Study Edition · Essay 67
London
Source: Century Magazine, December 1888; collected in Essays in London and Elsewhere (1893) and English Hours (1905). Text from English Hours, Project Gutenberg #58938. EXCERPT: the paragraph on James's first homesick evening in a London lodging (end of section I) and the whole of section II. Archaic verb forms modernized; vocabulary kept and glossed.
Henry James, the American novelist of The Portrait of a Lady, settled in London in 1876 and lived in England for the rest of his life. In this essay he explains how he came to love a city that first terrified him. The first paragraph is a dark moment of homesickness. The second section praises London's sheer size, its variety and its smoky skies. James's style is famous for long, winding sentences full of qualifications and surprising word choices. Take them slowly: each comma adds a shade of meaning, and the payoff often comes at the very end.
41 sentences: 4 simple, 21 moderate, 16 complex. Hover a number for its paraphrase; click it for the full note.
Key Vocabulary
- habitationa place to live
- lithographa kind of printed picture
- indifferentnot caring
- sally forthto set out boldly
- infernalhellish
- abominationsomething hateful
- aggregationa mass collected together
- circumferencethe distance around something
- nefariouswicked; criminal
- solicitto ask for; to try to attract
- mendicanta beggar
- analyticexamining things closely and in detail
- aptitudea natural talent
- morbidunhealthily gloomy
- allegianceloyalty
- epitomea perfect example; a summary in small
- pestilentharmful, like a plague
- emanationsomething flowing out from a source
- indictmenta formal accusation
- complacencyself-satisfaction
The Essay
A day or two later, in the afternoon, I found myself staring at my fire, in a lodging of which I had taken possession on foreseeing that I should spend some weeks in London.1 I had just come in, and, having attended to the distribution of my luggage, sat down to consider my habitation.2 It was on the ground floor, and the fading daylight reached it in a sadly damaged condition.3 It struck me as stuffy and unsocial, with its mouldy smell and its decoration of lithographs and wax-flowers, an impersonal black hole in the huge general blackness.4 The uproar of Piccadilly hummed away at the end of the street, and the rattle of a heartless hansom passed close to my ears.5 A sudden horror of the whole place came over me, like a tiger-pounce of homesickness which had been watching its moment.6 London was hideous, vicious, cruel, and above all overwhelming; whether or no she was “careful of the type,” she was as indifferent as Nature herself to the single life.7 In the course of an hour I should have to go out to my dinner, which was not supplied on the premises, and that effort assumed the form of a desperate and dangerous quest.8 It appeared to me that I would rather remain dinnerless, would rather even starve, than sally forth into the infernal town, where the natural fate of an obscure stranger would be to be trampled to death in Piccadilly and have his carcass thrown into the Thames.9 I did not starve, however, and I eventually attached myself by a hundred human links to the dreadful, delightful city.10 That momentary vision of its smeared face and stony heart has remained memorable to me, but I am happy to say that I can easily summon up others.11
II
It is, no doubt, not the taste of every one, but for the real London-lover the mere immensity of the place is a large part of its savour.12 A small London would be an abomination, as it fortunately is an impossibility, for the idea and the name are beyond everything an expression of extent and number.13 Practically, of course, one lives in a quarter, in a plot; but in imagination and by a constant mental act of reference the accommodated haunter enjoys the whole, and it is only of him that I deem it worth while to speak.14 He fancies himself, as they say, for being a particle in so unequalled an aggregation; and its immeasurable circumference, even though unvisited and lost in smoke, gives him the sense of a social, an intellectual margin.15 There is a luxury in the knowledge that he may come and go without being noticed, even when his comings and goings have no nefarious end.16 I don't mean by this that the tongue of London is not a very active member; the tongue of London would indeed be worthy of a chapter by itself.17 But the eyes which at least in some measure feed its activity are fortunately for the common advantage solicited at any moment by a thousand different objects.18 If the place is big, everything it contains is certainly not so; but this may at least be said, that if small questions play a part there, they play it without illusions about its importance.19 There are too many questions, small or