London, viewed in retrospect, seems a great, clumsy, slow-moving
giant, with hair on his chest and soil under his nails; competent
in the larger affairs and careless about the smaller ones; amply
satisfied with himself and disdainful of the opinions of outsiders;
having all of a man's vices and a good share of his virtues; loving
sport for sport's sake and power for its own sake and despising
art for art's sake.
You do not have to spend a week or a month or a year in either
Paris or London to note these things. The distinction is wide
enough to be seen in a day; yes, or in an hour. It shows in all
the outer aspects. An overtowering majority of the smart shops
in Paris cater to women; a large majority of the smart shops in
London cater to men. It shows in their voices; for cities have
voices just as individuals have voices. New York is not yet old
enough to have found its own sex. It belongs still to the neuter
gender. New York is not even a noun--it's a verb transitive; but
its voice is a female voice, just as Paris' voice is. New York,
like Paris, is full of strident, shrieking sounds, shrill outcries,
hysterical babblings--a women's bridge-whist club at the hour of
casting up the score; but London now is different. London at all
hours speaks with a sustained, sullen, steady, grinding tone, never
entirely sinking into quietude, never rising to acute discords.
Pages:
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240