Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 12, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 January 1914 — NIGHT IN LONDON [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

NIGHT IN LONDON

EMERGING from a west end theater in London a companion /remarked to the writer: “This makes me glad to be a provin- . cial. It’s lost on Londoners.” I knew his meaning. The Londoner may be proud of London in his negligent, unenthusiastic way; he may love London, perhaps be sentimental about London, and (not inconceivably) exaggerate London’S cosmic importance. But he seldom is thrilled by London. That sensation is reßdrved for the provincial. Whether it is a sensation to boast of depends on one’s point of view. Those who count romance as a. poisoner of clear judgment might perhaps regard the provincial’s thrill with scorn, for the thrill is the tribute of an incorrigible romantic.- In the north especially, even in the huge towns, London is a name which calls forth the liveliest anticipations of adventure. There Is something ingenuous In the awe with which the young northerner will speak of the goal of London. But, as compensation for his extravagant notion of the wonders of the metropolis, he extracts more joy from it, when he does visit it for a week, than the cockney can feel in a lifetime. Emotion Romantic. This emotion is, as has been said, largely romantic. It is also, however,’ appreciative in the artlstic sense. The provincial sees London as a series of pictures. Doubtless the intelligent Londoner .sees them too, but he is usually far less conscious of them than is the provincial, even the provincial who has lived In London for years. My companion at that theater, standing on the curb and watching the packed traffic slide past In the sheen of the electrics, was acutely aware of his own delight in the spectacle. Having myself had the good fortune (I may as well divulge it) to be born a provincial, I could gauge both his awareness and his delight, and had often marveled at the manner in which Londoners seemed to miss them. The provinces, as far as I know, do not Impress the Londoner as London impresses the provincial; and though this naive reflection may arouse an ironical smile, It Is less trite than It. sounds. Our enthusiasm for the glamor of London reaches Its height after dark, when the lamps are lit. Some of London's most fafoouh thoroughfares are a shade disappointing to us by daylight. The Strand —that Meecfi' of the Bohemianism celebrated in music-hall ditties —has commonplace architecture, an unremarkable vista, and is narrowish as important streets go. Regent street, during the day, is only really fine in sunshine. Leicester square is ugly. But at dusk the more vulgar details vanish, concealed behind the glitter of a dazzling jewellery of lights. A dim cobalt skyline is still visible, but the crudeness of the roofs and chimney-pots has gong. Down below, each shop window Is a sparkling cave of multicolored treasures; and the pavements, thronged with promenaders, furnish focth a spectacle of animation on a scale which only great capitals—Berlin, Paris, New York —can match. When the plays are due to begin we have another entertainment: the rußh of vehicles to the theater portico*. Wealth suddenly floods out from its homes and from the restaurants. Every automobile, as It moves noiselessly past on bulging tires, gives us a dainty peep-show glimpse of its lit Ulterior. Exquisite toilettes 101 l against the rich upholstery. The corner of Long Acre and Bow street, on an opera night, almost suffices to persuade us that the world’s money is concentrated in London. Car rafter car, in a slowly advancing line, marshaled by police, creeps round the curve and down to Covent Garden’s blazing entrance-doors. Each car contains its intimate group, exquisitely dressed, and (to that gaping provincial of ours) sublimely unperceptlve of the moment’s true splendor: Within the opera house the pageant of luxury Is even more amazing. And the same gdrgeouß dlvertisement, on a smaller scale, Is seen simultaneously, every night. In 30 or 40 west end theaters; can be seen, night' l after night, without repetition! While out- * side In the street there is a carnival. Impromptu and by its own »ntlc3, scarce!; less enthralling, ‘gem-

med and tinseled and decorated nd less lavishly. . . Through Central London. The wise stranger reserves a nighs free from theater-going for a stroll through central London's streets. Of course he must see the where a noble curve of lights trails its reflection, like a flung-dowu neck' lace, in the water from Blackfriara to Big Ben. The monstrous tram* cars, not very impressive by day, are "glass caskets of effulgence, Bptntttßf^ along their polished rails below thd cliffs of the Cecil and the Savoy, The more squalid south side of the Thames displays an illuminated advertisement or two, exasperations to the aesthete. Westward, St. Stephen’s lifts a fine silhouette athwart a vague - flush of radiance beyond. The light in the clocktower shows that parliament is sitting; and a “late extra,” bought in Northumberland avenue, will tell us what the talk has been about. We have forgotten it by the time we enter Trafalgar square, where the silhouette of lions and Nelson’s Pillar are clear-cut against a flare of gold at the Coliseum in St. Martin’s lane. Those spots of extremer dazzlement always mark a theater —though thfe picturepalaces are now nearly as blatant Up by Charing Cross road and round Into Coventry street or Shaftesbury avenue we get the Impression that the whole of London Is given over to the pursuit of pleasure. This is theater-land: the vortex ol gaiety’s whirlpool, only ejccelled, per haps only equaled, by our American friends’ fabled half-mile of Broadway. Why go inside any theater when this tableau is to be seen free outside! Why bother with burlesque and ballet when the evolutions of London’s million pedestrians roll and unroll, tangle and untangle here?, Why seek comedy and tragedy behind footlights? A hundred yards of Piccadilly circus exhibit enough comedy and tragedy to last for many an evening. That, I think, or something like it, Is how our provincial often feels after hli walk through London at night. Should he be temperamentally a countryman, fond of the fields and the fresh air ol heaven, he may he glad enough to se« the last of this exhausting and garish wilderness of houses and lights find hectic activity; but, even so, he can not fail to derive some amusement from just those aspects of it whicl leave the Londoner cold. The Lon doner buys all his pleasures too dl rectly. A theater is to him a placi wherein to see a play, a case is i plape wherein to obtain meat ani drink. To a stranger a theater Is a plac» wherein not only to see the play, bul —this la a gift supplied without charge—to see the playgoers; a cafl Is a place wherein to get refreshment for the body with the addition of" i still more stimulating refreshment for the mind. Pictures! —London at nighl - is a bewildering and kaleidoscopic gal lery of pictures; and even when thi streets have emptied and no sound li heard but the hoot of a late taxical or the trundling of an early market cart, fresh compositions present them —■ selves at every turning; mysteriour and endless perspectives of lamps strange, pale facades with blank windows rising like precipices from th< canyon of the roadway, or colorlesi trees, in some deserted square, throw ing the pattern of their motionlesi leaf-shadows upon the pavement bo side the sooty railings.

ACROSS TRAFALGAR SQUARE