BOOKS OF THE MOMENT

THE LURE OF LONDON [COPYRIGHT IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY TUE New York Times.]

London. By Sidnsy Dark. With illustrations by Joseph Pennell. (Mscmillan. 25s. net.) Landon and Londoners in the Eighteen-Fifties and Sixties.

by Alm Staplston. (John Lan?.. 15s. net..)

THERE arc .certain great cities that have not only a special aura but a personality of their own—something which makes a deep and characteristic impression upon the mind. It is u ieless for the statisticians- and the realistic philosophers- to tell us that this is mere delusion or fantasy building, or to

iasist that such cities are merely aggregations of human beings, end differ from ordinary large towns only in the quantity of population, and in the space area they cover. Though a process of syllogistic reasoning may appear to force them into a belief of.this kind, they know all the time that things are (Afferent, and that there are certain cities that have an ethos

of their own and produce extraordinary psychological reactions upon those who inhabit them or visit them. History, tra- dition, climate, the influence exerted by the sea, the flow of a particular river, the neighbourhood of hills, or of plains, or forests, all have their effects upon cities and leave indelible

marks upon them. But though this power of fascination possessed by certain cities is very strong, it is comparatively

rare. By this I mean that there is never any large number of cities exercising an influence which is worldwide, universally a-Anowledged, and having visible consequences on mankind considered as a whole. Indeed, it is probably true to .say that in the civilized world there is never more than one city at a time which exercises the supreme attraction and is universally

acknowledged to have a special and peculiar influence.

The first city to attain this position was Rome. Before that the world had not been enough conscious of itself as a whole to acknowledge a master spirit in any single town. For example, lierodotus, great traveller and observer as he was, does not approach any of the cities he mentions, in Egypt, or in Persia, or in Greece, in any spirit like that with which I am dealing. It was not till the conquests of Rome and the foundation of the Roman Empire had made men aware of a common civilization, and of leadership and progress, that the lure of Rome began to be exerted, and that an ardent sense of love and homage arose in men's minds.

We see it beginning to emerge in terms of passion in Virgil's Eclogues and the Georgics. This love for Rome—I mean here not the Empire but the City—dwelt even in its ashes, and again and again sprang into flame, in modern as well as in ancient times. De Quincey when he touched on Rome always made the embers glow again, and so does Mr. Kipling in his studies of the Roman Wall and Roman Britain. Both of them are highly impassioned by the thought of Rome. Oddly enough, however, Gibbon, though he had explored so thoroughly all the physical and political developments of

Rome, never seems to have caught fire. This was not because of any coldness of nature, for one of the most enchanting

things ever said about a city was said by him about Paris in the chapter which recounts how Julian the Apostate founded and fostered the Guild of the navigators of the Seine. When Rome fell on evil days, the torch was passed on to Con- stantinople. Byzantium became the world's city, though one may say that it partly glowed with a borrowed light. All Asia knew it, and, indeed, knows it to this day, but not as Byzantium, or as the City of Constantine, but as " Rum." Rome's loss, however, was not for long. The Rome of Italy regained her greatness and her hold upon men's hearts and minds. In the later Middle Ages, and even before the fall of Constantinople and the Renaissance, Rome had become once more the city of the soul, the city to which the peoples turned instinctively, the thought of which awed and overwhelmed as it had awed and overwhelmed the Barbarians, even when as conquerors they brought fire and sword to its gates.

When the age of reason, belonging mainly 'to the eighteenth century, began, as it did begin about 1680, to lay a paralyzing

hand upon Italy, Rome lost its premiership amongst cities. It was still -Rome; still the place 'of Classieartraditiem, 'stiff the stronghold of the Church which bore its name throughout Europe. When, however, the reformed faith had obtained hold of the Northern countries, the countries 'which possessed the greater part of the intellectual, commer- cial, and dynamic vigour of the world, Rome failed to maintain her hold upon men's affections. The fascination passed ftem her, and Paris began to exercise the lure of which Rome had been so proud. From 1680 almost to our own day, i.e., to 1880, no -matter whether blood ran in her gutters or barricades blocked, her streets, the capital of France drew men by a thread. She became the centre to which authors like Gibbon, or Hume, or Franklin, and countless ardent spirits in literature and the arts, turned for inspiration and support. Not only the Old World, but the New World admitted her supremacy, and her suprem- acy, not merely as a pleasure city, but in hundreds of activities, material and intellectual. The man who wanted to see where the pulse of life beat fastest and strongest sought out Paris. , And now there are unmistakable signs that the crown is passing away from Paris, and is destined to rest, for a time at any rate, upon the head of London. Though the world, as a whole, has not yet realized the fact, the lure of London is strengthening every year. London is beginning to exercise a fascination, not conscious or deliberate, but mysterious and instinctive, upon all who come in contact with her or hear of her by report. And, oddly enough, the people who are least aware at the present moment of how far the influence of London has spread are the Londoners themselves. London, and this is, of course, part of the fascination for modern minds, is the least self-conscious city in the world—probably the least self-conscious that has ever existed on the earth. Lon- don has no corporate vanity, no desire to praise herself or be praised by others ; she actually rejects praise as unreal, or, at any tate, unmeaning. The lure of London is the subtlest and the most intangible thing in the world, and yet it is one of the strongest. Those who do not expect to feel it, or even begin with repulsion, often end by feeling it most. That is very commonly seen in Americans. Take it altogether, the lure of London acts more strongly upon Americans than it does upon any other set of people. Their first view of the great city, as a rule, however, confirms a prosaic mood towards her. It is not till they get temporarily away from London that the magnet begins to draw.. The lure of London is found in the animus reeertendi, which attracts almost all who visit' her.

