles of clothing in which I was, according to Barfleur, woefully lacking; and third, to see that I attended the concert of a certain Austrian singer whose singing he thought I might enjoy. It was most important that I should go, because he had to go; and since all that I did or could do was merely grist for my mill, I was delighted to accompany him.
Barfleur in many respects, I wish to repeat here, is one of the most delightful25 persons in the world. He is a sort of modern Beau Brummel with literary, artistic26 and gormandizing leanings. He loves order and refinement27, of course,—things in their proper ways and places—as he loves life. I suspect him at times of being somewhat of a martinet28 in home and office matters; but I am by no means sure that I am not doing him a grave injustice29. A more even, complaisant30, well-mannered and stoical soul, who manages to get his way in some fashion or other, if it takes him years to do it, I never met. He surely has the patience of fate and, I think, the true charity of a great heart. Now before I could be properly presented in London and elsewhere I needed a long61 list of things. So this morning I had much shopping to attend to.
Since the matter of English and American money had been troubling me from the moment I reached that stage on my voyage where I began to pay for things out of my own pocket to the ship’s servants, I began complaining of my difficulties now. I couldn’t figure out the tips to my own satisfaction and this irritated me. I remember urging Barfleur to make the whole matter clear to me, which he did later. He gave me a typewritten statement as to the relative value of the various pieces and what tips I should pay and how and when at hotels and country houses, and this I followed religiously. Here it is:
In leaving the hotel to-morrow, give the following tips:
Maid 3/-
Valet 3/-
Gold Braid 1/-
Porter (who looks after telephone) 1/-
Outside Man (Doorman) 1/-
If you reckon at a hotel to give 9d. a day to the maid and the valet, with a minimum of 1/-, you will be doing handsomely. On a visit, on the supposition that they have only maids, give the two maids whom you are likely to come across 2/6 each, when you come away on Monday. (I am speaking of weekends.) Longer periods should be figured at 9d. a day. If, on the other hand, it is a large establishment—butler and footman—you would have to give the butler 10/- and the footman 5/- for a week-end; for longer periods more.
I cannot imagine anything more interesting than being introduced as I was by Barfleur to the social character of London. He was so intelligent and so very nice about it all. “Now, first,” he said, “we will get your glasses mended; and then you want a traveling bag; and then some ties and socks, and so on. I have an appointment62 with you at your tailor’s at eleven o’clock, where you are to be measured for your waistcoats, and at eleven-thirty at your furrier’s, where you are to be measured for your fur coat,” and so on and so forth31. “Well, come along. We’ll be off.”
I have to smile when I think of it, for I, of all people, am the least given to this matter of proper dressing32 and self-presentation, and Barfleur, within reasonable limits, represents the other extreme. To him, as I have said, these things are exceedingly important. The delicate manner in which he indicated and urged me into getting the things which would be all right, without openly insisting on them, was most pleasing. “In England, you know,” he would hint, “it isn’t quite good form to wear a heavy striped tie with a frock coat—never a straight black; and we never tie them in that fashion—always a simple knot.” My socks had to be striped for morning wear and my collars winged, else I was in very bad form indeed. I fell into the habit of asking, “What now?”
London streets and shops as I first saw them interested me greatly. I saw at once more uniforms than one would ordinarily see in New York, and more high hats and, presumably,—I could not tell for the overcoats—cutaway coats. The uniforms were of mail-men, porters, messenger-boys and soldiers; and all being different from what I had been accustomed to, they interested me—the mail-men particularly, with a service helmet cut square off at the top; and the little messenger boys, with their tambourine33 caps cocked joyously34 over one ear, amused me; the policeman’s helmet strap35 under his chin was new and diverting.
In the stores the clerks first attracted my attention, but I may say the stores and shops themselves, after New York, seemed small and old. New63 York is so new; the space given to the more important shops is so considerable. In London it struck me that the space was not much and that the woodwork and walls were dingy. One can tell by the feel of a place whether it is exceptional and profitable, and all of these were that; but they were dingy. The English clerk, too, had an air of civility, I had almost said servility, which was different. They looked to me like individuals born to a condition and a point of view; and I think they are. In America any clerk may subsequently be anything he chooses (ability guaranteed), but I’m not so sure that this is true in England. Anyhow, the American clerk always looks his possibilities—his problematic future; the English clerk looks as if he were to be one indefinitely.
We were through with this round by one o’clock, and Barfleur explained that we would go to a certain very well-known hotel grill36.
