Travels in England in 1782 by Karl Philipp Moritz (most read books of all time .TXT) 📕

nay, even in common conversation, their periods at the end of a sentence are always accompanied by a certain singular uniform fall of the voice, which, notwithstanding its monotony has in it something so peculiar, and so difficult, that I defy any foreigner ever completely to acquire it. Mr. Leonhardi in particular seemed to me, in some passages which he repeated out of Hamlet, to have learnt to sink his voice in the true English manner; yet any one might know from his speaking that he is not an Englishman. The English place the accent oftener on the adjectives than they do on the substantive, which, though undoubtedly the most significant word in any sentence, has frequently less stress laid on it than you hear laid on mere epithets. On the stage they pronounce the syllables and words extremely distinct, so that at the theatres you may always gain most instruction in English elocution and pronunciation.

This kingdom is remarkable for running into dialect: even in London they are said to have one. They say, for example, “it a’nt” instead of “it is not;” “I don’t know,” for “I do not know;” “I don’t know him,” for “I do not know him;” the latter of which phrases has often deceived me, as I mistook a negative for an affirmative.

The word “sir,” in English, has a great variety of significations. With the appellation of “sir,” an Englishman addresses his king, his friend, his foe, his servant, and his dog; he makes use of it when asking a question politely; and a member of Parliament, merely to fill up a vacancy, when he happens to be at a loss. “Sir?” in an inquiring tone of voice, signifies what is your desire? “Sir!” in a humble tone—gracious Sovereign!—“Sir!” in surly tone, a box on the ear at your service! To a dog it means a good beating. And in a speech in Parliament, accompanied by a pause, it signifies, I cannot now recollect what it is I wish to say farther.

I do not recollect to have heard any expression repeated oftener than this, “Never mind it!” A porter one day fell down, and cut his head on the pavement: “O, never mind it!” said an Englishman who happened to be passing by. When I had my trunk fetched from the ship in a boat, the waterman rowed among the boats, and his boy, who stood at the head of his boat, got a sound drubbing, because the others would not let him pass: “O, never mind it!” said the old one, and kept rowing on.

The Germans who have been here any time almost constantly make use of Anglicisms, such as “es will nicht thun” (it will not do), instead of es ist nicht hinlanglich (it is not sufficient), and many such. Nay, some even say, “Ich habe es nicht geminded” (I did not mind it), instead of ich habe mich nicht daran errinnert, oder daran gedacht (I did not recollect it, or I did not think of it).

You can immediately distinguish Englishmen when they speak German, by their pronunciation according to the English manner; instead of Ich befinde mich wohl, they say Ich befirmich u’hol (I am very well), the w being as little noticed as u quickly sounded.

I have often heard, when directing any one in the street, the phrase, “Go down the street as far as ever you can go, and ask anybody.” Just as we say, “Every child can direct you.”

I have already noticed in England they learn to write a much finer hand than with us. This probably arises from their making use of only one kind of writing, in which the letters are all so exact that you would take it for print.

In general, in speaking, reading, in their expressions, and in writing, they seem, in England, to have more decided rules than we have. The lowest man expresses himself in proper phrases, and he who publishes a book, at least writes correctly, though the matter be ever so ordinary. In point of style, when they write, they seem to be all of the same country, profession, rank, and station.

The printed English sermons are beyond all question the best in the world; yet I have sometimes heard sad, miserable stuff from their pulpits. I have been in some churches where the sermons seem to have been transcribed or compiled from essays and pamphlets; and the motley composition, after all, very badly put together. It is said that there are a few in London, by whom some of the English clergy are supposed to get their sermons made for money.

 

CHAPTER XIV.

 

London, 18th July.

I write to you now for the last time from London; and, what is still more, from St. Catherine’s, one of the most execrable holes in all this great city, where I am obliged to stay, because the great ships arrive in the Thames here, and go from hence, and we shall sail as soon as the wind changes. This it has just now done, yet still it seems we shall not sail till to-morrow. To-day therefore I can still relate to you all the little that I have farther noticed.

On Monday morning I moved from the Freemasons’ Tavern to a public-house here, of which the master is a German; and where all the Hambro’ captains lodge. At the Freemasons’ Tavern, the bill for eight days’ lodging, breakfast, and dinner came to one guinea and nine shillings and nine pence. Breakfast, dinner, and coffee were always, with distinction, reckoned a shilling each. For my lodging I paid only twelve shillings a week, which was certainly cheap enough.