Here I may interpolate a personal anecdote to illustrate the lure of London. An American friend of mine from the Middle West came last autumn to London. As it happened, though a man of purely English descent, he had never been out of America before and was paying his first visit to Europe. He was a man of balance and experience, as well as mental ability, not a sentimentalist or a romancer. But London lured him with her potent spell, and especially implanted in him this desire to return. It was the joke of his family that when he went to Paris, after a very short stay in London, he was found after a day or two suggesting that the party should " go home to London." He returned to America, but he was back on another visit within nine months. And here the' charm was working what one might call purely on its merits.' Though a man of general culture, he was not an archaeologist, or a historian, or especially a lover of pictures or museums. He confessed, indeed (though, of course, he could no more analyze the attraction of London than can anybody else) that what he really liked best in London was just walking about, talking to people, and looking at things.

Of course, I can no more analyze, or explain, or interpret the lure of London accurately, or even inaccurately, than could my friend. Still, being what I am, a journalist, it is for me to try, i.e., greatly daring, to attempt to " nick " London with the happy word. So here goes for my header: I believe that the special charm of London rests in its non- emotional kindliness. London always seems pleased to see everyone who comes, and yet somehow the charm does not' evaporate by its universality. She is pleased, genuinely pleased, to see you, but she has no desire to overdo the welcome ; and in this, of course, she- is wise; for here is one of the very things that catch tightist hold- of the traveller. He is always a little afraid and suspicious of the cities that have

obviously made elaborate preparations to meet him. That looks a little too much like a desire for exploitation, too much of the " What-can-we-show-you-next ? " attitude. London takes you differently. She does not buttonhole you, or, if a spirit can do such things, put her arm in yours. She merely produces a sense of quiet assumption that you will like the place and that you will come back again soon. " Most people do, but, of course, it won't matter if you don't. We shall always be glad to see you, but gladder still if you are doing what pleases you best. Anyway, while you are here we are not going to spoil your holiday by making a fuss over you. We want you to get on with your pleasure while we are getting on with our business—and then we can always have a good time in the evening."

It is this friendly attitude of detachment rather than over-zealous attachment which one may suppose makes the Royalties of the world so specially fond of London. I believe I am right in saying that there is a kind of universal feeling amongst the remaining Kings and Queens of Europe and their children, young or old, that London is much the best place for a holiday—except, of course, for those serious rites which pertain to dresses, furs, cloaks, hats and jewellery. For the ordinary family and fun shopping of Sovereigns there is nothing like London. Also there is nothing like London for quiet amusement. A King and Queen on their travels may go to their hotel and be really incognito. They can walk down Bond Street and in and out of the shops without anybody paying any attention to them; at least, they will attract no more attention than is attracted by the ordinary shopper, which is, as a rule in London, exactly what all men want. None know better than the ladies and gentlemen on the other side of a London counter how to display the golden mean between a desire to serve and an anxiety not to worry. But I am describing the qualities of the perfect host ! And that is, I am sure, a great part of the lure of London on the material side.

