[back to menu for this book ...]
[-43-]
HYDE PARK.
I REMEMBER often in my
student days to have watched with eager eyes the breathing lung of a frog to
have seen, focussed in the microscope, the apparatus at work which supports the
ever-burning lamp of life. Distinctly within the narrow field of vision I could
see the dark red blood globules, rushing in a tumultuous tide along the
transparent veins, then pacing slowly as the veins broke up into a. delicate
net-work of little vessels, so narrow that they could only pass in Indian file;
then again I beheld them debouching into the widening arteries, where they
commenced once more their mad race, one over the other: no longer purple, but
under the influence of the air, which in their slow progress had permeated them
a brilliant scarlet.
With that curious spectacle fresh in my recollection, I
will, in imagination at least, change "the field" of the microscope
for that of air, and suspend myself in a balloon over this mighty city of
millions. Slowly, as I rise, casting out sand in the ascent, the earth seems to
recede from me, and at last all is gray mist, and a few fleecy clouds. A little
adjustment of the sand-bags and the escape-valve, and I can focus London as the
physiologist does the frog's lung in the microscope. Directly under-[-44-]neath
me, hemmed in by a huddled mass of brick and stone, lies a large open space,
traversed by wide white lines, along which crowd and jostle a flood of small
dark spots, no bigger than the heads of pins out of these wide lines branch an
infinite net-work of small lines across the open space, sprinkled with many
dots, which fall in crowds once more into the wide white lines. The small dots
which enter the open space look pale and worn; as they circulate about, their
colour changes; they move quicker and lighter; and at last roll out of the great
space, :florid and bright.
Surely, I have only been looking at the frog's lung.
again, magnified a little more!
No, I have been peering at Hyde Park, watching Rotten
Row, and the drive, and the different pathways crowded with holiday people. I
have been looking at a lung, too ; for what are all these dark points, but
people representing blood globules, which, in the aggregate compose the
great tide of life? And what is this park but an aerator to, the race, as the
one I before looked at was to the individual !
Let me descend to a more minute anatomy of this great
pulmonic space: dropping myself just inside the beautiful screen of Hyde
Park-corner. Five o'clock, and Rotten Row alive with equestrians! Far away
between majestic elms, now gently dipping into the hollow, now slightly
ascending the uneven ground, made as soft and as full as tan can make it, runs,
in the very eye of the setting sun, this superb horse promenade. And here comes
a goodly company, seven abreast, sweeping along with slackened rein ; the young
athletes on the Elgin marbles yonder upon the frieze of the screen do not seem
more a portion of their horses than those gay young fellows, whispering cour-[-45-]tesies
to the ladies so bright-eyed and supple of waist, who gently govern with
delicate small hands their fiery-eyed steeds. Single riders trot steadily past,
as though they were doing it for a wager. Dandies drawl along, superbly
indifferent to everything about them with riding-sticks "based on
hip." And when I reach the Albert Gate, all Belgravia seems pouring out
through the narrow streets on prancing, dancing, arch-necked steeds. Where all
the horses come from is the wonder to me. As far as the eye can see, out far
into Kensington, where the perspective of the road is lost in feathery birch
trees, I see nothing but prancing, dancing horses, tossing their heads,
caracolling, humbly obeying the directions of delicate wrists, or chafing at
the curb of powerful bridle-hands. Nor do they end here; over the bridge and
round the drive, the contingents from Tyburnia pour along in troops; and now, as
I come to the comer of Kensington Gardens, there is a perfect congestion of
equestrians, listening to the band of the Life Guards playing a waltz. There
they are, ranged round the great trees, English men and maidens, and English
horses, all thorough-bred as noble a group as the wide world can show, whilst
over head, the thick fan-like green leaves of the chesnut-trees cast a pleasant
shade.
Meanwhile, the drive is gorged with carriages moving
along at a foot-pace. Let me constitute myself (for the nonce) a young man about
town, and comfortably resting my arms over the railings, take a good stare at
the passing beauty. I need not feel bashful. As far as I can see, for hundreds
of feet on each side of me, there is nothing but young men leaning over the
railing, tapping their teeth with their dandy little sticks, and making the most
[-46-] powerful use of their eyes. Here I watch
moving before me the great portrait gallery of living British beauties. Every
instant a fresh profile passes in review, framed and glazed by the carriage
window. Onward rolls the tide of vehicles of dashing cabs with pendant
tigers of chariots with highly-groomed horses of open phaetons, the reins of
faultless white, guided by lady whips of family coaches, ancient and
respectable. Now and then some countryman and his "missus," in a
home-made chaise-cart, seem to have got accidentally entangled among the gay
throng, and move along sheepishly enough. On they go all to where Kensington
Gardens leans, like a sister, beside her bolder brother, Hyde Park; and here all
alight and pour in a bright flood of moving colour upon the emerald turf.
Country people pity us poor town people, and wonder how
we can exist ! Did anybody ever see such a public. park as this in the country? I never did. Indeed, I question if there be a prettier promenade in Europe than
the north bank of the Serpentine, with its mimic beach or broken shells, washed
by its fresh-water lake. Here, where I stand, might be called the port;
underneath tall sycamore trees, which cast a pleasant shade on the edge of the water, are grouped the various boats which hail from this place. There is a
cutter, with flapping sails, just come off a cruise ; another is beating up in
the wind's eye a quarter of a mile off; a third comes sweeping in with her
gunwale under water. There is some respectable sailing to be picked up on the
Serpentine, I suppose. Near the picturesque little boat-house, which, with its
weather-beaten carved gables and moss-grown roof, looks as though it had [-47-]
been an old inhabitant of some Swiss valley, lie grouped a dozen light skiffs,
dancing on the water, and reflecting on their sides the twisting snakes of gold
cast from the sun-lit little waves.
