FullReads

In our neighbourhood there are, too, a vast number of “caterers” and “fruiterers,” and, particularly, delicatessen shops. Delicatessen shops in our neighbourhood are described upon the windows as places dealing in “fancy and table luxuries.” I have heard my wife say that many people “just live out of them.” They are certainly handsome places. Why, you wouldn’t think there was any food in them. Everything is so dressed up that it doesn’t look at all as if it were to eat, it is so attractive.

Restaurants hereabouts are commonly named “La Parisienne,” or something like that, or are called “rotisseries.” There are some just ordinary restaurants, too, and many immaculate, light-lunch rooms. “Afternoon Tea” is a frequent sign, and one often sees the delicate suggestion in neat gilt, “Sandwiches.” Grocers in this part of town, it would seem, handle only “select,” “fancy,” and “choice” groceries, and “hot-house products.” There are a number of fine “markets” in this district, very fine markets indeed. In the season for game, deer and bears may be seen strung up in front of them; all their chickens appear to come from Philadelphia, their ducks are “fresh killed Long Island ducks,” and they make considerable of a feature of “frogs’ legs.” These markets are usually called the “Superior Market,” or the “Quality Market,” or something like that. Great residential hotels here bear the name of “halls,” as “Brummel Hall” on the one hand and “Euripides Hall” on the other.

You will by now have begun to perceive the note, the flair, of my part of town. Its care is for the graces, the things that sweeten life, the refinements of civilisation, the embellishments of existence. Nothing more clearly, strikingly, bespeaks this than the proofs of its extraordinary fondness for art–I have mentioned literature. Painting and sculpture, music, the drama, and the art of “interior decoration,” these things of the spirit have their homes without number along this stretch of Broadway.

“Art” shops and art “galleries” are on every hand. In the windows of these places you will see: innumerable French mirrors; stacks of empty picture frames of French eighteenth-century design, at an amazingly cheap figure each; remarkably inexpensive reproductions in bright colours of Sir Joshua, Corot, Watteau, Chardin, Fragonard, some Italian Madonnas; an assortment of hunting prints, and prints redolent of Old English sentiment; many wall “texts,” or “creeds”; a variety of the kind of coloured pictures technically called, I believe, “comics”; numerous little plaster casts of anonymous works and busts of standard authors; frequently an ambitious original etching by an artist unknown to you; and an occasional print of the “September Morn” kind of thing; together with many “art objects” and a great deal of “bric-a-brac.” Upon the windows you are informed that “restoring,” “artistic framing,” “regilding,” and “resilvering” are done within. And, in some cases, that “miniatures” are painted there. There are, too, a number of “Japanese art stores” along the way, containing vast stocks of Japanese lilies living in Japanese pans, other exotic blossoming plants, pink and yellow slippers from the Orient, and striking flowered garments like a scene from a “Mikado” opera.

In this part of town photography, too, is made one of the fine arts. You do not here have your photograph taken; you have, it seems, your “portrait” made. “Home portraiture” is ingratiatingly suggested on lettered cards, and, further, you are invited to indulge in “art posing in photographs.” The “studios” of the photographers display about an equal number of portraits of children and dogs. The people of this community take joy not only in the savour of art, and in taking part in its professional production, but they would themselves produce it, as amateurs. The sign “Kodaks” is everywhere about, and “enlarging” is done, and “developing and printing for amateurs” every few rods. So we come to the subject of music.