Читать книгу The storm of London: a social rhapsody онлайн

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“Oh! What an error, my lord; I have always thought the reverse, and firmly believe that we Britishers are the most superficial of human creatures.”

“Still, you cannot deny, Danford, that our lower classes take their pleasures gloomily?”

“I am astonished that you should make such a remark, Lord Somerville; you are too much up-to-date to bring that exploded accusation against our race. If our lower orders take Sunday rambles in our City graveyards, it is not for the dead that they go there, but partly for the flowers and the trees; mostly, however, in search of excitement. They spell the In Memoriams on tombstones as they would devour penny novelettes. It gives them a glamour of romance and tragedy, as a jeweller’s shop window opens a glittering vista of luxury to the hungry stare of a beggar. It is always what lies behind the scenes that will for ever enthral the minds of human beings. You, of the Upper Ten, have excitements of all sorts, subtle and coarse; amusements of every descriptions, frivolous or cruel; passions of all kinds, high and low; but the wearied toilers have only the routine of an eventless existence; no wonder shop windows and graveyards are their arena, but it does not follow that they take their pleasures sadly. A child will play with a dead man’s skull if he has no painted doll.”