The Hansom Cab—of which there are thousands—is a singular and characteristic thing. It is a vehicle of two wheels, drawn by one horse, and carries two passengers. The Barbarians, intent upon gain, allow the driver to urge his horse at speed through the crowded streets, giving no other warning than hi-hi! Everybody must look out at his own peril; for life and limb are unimportant compared with speed in business. One would not credit this—but as I have been nearly run over by these drivers more than once, not hearing the hi-hi! I can vouch for the existence of these privileged vehicles. The use of them is based upon the same rule, which allows of so many other things, to us inhuman or unjust—to say—that 'the convenience of trade' is paramount to trifling risks of life, limb, or soundness of abstract morality.
Another public chariot for passengers is the Omnibus. These are very numerous on the great thoroughfares. It is drawn by two horses, and will hold twelve or more inside and fourteen outside, upon the top. These are licensed by the law, and convey people a long distance for a small sum. The name is from the Roman, and means a bus (kiss) for all—a ridiculous term for which I can give no explanation, unless, as women and men ride in them promiscuously, some of the sly and coarse humour of the Barbarians may be meant. I refer, however, to the carriage, to give an illustration of street life, and of the English bearishness [che-liftze]. I have seen women and children waiting at a corner in the mud and rain, for the 'Bus, and when it has stopped, I have seen men rudely elbow themselves to the front and enter upon the unoccupied seats, leaving the women to the inclemency of winter, or to the rain and sleet. And these not the Roughs, but gentlemen. This, too, one would scarcely believe, if one did not see.
The police [ki-ti] of London is noted for its stupidity; its members are the perpetual butt [la-phe] of farces and plays in the Theatres. Yet the liberty and the good name of the citizens are at their mercy. If a stranger be hustled and mobbed, it will be well for him to get out of the affair without any call for the police, for if one of these should come up, he will be as likely to pounce upon the innocent and injured as upon the wrong-doer. And he likes to make his arrest appear guilty before the magistrate—he is not mistaken. In selecting policemen, rather strength of body than any moral or mental qualification is looked for. And the theory seems to be that one cannot afford to pay for intelligent men, where merely the liberty and good name of the individual is concerned. Here again, "better that the particular person should suffer than that too much money should be paid;" especially as the Police are not likely to be hard upon the upper-Castes. To these they can be conveniently deaf, dumb, and blind.
One wonders, looking along the interminable extent of mean streets, to see the endless shops. It looks as if everybody had something to sell; and where the buyers can be who knows? You may watch some of these places for hours, and you will not see a soul enter or depart. Look in, and very likely some old man or woman is drowsing away, if in summer time, behind a paltry litter of old stuffs, the whole not worth a year's living; or, if in winter, half-perishing with cold, waiting for customers who never come. And these waifs [dri-tze] of a forgotten trade linger on, in old age, eating hungrily the husks of former traffic, which new ways have destroyed. London is an enormous shop with a West End of dwellings; these, however, not by any means shopless. It is a marvel. Thousands and thousands of mean shops, yet supporting the tens of thousands which live by them. One asks how any fair profit can do this. You will see a display of rusty goods, of tawdry ornaments, of dirty books, of mere rubbish; and if you venture inside you will hurry out again. The creatures inside are as unattractive as the wares. Do you believe these are places of honest dealing?
But in what are called respectable tradesmen's houses, profits must be little short of plunder—the business is so small. Yet the English Barbarians, of certain classes, seem to take to this mode of living upon the community with a hawk-like keenness. The difference between the price of an article of food, whether bought first hands, or after it has passed through these intermediaries, is a difference as of one-half to the whole—that is, the price is doubled!
These petty tradesmen glean their livings from the poor, who cannot help themselves; but, in truth, the common feeling is on all hands, "Let us plunder, and be plundered." It is merely a question of securing a good share.
London, therefore, not wanting in a certain air of greatness in some parts, really expresses very clearly the traits of the English Barbarians. It is gloomy, morose, huckstering, repulsive. Huge it is, like the English barbaric power; but incoherent, uninformed, unlovely, without the beauty of refinement.
Still, in the purpose of the Sovereign Lord, one may guess the use of this great centre of barbaric influence—it is to beat down the distant and worse tribes beyond the great seas. As one sort of predatory creature devours another, so these Barbarians destroy worse types of men than themselves, and prepare the way for human advancement. Whether, however, they shall themselves ever emerge into a noble life, is a curious inquiry.
The West End is that part where the High-Castes reside when in the Metropolis. It is the seat of Palaces, of Courts, of better built streets, and of the best Parks and ornamental grounds. Here the Theatres and revelries are; the great dinners, the Routs, the Dances, and the stir of High life. Here, in the Parks, the grand dames air themselves, their poodles, and servants. Here, on horseback, they astonish onlookers by the display of figure, and, on foot, by a show of head-dress and draperies, and bright eyes and fashionable forms. Luxury, idleness, show, frivolity, mock the wretchedness which despairs and dies, or robs and cheats in not distant back slums [gna-zti]. Still, along these costly rows of equipages and richly-attired women and men, on whose persons may be single gems which would give bread to thousands, one looks in vain for what would give a human and pleasing touch. If you see a lovely face, it might as well be at a funeral. The whole spectacle is cold and lifeless; the horses only have animation, and they are kept down to the tamest possible step. The world cannot show finer animals, nor wealthier owners, nor more luxurious idlers, nor more unattractive human beings. Joy is unknown, and any touch of natural sentiment, along the long line of devotees of wearisome Time-killers, may be looked for in vain.
When I first walked about the streets, I found myself the victim of Barbarian insolence. My dress attracted rude notice, and I soon adopted the common garb. This, however, only partially removed observation—for my features were different. However, a longer use accustomed me to rudeness, and enabled me to let it pass unnoticed. One part of the town, particularly, appeared to be infested with women, who accosted me and insisted upon walking with me. I could not for some time understand this; but since, I have been informed. The neighbourhood of the Theatres—in fact, many parts of the West End—are the haunts of these poor creatures, many of whom seem to be but little more than children. On one occasion a well-dressed young girl, as I was leaving the Play, smilingly spoke to me, and asked the time! I took out my watch, which was worn in my fob, and holding it up to the gaslight to see the hour, it was snatched from my hand. I merely caught sight of a person vanishing round a corner. The girl exclaimed, "What a pity," and put her hand gently on my arm. I, however, moved away quickly; but all trace of watch and robber was gone, and the young woman too! This would not happen to me now. I did not then know of the state of things in the centre of Christendom! Of course I was robbed on several occasions, and in many ways, and shortly found that I must look upon everybody as a rascal, as the English do.