At the German’s house in St. Catherine’s, on the contrary, everything is more reasonable, and you here eat, drink, and lodge for half-a-guinea a week. Notwithstanding, however, I would not advise anybody who wishes to see London, to lodge here long; for St. Catherine’s is one of the most out-of-the-way and inconvenient places in the whole town.

He who lands here first sees this miserable, narrow, dirty street, and this mass of ill-built, old, ruinous houses; and of course forms, at first sight, no very favourable idea of this beautiful and renowned city.

From Bullstrode Street, or Cavendish Square, to St. Catherine’s, is little less than half a day’s journey. Nevertheless, Mr. Schonborn has daily visited me since I have lived here; and I have always walked back half-way with him. This evening we took leave of each other near St. Paul’s, and this separation cost me not a few tears.

I have had a very agreeable visit this afternoon from Mr. Hansen, one of the assistants to the “Zollner book for all ranks of men” who brought me a letter from the Rev. Mr. Zollner at Berlin, and just arrived at London when I was going away. He is going on business to Liverpool. I have these few days past, for want of better employment, walked through several parts of London that I had not before seen. Yesterday I endeavoured to reach the west end of the town; and I walked several miles, when finding it was grown quite dark, I turned back quite tired, without having accomplished my end.

Nothing in London makes so disgusting an appearance to a foreigner, as the butchers’ shops, especially in the environs of the Tower. Guts and all the nastiness are thrown into the middle of the street, and cause an insupportable stench.

I have forgot to describe the ‘Change to you; this beautiful building is a long square in the centre of which is an open area, where the merchants assemble. All round, there are covered walks supported by pillars on which the name of the different commercial nations you may wish to find are written up, that among the crowd of people you may be able to find each other. There are also stone benches made under the covered walks, which after a ramble from St. Catherine’s, for example, hither, are very convenient to rest yourself.

On the walls all kinds of handbills are stuck up. Among others I read one of singular contents. A clergyman exhorted the people not to assent to the shameful Act of Parliament for the toleration of Catholics, by suffering their children to their eternal ruin to be instructed and educated by them; but rather to give him, an orthodox clergyman of the Church of England, this employ and this emolument.

In the middle of the area is a stone statue of Charles the Second. As I sat here on a bench, and gazed on the immense crowds that people London, I thought that, as to mere dress and outward appearance, these here did not seem to be materially different from our people at Berlin.

Near the ‘Change is a shop where, for a penny or even a halfpenny only, you may read as many newspapers as you will. There are always a number of people about these shops, who run over the paper as they stand, pay their halfpenny, and then go on.

Near the ‘Change there is a little steeple with a set of bells which have a charming tone, but they only chime one or two lively tunes, though in this part of the City you constantly hear bells ringing in your ears.

It has struck me that in London there is no occasion for any elementary works or prints, for the instruction of children. One need only lead them into the City, and show them the things themselves as they really are. For here it is contrived, as much as possible, to place in view for the public inspection every production of art, and every effort of industry. Paintings, mechanisms, curiosities of all kinds, are here exhibited in the large and light shop windows, in the most advantageous manner; nor are spectators wanting, who here and there, in the middle of the street, stand still to observe any curious performance. Such a street seemed to me to resemble a well regulated cabinet of curiosities.

But the squares, where the finest houses are, disdain and reject all such shows and ornaments, which are adapted only to shopkeepers’ houses. The squares, moreover, are not nearly so crowded or so populous as the streets and the other parts of the city. There is nearly as much difference between these squares and the Strand in London, in point of population and bustle, as there is between Millbank and Fredericksstadt in Berlin.

I do not at present recollect anything further, my dear friend, worth your attention, which I can now write to you, except that everything is ready for our departure to-morrow. I paid Captain Hilkes, with whom I came over from Hambro’, four guineas for my passage and my board in the cabin. But Captain Braunschweig, with whom I am to return, charges me five guineas; because provisions, he says, are dearer in London than at Hambro’. I now have related to you all my adventures and all my history from the time that I took leave of you in the street, my voyage hither with Captain Hilkes excepted. Of this, all that I think it necessary to mention is, that, to my great dissatisfaction, it lasted a fortnight, and three days I was sea-sick. Of my voyage back I will give you a personal account. And now remember me to Biester, and farewell till I see you again.

 

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