great; and each day, as it arrives, leads its children, like a kind of mendicant mother, by the hand.20 Therefore perhaps the most general characteristic is the absence of insistence.21 Habits and inclinations flourish and fall, but intensity is never one of them.22 The spirit of the great city is not analytic, and, as they come up, subjects rarely receive at its hands a treatment drearily earnest or tastelessly thorough.23 There are not many, of those of which London disposes with the assurance begotten of its large experience, that wouldn't lend themselves to a tenderer manipulation elsewhere.24 It takes a very great affair, a turn of the Irish screw or a divorce case lasting many days, to be fully threshed out.25 The mind of Mayfair, when it aspires to show what it really can do, lives in the hope of a new divorce case, and an indulgent providence, London is positively in certain ways the spoiled child of the world, abundantly recognises this particular aptitude and humours the whim.26
The compensation is that material does arise; that there is a great variety, if not morbid subtlety; and that the whole of the procession of events and topics passes across your stage.27 For the moment I am speaking of the inspiration there may be in the sense of far frontiers; the London-lover loses himself in this swelling consciousness, delights in the idea that the town which encloses him is after all only a paved country, a state by itself.28 This is his condition of mind quite as much if he be an adoptive as if he be a matter-of-course son.29 I am by no means sure even that he need be of Anglo-Saxon race and have inherited the birthright of English speech; though, on the other hand, I make no doubt that these advantages minister greatly to closeness of allegiance.30 The great city spreads her dusky mantle over innumerable races and creeds, and I believe there is scarcely a known form of worship that has not some temple there (have I not attended at the Church of Humanity, in Lamb's Conduit, in company with an American lady, a vague old gentleman, and several seamstresses?) or any communion of men that has not some club or guild.31 London is indeed an epitome of the round world, and just as it is a commonplace to say that there is nothing one can't “get” there, so it is equally true that there is nothing one may not study at first hand.32
One doesn't test these truths every day, but they form part of the air one breathes (and welcome, says the London-hater, for there are such perverse reasoners, to the pestilent compound).33 They colour the thick, dim distances which in my opinion are the most romantic town-vistas in the world; they mingle with the troubled light to which the straight, ungarnished aperture in one's dull, undistinctive house-front affords a passage and which makes an interior of friendly corners, mysterious tones, and unbetrayed ingenuities, as well as with the low, magnificent medium of the sky, where the smoke and fog and the weather in general, the strangely undefined hour of the day and season of the year, the emanations of industries and the reflection of furnaces, the red gleams and blurs that may or may not be of sunset, as you never see any source of radiance, you can't in the least tell, all hang together in a confusion, a complication, a shifting but irremoveable canopy.34 They form the undertone of the deep, perpetual voice of the place.35 One remembers them when one's loyalty is on the defensive; when it is a question of introducing as many striking features as possible into the list of fine reasons one has sometimes to draw up, that eloquent catalogue with which one confronts the hostile indictment, the array of other reasons which may easily be as long as one's arm.36 According to these other reasons it plausibly and conclusively stands that, as a place to be happy in, London will never do.37 I don't say it is necessary to meet so absurd an allegation except for one's personal complacency.38 If indifference, in so gorged an organism, is still livelier than curiosity, you may avail yourself of your own share in it simply to feel that since such and such a person doesn't care for real richness, so much the worse for such and such a person.39 But once in a while the best believer recognises the impulse to set his religion in order, to sweep the temple of his thoughts and trim the sacred lamp.40 It is at such hours as this that he reflects with elation that the British capital is the particular spot in the world which communicates the greatest sense of life.41
Sentence Notes
In plain English: A day or two later, one afternoon, I sat staring at the fire in rented rooms I had taken because I expected to stay in London for a few weeks.
Reference & context: James first stayed in London as an adult in 1869; he moved there for good in December 1876.