The hotel, after its fashion—the grill—was a distinct blow. I had fancied that I was going to see something on the order of the luxurious37 new hotel in New York—certainly as resplendent, let us say, as our hotels of the lower first class. Not so. It could be compared, and I think fairly so, only to our hotels of the second or third class. There was the same air of age here that there was about our old but very excellent hotels in New York. The woodwork was plain, the decorations simple.
As for the crowd, well, Barfleur stated that it might be smart and it might not. Certain publishers, rich Jewish merchants, a few actors and some Americans would probably be here. This grill was affected38 by the foreign element. The maître d’hôtel was French, of course—a short, fat, black-whiskered man who amused me by his urbanity. The waiters were, I believe, German, as they are largely in London and elsewhere in England.64 One might almost imagine Germany intended invading England via its waiters. The china and plate were simple and inexpensive, almost poor. A great hotel can afford to be simple. We had what we would have had at any good French restaurant, and the crowd was rather commonplace-looking to me. Several American girls came in and they were good-looking, smart but silly. I cannot say that I was impressed at all, and my subsequent experiences confirm that feeling. I am inclined to think that London hasn’t one hotel of the material splendor39 of the great new hotels in New York. But let that go for the present.
While we were sipping40 coffee Barfleur told me of a Mrs. W., a friend of his whom I was to meet. She was, he said, a lion-hunter. She tried to make her somewhat interesting personality felt in so large a sea as London by taking up with promising41 talent before it was already a commonplace. I believe it was arranged over the ’phone then that I should lunch there—at Mrs. W.’s—the following day at one and be introduced to a certain Lady R., who was known as a patron of the arts, and a certain Miss H., an interesting English type. I was pleased with the idea of going. I had never seen an English lady lion-hunter. I had never met English ladies of the types of Lady R. and Miss H. There might be others present. I was also informed that Mrs. W. was really not English but Danish; but she and her husband, who was also Danish and a wealthy broker42, had resided in London so long that they were to all intents and purposes English, and in addition to being rich they were in rather interesting standing socially.
After luncheon43 we went to hear a certain Miss T., an Austrian of about thirty years of age, sing at some important hall in London—Bechstein Hall, I believe it was,—and on the way I was told something of her. It65 seemed that she was very promising—a great success in Germany and elsewhere as a concert-singer—and that she might be coming to America at some time or other. Barfleur had known her in Paris. He seemed to think I would like her. We went and I heard a very lovely set of songs—oh, quite delightful, rendered in a warm, sympathetic, enthusiastic manner, and representing the most characteristic type of German love sentiment. It is a peculiar44 sentiment—tender, wistful, smacking45 of the sun at evening and lovely water on which the moon is shining. German sentiment verges46 on the mushy—is always close to tears—but anything more expressive47 of a certain phase of life I do not know.
Miss T. sang forcefully, joyously, vigorously, and I wished sincerely to meet her and tell her so; but that was not to be, then.
As we made our way to Paddington Barfleur, brisk and smiling, asked:
“Were you amused?”
“Quite.”
“Well, then this afternoon was not wasted. I shall always be satisfied if you are amused.”
I smiled, and we rode sleepily back to Bridgely Level to dine and thence to bed.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
brook
|
|
| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
spacious
|
|
| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
imposing
|
|
| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
haze
|
|
| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
exterior
|
|
| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
tinged
|
|
| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
fanfare
|
|
| n.喇叭；号角之声；v.热闹地宣布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
clatter
|
|
| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
swirl
|
|
| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
celebrated
|
|
| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
fictitious
|
|
| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
purely
|
|
| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
crevices
|
|
| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
sooted
|
|
| v.煤烟，烟灰( soot的过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
differentiate
|
|
| vi.(between)区分；vt.区别；使不同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
strand
|
|
| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
smack
|
|
| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
dingy
|
|
| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
quaint
|
|
| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
celebrities
|
|
| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
quaintness
|
|
| n.离奇有趣，古怪的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
artistic
|
|
| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
refinement
|
|
| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
martinet
|
|
| n.要求严格服从纪律的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
injustice
|
|
| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
complaisant
|
|
| adj.顺从的，讨好的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
dressing
|
|
| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
tambourine
|
|
| n.铃鼓，手鼓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
joyously
|
|
| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
strap
|
|
| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
grill
|
|
| n.烤架，铁格子，烤肉；v.烧，烤，严加盘问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
luxurious
|
|
| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
splendor
|
|
| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
sipping
|
|
| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
promising
|
|
| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
broker
|
|
| n.中间人，经纪人；v.作为中间人来安排 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
luncheon
|
|
| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
smacking
|
|
| 活泼的，发出响声的，精力充沛的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
verges
|
|
| 边，边缘，界线( verge的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
expressive
|
|
| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |