Shadowland (Mar-Aug 1923)

Su4£OWLANL> familiar to London. First came a blind veteran, led by his little daughter. His voice was never meant for sing ing— but he sang 'ln't Mil A Shime To Drive 'Fr From V'r Door! — or something like that. Von thanked God when it was over. As he passed hi^ tin cup along, pleading, "Wont you shove me a copper, please!" his sightless face came uncomfortably close to your wide-open eyes and it made you think. Then came a hurdy-gurdy, propelled by two fragments of men. One had no arms and the other but one leg. Their photographs in uniform were hung on the side of the musical van — two handsome, whole young English soldiers. But they were a jolly pair of beggars, and the hurdy-gurdy was rilled with lively airs. They sang comic songs, smiling up at you and singing lustily, giving a noble and unexpected twist to Life's Show that somehow made you feel that God was in His Heaven after all. The next was an odd number. He planted himself right in the center of Charing Cross Road, swarming with hansom cabs and reckless taxis at this hour. His "act" was "impersonations," and his paraphernalia consisted of a broad-brimmed slouch hat. When he put the hat crosswise on his head, folded his arms and frowned, he became Xapoleon ! Every time he changed the position of his hat he "became" somebody else, or at least he seemed to think so, and that made us laugh. In truth, it was only the hat that changed. The same gentle, untenanted countenance always appeared beneath it, placid, poignant, pathetic. It didn't matter to him what we thought — he was Napoleon. We, poor wretches, were the crazy ones. But the traffic had become tied in a knot. Drivers were hurling Billingsgate at him and anxious "fares" were shaking their fists at him, when a big Bobby came and clapped his hand on his shoulder. He turned and smiled, for the first time, Waterloo was at hand. The line moved forwardup the long stairs to the top gallery. Tn America, we take -* entertai nment harder than London does, and God knows, life has been hard to live there for going on nine years now ! Englishmen have a habit of laughing at the Little Things — it's a streak of subtle national humor that's a veritable gift o' God ! They smile at Big Things too, like the War. For example : One afternoon I lingered late in Trafalgar Square — seeking entertainment. I found it. An Irish agitation meeting was going on wildly at the foot of the "column," on top of which stands the effigy of that patriot of patriots, Lord Nelson. Now, at the foot of the column, several Irishmen were taking turns in vilifying England. There was 11 rovvn Midnight in Piccadilly Circus an audience of scarcely a couple of hundred people. About half of them were Irishmen spoiling for a fight. Then there was a large group of Labor Unionists echoing the vilification. The remainder were ordinary Englishmen, attentive, half-smiling. Nearby, busses were drawing up in quick succession on their way to Westminster, Lambeth, Clapham Common. The crowding passengers glanced sidelong toward the agitators and smiled. It was no laughing matter, but they could not refrain from smiling, grim tho it was. How easily London is entertained may be deducted from another gathering I found just on the other side of the same Square. England's real National Theater had been set up in a six-foot radius, and when I arrived the play that has had the longest run in the history of the theater was in full swing — Punch and Judy ! Every Englishman in the crowd had seen this classic a score of times or more. Yet he stood there again — knowing that his supper was growing cold at home — with a little drizzle of December rain penetrating his clothes, and the rumble of a thousand busses almost drowning Punch's squeaky voice. He stood there with all his native dignity doffed, gaping receptively— boyish England shining in the man of Britain's eyes. I could never be sure which was the more entertaining — Punch and Judy or John Bull at play! (~\x a former visit to London, I had attended a per^^ formance of the Royal Opera in Covent Garden. It was a "command" performance and King Edward and Queen Alexandra were there in the royal box. The touch of pageantry this side of the footlights outshone the gorgeous setting of Le Prophete itself. On my current visit to the famous playhouse, I had taken in the "movies" there ! The world do move backward, it seems, sometimes. There was a curious audience there that first time. It was the celluloid debut of a blueblooded star — my Lady Diana Manners, daughter of their Graces the Duke and Duchess of Rutland. Probably few of Lady Di's "set" had ever seen a cinema before. "It isn't done." Lady Di had "gone out to work," and not a few were anxious to see how she had managed to pick up so many pounds-shillings -andpence outside their "circles." It was a most entertaining audience, far more entertaining than the picture. "Mme. Tussaud's" is another London institution of amusement. For more than five generations all London has been swarming thru Mme. Tussaud's on every (Continued on page 74) Page Forty-Nine