On the other side the appeal is just as deep, but it is quieter and even more difficult to catch and put under examination. In the first place, London attracts by pretending to be dull. Her buildings, except for one or two great examples, are not splendid, or grandiose, or vast, like those of Paris or Rome, or many other of the great European cities. There is a kind of shyness and reticence in the way in which they are displayed which is most attractive. Very soon the place that you were foolish enough to think was dull because it said it was, and looked at first as if it was, seems really the least dull place in the world. Paris, with its dry, administrative architecture is after the fourth or fifth day an infinitely duller place. Everything there is unmasked and open to view, and there are few shy corners. Things which in other places would be displayed with the sound of brazen trumpets are concealed in London up an alley or behind a clump of trees or a rampart of walls. A poignant example is the Temple. Perhaps even more remark- able is the Royal Hospital at Chelsea. It is one of Wren's greatest triumphs, and it can hold its own against any building in the world for pure dignity. It is a triumph of proportion, and of an emotional appeal made without ornament or decora- tion. At the same time, it is everpihere on the grand scale— except the front which faces the street. That is sound and good, but makes little disclosure of the magnificence of the great façade to the south.. One feels that in almost any other capital the building would have been set off very differently. Great roads and vistas would have been made to prevent you from escaping any morsel of the fascination of the building. But Wren's building does not make that common appeal. It seems to look down with a kind of disdain upon the buildings which force themselves upon you. I remember an epigram written exactly in the period when the Royal Hospital was being finished, that is, the reign of William and Mary, in which the charms of a robust, black-eyed, dark-browed, self-assertive beauty are criticized—beauty of the kind which makes an appear so obvious and so insistent that, in spite of its reality, it becomes almost disgusting. The epigram ends :— " Her Cupid is a blackguard boy

That shoves his link full in your face," The great buildings of London seldom do that. Perhaps, judged by the full canons of their art, they do not do it enough ; but unquestionably their power of retiring adds to the general fascination. You like the thing best that you have to look for and chase a little. London, in a word, is full, not merely of nooks and corners (all old cities have that), but discoveries in the much bigger sense—discoveries which take away one's breath and make one say, " How on earth is it that one has never heard of this building before ? "

Just in the same way, for the two things join hands, the friendliness, hospitality, and sympathy of the London people have to be looked for a little. There, again, the sympathy is not shoved full in your face, but stays behind, not too austerely, or too coldly, but with just a slight and alluring hesitation.' In a word, the lure of London rests upon its quietness and confidence. There is its strength. London and its people are never annoyed by criticisms, nor again, are they critical. I well remember a Belgian saying that the great thing about London is that people are never surprised at anything. " If I were to take a meal in the middle of the street in my own city people would be always talking about it, and asking me questions, and making a to-do. In London they would hardly turn their heads. They would assume that I had some good reason for drinking my coffee, or sipping my wine, or eating my beef-steak in the open air, and would pass on."

Only if you are in trouble is this form of politeness, which is based on a conscious and deliberate ignorance, an ignorance which is intended to secure your complete independence, dropped. Once you get into a difficulty you find a hundred hands held out to help you, and the greater part of them with- out any desire for recompense. There are more people willing to lend a hand to those in distress in London than in any other town that I have ever known or heard of ; and, of course, the police lead the way in this respect. I remember in the days be- fore motors being in Paris in a very bad snowstorm. My cab could hardly move, and finally the horse slid. down and then sat up on his haunches just by a policeman and several loafers. In England they would all have rushed to try to get the horse up and push the wheels round and start the thing going again. In Paris nobody lent a hand. Nor did the driver seem to expect it. The sergent de vile, I remember, looked on and, like a true Frenchman, emitted an epigram : " Tiens ! (Test an cheval d'Hippodrome." " Give a helping hand and slip off as quickly as possible " is the motto of the Londoner when there is trouble.

Though in many ways the lure of London is cherished still as a kind of secret, though one of those secrets which, as Goethe said, are known to all, the interest of London is acknowledged in the very large number of books which every year are poured over London about London. Only a few weeks ago I noticed a group of books all dealing with the Temple, and now I have got three more London books before me, and doubtless before the end of the year there will be another crop. The first of these books, the book in which the text is by Mr. Sidney Dark and the illustrations by Mr. Pennell, is what might be called a provocative guide-book. It stirs you up to go and see all sorts of things from Leadenhall Market to the. General Post Office, from Euston to Greenwich Hospital, and from Old Westminster to Fleet Street. Such provocation is all to the good, as also is the somewhat boisterous " Fanfare " of the text. I am glad to note that the author gives us plenty of stories and good quotations, which is the right way. If you can link a great building or a historic sight with a happy story, it is much more likely to remain in a man's head and fructify there than it would without the story.

More interesting to Londoners, perhaps, than to visitors is London. and Londoners in the Eighteen-Fifties and Sixties, because the visitor does not know London well enough to miss the buildings that have gone or such curiosities as the " copper coins withdrawn from circulation in 1860." Again, whitebait dinners and the ' Great Eastern,' which have vanished like the snows of yesteryear, can only give a thrill to the elderly. Still, for the older generation the book will be attractive.

Those who want to explore the nooks and corners of London—to see, in fact, things not noted in the general guide-books—will find just what they want in London Alleys, Byways and Courts. Even a confirmed Londoner like the present writer is astonished that he had never heard of many of the places illustrated—for example, " Passing