Three days before our departure, I remarked at the breakfast-table,
Dawson being absent:
"My dear girls, you are aware that we have
ordered fried eggs, scrambled eggs, buttered eggs, and poached eggs
ever since we came to Dovermarle Street, simply because we do not
know how to eat boiled eggs prettily from the shell, English
fashion, and cannot break them into a cup or a glass, American
fashion, on account of the effect upon Dawson. Now there will
certainly be boiled eggs at Marjorimallow Hall, and we cannot refuse
them morning after morning; it will be cowardly (which is
unpleasant), and it will be remarked (which is worse). Eating them
minced in an egg-cup, in a baronial hall, with the remains of a
drawbridge in the grounds, is equally impossible; if we do that,
Lady Marjorimallow will be having our luggage examined, to see if we
carry wigwams and war-whoops about with us. No, it is clearly
necessary that we master the gentle art of eating eggs tidily and
daintily from the shell. I have seen English women - very dull ones,
too - do it without apparent effort; I have even seen an English
infant do it, and that without soiling her apron, or, as Salemina
would say, 'messing her pinafore.' I propose, therefore, that we
order soft-boiled eggs daily; that we send Dawson from the room
directly breakfast is served; and that then and there we have a
class for opening eggs, lowest grade, object method. Any person who
cuts the shell badly, or permits the egg to leak over the rim, or
allows yellow dabs on the plate, or upsets the cup, or stains her
fingers, shall be fined 'tuppence' and locked into her bedroom for
five minutes."
The first morning we were all in the bedroom together, and, there
being no blameless person to collect fines, the wildest civil
disorder prevailed.
On the second day Salemina and I improved slightly, but Francesca
had passed a sleepless night, and her hand trembled (the love-letter
mail had come in from America). We were obliged to tell her, as we
collected 'tuppence' twice on the same egg, that she must either
remain at home, or take an oilcloth pinafore to Marjorimallow Hall.
But 'ease is the lovely result of forgotten toil,' and it is only a
question of time and desire with Americans, we are so clever. Other
nations have to be trained from birth; but as we need only an ounce
of training where they need a pound, we can afford to procrastinate.
Sometimes we procrastinate too long, but that is a trifle. On the
third morning success crowned our efforts. Salemina smiled, and I
told an anecdote, during the operation, although my egg was cracked
in the boiling, and I question if the Queen's favourite maid-of-
honour could have managed it prettily. Accordingly, when eggs were
brought to the breakfast-table at Marjorimallow Hall, we were only
slightly nervous. Francesca was at the far end of the long table,
and I do not know how she fared, but from various Anglicisms that
Salemina dropped, as she chatted with the Queen's Counsel on her
left, I could see that her nerve was steady and circulation free.
We exchanged glances (there was the mistake!), and with an
embarrassed laugh she struck her egg a hasty blow.
Her egg-cup slipped and lurched; a top fraction of the egg flew in
the direction of the Q.C., and the remaining portion oozed, in
yellow confusion, rapidly into her plate. Alas for that past
mistress of elegant dignity, Salemina! If I had been at Her
Majesty's table, I should have smiled, even if I had gone to the
Tower the next moment; but as it was, I became hysterical. My
neighbour, a portly member of Parliament, looked amazed, Salemina
grew scarlet, the situation was charged with danger; and, rapidly
viewing the various exits, I chose the humorous one, and told as
picturesquely as possible the whole story of our school of egg-
opening in Dovermarle Street, the highly arduous and encouraging
rehearsals conducted there, and the stupendous failure incident to
our first public appearance. Sir Owen led the good-natured laughter
and applause; lords and ladies, Q.C.'s and M.P.'s joined in with a
will; poor Salemina raised her drooping head, opened and ate a
second egg with the repose of a Vere de Vere - and the footman
smiled!
Chapter IV. The English sense of humour.
I do not see why we hear that the Englishman is deficient in a sense
of humour. His jokes may not be a matter of daily food to him, as
they are to the American; he may not love whimsicality with the same
passion, nor inhale the aroma of a witticism with as keen a relish;
but he likes fun whenever he sees it, and he sees it as often as
most people. It may be that we find the Englishman more receptive
to our bits of feminine nonsense just now, simply because this is
the day of the American woman in London, and, having been assured
that she is an entertaining personage, young John Bull is willing to
take it for granted so long as she does not try to marry him, and
even this pleasure he will allow her on occasion, - if well paid for
it.
The longer I live, the more I feel it an absurdity to label nations
with national traits, and then endeavour to make individuals conform
to the required standard. It is possible, I suppose, to draw
certain broad distinctions, though even these are subject to change;
but the habit of generalising from one particular, that mainstay of
the cheap and obvious essayist, has rooted many fictions in the
public mind. Nothing, for instance, can blot from my memory the
profound, searching, and exhaustive analysis of a great nation which
I learned in my small geography when I was a child, namely, 'The
French are a gay and polite people, fond of dancing and light
wines.'
One young Englishman whom I have met lately errs on the side of
over-appreciation.
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