In plain English: I had just arrived, and after seeing to where my luggage went, I sat down to look over my new home.
In plain English: It was on the ground floor, and the fading daylight arrived there in a sorry state.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Daylight is described as if it were a battered traveller.
In plain English: It seemed stuffy and unfriendly, with its mouldy smell and its décor of cheap prints and wax flowers: an impersonal black hole in the vast surrounding blackness.
Reference & context: Artificial wax flowers under glass domes were a common Victorian ornament.
In plain English: The roar of Piccadilly hummed at the end of the street, and a heartless hansom cab rattled by right next to me.
Reference & context: Piccadilly is one of central London's busiest streets. A hansom was a fast two-wheeled cab.
In plain English: A sudden horror of the whole place came over me, like homesickness springing on me like a tiger that had been waiting for its chance.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Homesickness becomes a predator lying in wait.
In plain English: London was ugly, vicious, cruel and above all overwhelming. Whether or not she “cared for the species,” she was as uncaring as Nature herself about any single life.
Reference & context: Tennyson, In Memoriam LV: “So careful of the type she seems, / So careless of the single life,” a famous lament about Nature's indifference to individuals.
In plain English: Within an hour I would have to go out for dinner, since none was provided there, and that errand began to look like a desperate, dangerous quest.
In plain English: I felt I'd rather go without dinner, even starve, than set out into that hellish city, where the natural fate of an unknown stranger would be to get trampled to death in Piccadilly and have his body thrown into the Thames.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Comic exaggeration of a newcomer's fear, told with an older man's amusement.
In plain English: But I didn't starve, and in time I became tied by a hundred human connections to that dreadful, delightful city.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Two opposite adjectives side by side sum up James's whole feeling about London.
In plain English: That brief glimpse of its dirty face and stony heart has stayed with me, but I'm glad to say I can easily call up other pictures of it.
In plain English: It's certainly not everyone's taste, but for the true lover of London, the sheer size of the place is a big part of its flavour.
In plain English: A small London would be awful, and luckily it's impossible, because the very idea and name of London mean, above all, vastness and multitude.
Reference & context: In 1888 London had over five million people, the largest city in the world.
In plain English: In practice, of course, you live in one district, on one little patch; but in your imagination, by constantly thinking about it, the settled-in regular enjoys the whole city, and he is the only kind of Londoner worth talking about.
In plain English: He's quite proud of himself, as people say, for being a tiny part of such an unmatched mass; and its endless edges, even if he never visits them and they're lost in smoke, give him a sense of social and intellectual breathing room.
In plain English: There's a luxury in knowing he can come and go without anyone noticing, even when he isn't up to anything bad.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: The pleasure of anonymity in a great city, stated with James's dry humour.
In plain English: I don't mean that London doesn't gossip a lot; London's gossip would deserve a whole chapter.
In plain English: But the eyes that partly feed that gossip are, luckily for everyone, pulled at every moment toward a thousand different things.
In plain English: The city may be big, but not everything in it is; still, one can at least say that if small matters play a role there, they do so without fooling themselves about how important they are.
In plain English: There are too many issues, small and large, and each day arrives leading its children by the hand, like a begging mother.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Each day is a poor mother with a crowd of little topics in tow.
In plain English: So perhaps London's most general feature is that it never insists on anything for long.
In plain English: Habits and tastes rise and fall, but intensity is never among them.
In plain English: The great city's spirit doesn't dig deep, and when subjects come up it rarely treats them in a dull, earnest or tastelessly thorough way.
In plain English: Of the topics London disposes of with the confidence born of long experience, few wouldn't get gentler, more careful handling somewhere else.
In plain English: It takes a really big matter, a new twist in the Irish question or a divorce trial lasting many days, to be fully thrashed out.
Reference & context: In the 1880s the struggle over Irish Home Rule dominated British politics. Society divorce trials, reported in detail in the papers, were a popular scandal.
