You know their
style."
"Oh, yes," I answered. "Of course. Yes. Let me see. What is the
German for savoury?"
"Savoury?" mused B. "Oh! ah! hum! Bothered if I know! Confound
the thing - I can't think of it!"
I could not think of it either. As a matter of fact, I never knew
it. We tried the man with French. We said:
"Une omelette aux fines herbes."
As he did not appear to understand that, we gave it him in bad
English. We twisted and turned the unfortunate word "savoury" into
sounds so quaint, so sad, so unearthly, that you would have thought
they might have touched the heart of a savage. This stoical Teuton,
however, remained unmoved. Then we tried pantomime.
Pantomime is to language what marmalade, according to the label on
the pot, is to butter, "an excellent (occasional) substitute." But
its powers as an interpreter of thought are limited. At least, in
real life they are so. As regards a ballet, it is difficult to say
what is not explainable by pantomime. I have seen the bad man in a
ballet convey to the premiere danseuse by a subtle movement of the
left leg, together with some slight assistance from the drum, the
heartrending intelligence that the lady she had been brought up to
believe was her mother was in reality only her aunt by marriage.
But then it must be borne in mind that the premiere danseuse is a
lady whose quickness of perception is altogether unique. The
premiere danseuse knows precisely what a gentleman means when he
twirls round forty-seven times on one leg, and then stands on his
head. The average foreigner would, in all probability, completely
misunderstand the man.
A friend of mine once, during a tour in the Pyrenees, tried to
express gratitude by means of pantomime. He arrived late one
evening at a little mountain inn, where the people made him very
welcome, and set before him their best; and he, being hungry,
appreciated their kindness, and ate a most excellent supper.
Indeed, so excellent a meal did he make, and so kind and attentive
were his hosts to him, that, after supper, he felt he wanted to
thank them, and to convey to them some idea of how pleased and
satisfied he was.
He could not explain himself in language. He only knew enough
Spanish to just ask for what he wanted - and even to do that he had
to be careful not to want much. He had not got as far as sentiment
and emotion at that time. Accordingly he started to express himself
in action. He stood up and pointed to the empty table where the
supper had been, then opened his mouth and pointed down his throat.
Then he patted that region of his anatomy where, so scientific
people tell us, supper goes to, and smiled.
