Which reminds one of Thackeray relating how he had longed to know what women talked about when they were alone after dinner, imagining it to be on mysterious and thrilling subjects, until one evening he overheard such a conversation and found it turned entirely on children and ailments! As regards wit, the English are like the Oriental potentate who at a ball in Europe expressed his astonishment that the guests took the trouble to dance and get themselves hot and dishevelled, explaining that in the East he paid people to do that for him. In England "amusers" are invited expressly to be funny; anything uttered by one of these delightful individuals is sure to be received with much laughter. It is so simple that way! One is prepared and knows when to laugh.
Whereas amateur wit is confusing. When an American I knew, turning over the books on a drawing-room table and finding Hare's WALKS IN LONDON, in two volumes, said, "So you part your hair in the middle over here," the remark was received in silence, and with looks of polite surprise.
It is not necessary, however, to accumulate proofs that this much described society is less intelligent than our own.
Their authors have acknowledged it, and well they may. For from Scott and Dickens down to Hall Caine, American appreciation has gone far toward establishing the reputation of English writers at home.
In spite of lack of humor and a thousand other defects which ought to make English swelldom antagonistic to our countrymen, the fact remains that "smart" London tempts a certain number of Americans and has become a promised land, toward which they turn longing eyes. You will always find a few of these votaries over there in the "season," struggling bravely up the social current, making acquaintances, spending money at charity sales, giving dinners and fetes, taking houses at Ascot and filling them with their new friends' friends. With more or less success as the new-comers have been able to return satisfactory answers to the three primary questions.
What Americans are these, who force us to blush for them infinitely more than for the unlettered tourists trotting conscientiously around the country, doing the sights and asking for soda-water and buckwheat cakes at the hotels!
Any one who has been an observer of the genus "Climber" at home, and wondered at their way and courage, will recognize these ambitious souls abroad; five minutes' conversation is enough. It is never about a place that they talk, but of the people they know. London to them is not the city of Dickens.
It is a place where one may meet the Prince of Wales and perhaps obtain an entrance into his set.
One description will cover most climbers. They are, as a rule, people who start humbly in some small city, then when fortune comes, push on to New York and Newport, where they carry all before them and make their houses centres and themselves powers. Next comes the discovery that the circle into which they have forced their way is not nearly as attractive as it appeared from a distance. Consequently that vague disappointment is felt which most of us experience on attaining a long desired goal - the unsatisfactoriness of success! Much the same sensation as caused poor Du Maurier to answer, when asked shortly before his death why he looked so glum, "I'm soured by success!"
So true is this of all human nature that the following recipe might be given for the attainment of perfect happiness: "Begin far down in any walk of life. Rise by your efforts higher each year, and then be careful to die before discovering that there is nothing at the top. The excitement of the struggle -`the rapture of the chase' - are greater joys than achievement."
Our ambitious friends naturally ignore this bit of philosophy.
When it is discovered that the "world" at home has given but an unsatisfactory return for cash and conniving, it occurs to them that the fault lies in the circle, and they assume that their particular talents require a larger field. Having conquered all in sight, these social Alexanders pine for a new world, which generally turns out to be the "Old," so a crossing is made, and the "Conquest of England" begun with all the enthusiasm and push employed on starting out from the little native city twenty years before.
It is in Victoria's realm that foemen worthy of their steel await the conquerors. Home society was a too easy prey, opening its doors and laying down its arms at the first summons. In England the new-comers find that their little game has been played before; and, well, what they imagined was a discovery proves to be a long-studied science with "DONNANT!
DONNANT!" as its fundamental law. Wily opponents with trump cards in their hands and a profound knowledge of "Hoyle" smilingly offer them seats. Having acquired in a home game a knowledge of "bluff," our friends plunge with delight into the fray, only to find English society so formed that, climb they never so wisely, the top can never be reached. Work as hard as they may, succeed even beyond their fondest hopes, there will always remain circles above, toward which to yearn - people who will refuse to know them, houses they will never be invited to enter. Think of the charm, the attraction such a civilization must have for the real born climber, and you, my reader, will understand why certain of our compatriots enjoy living in England, and why when once the intoxicating draught (supplied to the ambitious on the other side) has been tasted, all home concoctions prove insipid.