In plain English: When fashionable Mayfair wants to show what it can really do, it lives in hope of a new divorce case; and an indulgent heaven (London is truly in some ways the world's spoiled child) recognizes this special talent and generously gives it what it wants.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Gentle satire: high society's deepest intellectual interest is scandal.
Reference & context: Mayfair is London's richest, most fashionable district.
In plain English: The compensation is that there is no shortage of material: great variety, if not unhealthy subtlety, and the whole parade of events and topics passes across your stage.
In plain English: Right now I'm talking about the inspiration that comes from a sense of distant borders. The London-lover loses himself in this expanding awareness and loves the idea that the town around him is really a country with pavements, a nation in itself.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: London is so large it becomes “a paved country.”
In plain English: He feels this way just as much if he's an adopted son of London as if he were born there.
Reference & context: James, an American, is speaking of himself as an “adoptive son.” He became a British subject in 1915, the year before he died.
In plain English: I'm not even sure he has to be of English descent or a native English speaker, though I don't doubt that those advantages strengthen the bond a great deal.
In plain English: The great city spreads her dark cloak over countless races and religions, and I think there's hardly a known faith without a temple there (haven't I attended the Church of Humanity in Lamb's Conduit Street with an American lady, a vague old gentleman and several seamstresses?), or any group of people without a club or society.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: The tiny, odd congregation in brackets gives a comic, concrete example of London's variety.
Reference & context: The Church of Humanity was a small group of followers of Auguste Comte's “Religion of Humanity,” a godless religion of human progress.
In plain English: London really is the whole round world in miniature, and just as it's a cliché that you can “get” anything there, it's equally true that you can study anything there at first hand.
In plain English: You don't check these truths every day, but they're part of the air you breathe (and you're welcome to that poisonous mixture, says the London-hater, for such contrary people do exist).
Why this phrase is worth keeping: James lets the critic interrupt with a joke about the smog.
Reference & context: London's air was notoriously polluted by coal smoke; the London-hater's joke is that its “air” is poison.
Modernized: there be → there are
In plain English: They tint the thick, dim distances, which I think are the most romantic city views in the world. They mix with the murky light that comes in through the plain, undecorated window of your ordinary house, turning the room into a place of friendly corners, mysterious shades and hidden clever touches. And they mix with the low, magnificent sky, where smoke, fog and the weather in general, the vague hour of the day and season of the year, the fumes of industry and the glow of furnaces, the red glints and smudges that might or might not be sunset (since you never see where any light comes from, you can't tell at all), all hang together in a confused, complicated, shifting but permanent canopy.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: One immense sentence imitates the thick, layered London fog it describes.
In plain English: They make up the bass note of the city's deep, never-ending voice.
In plain English: You remember them when you have to defend your loyalty, when you need to put as many striking points as possible into the list of good reasons you sometimes have to draw up, the eloquent list you hold up against the hostile case, which is the long list of other reasons, easily as long as your arm.
In plain English: According to those other reasons, it is convincingly and finally proved that London will never do as a place to be happy in.
In plain English: I don't say you need to answer such a ridiculous charge, except for your own satisfaction.
In plain English: If, in such an overfed creature as London, indifference is even stronger than curiosity, you can use your own share of indifference simply to feel that if so-and-so doesn't care for real richness, that's so-and-so's loss.
In plain English: But now and then even the most devoted believer feels the urge to put his faith in order, to sweep out the temple of his thoughts and trim the sacred lamp.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Love of London is treated as a religion, with temple and lamp.
In plain English: It's at times like this that he thinks, with delight, that London is the one place on earth that gives you the strongest sense of life.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: The essay's verdict: not the most pleasant city, but the most alive.
Fun Fact
James lived in London for twenty years, but in 1897 he leased Lamb House in the small town of Rye, Sussex, and wrote his last great novels there, dictating them to a typist. In 1916, on his deathbed, he received Britain's Order of Merit, one of the country's highest honours.