But what are all those mimic skiffs I see, coasting from
shore to shore cutters, sloops, and schooners, now on their beam-ends, now
sliding in between the swans, which scarcely deign to turn aside their feathery
breasts? These, at least, are playthings. Not at all. One of the boatmen with
a straw in his mouth, and his hands in his pockets, informs me that they form
the squadron of the London Model Yacht Club, and that they are testing their
powers for the next sailing match. I am not quite sure that those grave-looking
men with long poles, watching the performances of the different craft, are not
the members of the Club. That big man there may be, for anything I know, the
commodore for they have a commodore, and rules, and a clubroom, and they sail
matches for silver cups ! Look into Bell's Life in London, a week or two since,
and there you will :find full particulars of the next match of the Yacht Club,
"established in 1845," which is to come off in next June, for a
handsome twelve--guinea cup, and which informs us that the measurements must be
as follows : "The length, multiplied by the beam, not to exceed five hundred
inches over all; the keel, for cutters, or yawls, not more than two feet six
inches; and for two-masted vessels, two feet ten inches, on the level of the
rabbet, with not less than four inches' counter." It is a very serious
sporting matter. The vice-commodore of the sister Club at Birkenhead having
proposed, by advertisement, to change the flags of the Club, "the white
ensign to be [-48-] without the cross,"
&c., the editor of our sporting contemporary gravely objects, "that the
alteration of our national ensign cannot be legally made without the written
sanction of the Admiralty." Fast young boats these !
For the cup, some years ago, fifteen yachts started, and
the different heats lasted the whole day; the America, modelled on the lines of
the famous Yankee boat, coming off victorious. It is a pretty sight to see these
little cutters driving along under full sail; and many an old gentleman,
standing amid his boys, I have noticed enjoying it to his heart's content. After
watching them for some little time, one's ideas of proportion get confused; they
look veritable ships sailing upon a veritable great lake; the trees, the men,
the sheep on the shore, swell into immense proportions, and it seems as if one
were contemplating the fleet of Lilliput from the shores of Brobdignag.
A little farther on stands the boat-house belonging
to the Royal Humane Society; and in it are seen the awful-looking
"drags" with which the drowning are snatched from Death's black
fingers. Across the road is the establishment for recovering those who have been
rescued from the water. Over the door is the bas-relief of a child attempting to
kindle with his breath an apparently extinguished torch, and around it is the
motto: "Lateat forsan scintilla," Perhaps a spark still lingers.
Baths, hot-water beds, electrifying machines, and mechanism by which artificial
breathing can be maintained, are ranged around the rooms. .
The majority of poor creatures carried beneath these
portals are persons who have sought their own destruction. The bridge across the
Serpentine is the Westminster [-49-] "Bridge
of Sighs." Who would think this bright and sunny spot could be the haunt of
suicides? They are mostly women of the better order, who have been brought to
shame and abandoned at least five women to one man being the proportion. The
servants of the Society, who form a kind of detective water-police, and are
always on the look-out, scarcely ever fail to mark and to watch the women who
contemplate self-destruction. They know them by their usually sitting all day
long without food, grieving; towards evening they move. When they find they are
watched, they sometimes contrive by hiding behind the trees to elude
observation, and to find the solitude they desire. The men, less demonstrative
and more determined, escape detection, and but too often succeed in
accomplishing their purpose. Those who have been restored to life, after hours
of attention in the receiving-house, frequently repay the attendants with,
"Why should I live against my will?" Nevertheless, it very rarely
happens, here, at least, that a second attempt at suicide is made.
While I have been dwelling upon this melancholy subject,
the shades of evening have been coming on. The last carriage has driven off, and
the last young man about town has tapped his teeth with his cane for the last
time, and departed to his club. The water's edge is only thinly dotted with
people, and the old gentlemen who have been sitting reading on the seats have
gone in to escape the night-air.
Gradually, however, I perceive a gathering of boys upon
the opposite shore; they thicken apace, and soon the hum of hundreds of small
voices is wafted over towards me; they line the whole shore for a mile, like
little black [-50-] dots. As I look, the black dots
gradually become party-coloured.
What are they doing here in the boat-house? Getting
ready a flag to hoist on the pole; three boats are also putting off. What is it
that excites and moves to and fro the living multitude on the other side? The
whole mass is turning white with frantic rapidity; up runs the red bunting, and
five thousand youngsters dash simultaneously into the water, driving it in a
huge wave before them. As far as can be seen along the bank, the water is
studded with heads, like pins in a pincushion; some of the heads move out into
the middle; the great majority remain timidly near the shore, splashing and
dashing with hands and feet. The boats have taken up their different
stations, and here they will remain, ready to go to the rescue so long as the
bathing continues. At nine o'clock the flag drops, and " All out!"
roared from stentorian lungs, booms over the water: "All out!" is
echoed by many silvery young voices. The opposite bank is again a moving mass of
white specks: these deepen to gray, soon become black, and then move off across
the green, and all is quiet. Morning and evening, during the summer months, the
Serpentine is thus made a huge bath for the children of the labouring classes.
The better classes also make use of it early in the morning. One party of
gentlemen, who have formed themselves into a club, bathe here all the year
round; and when the frost is very hard and the ice is very thick, a space is cut
for them with hatchets, to enable them to take their diurnal dip.
The twilight deepens. A few children, feeding the swans
upon the margin of the water, is all the human life [-51-]
to be seen of the vast tide rolling along so incessantly a short time
ago. Across the glass-like lake the waterfowl, here and there, are gently
sailing, leaving long trails of silver as they go. Over the bridge the foliage
seems to float in a bath of purple haze, and across the deep amber of the sky a
flight of wildfowl go, in swiftly moving line. Danby should be here to paint
from it one of his delicious pictures of evening.