The Tale of Lal Part 1

The Tale of Lal.

by Raymond Paton.

AN EXPLANATION AND AN APOLOGY

Upon behalf of Ridgwell and Christine the author has been urged to explain that three things--facts, common-sense, and probability--have of necessity been throughout entirely omitted in relating this story.

The children, however, have comforted the author by declaring that these particular things are not required at all in any book of the present day, but are merely an old-fashioned survival of the past, which is gradually dying out.

One of the sole remaining examples we possess of fact, common-sense, and probability being the celebration of the 5th of November, which has somehow become a day of national thanksgiving, and is without doubt one of the most important dates in the calendar, and very dear to the hearts of the English people.

A PREFACE

The aspect of Trafalgar Square, like everything else in the world, depends largely upon how it is viewed, and through whose eyes it is seen.

A j.a.panese artist, for instance, visiting London, immediately selected Trafalgar Square seen by night-time as a subject for a picture. He thoughtfully omitted any suggestion of either omnibuses, taxi-cabs, or the populace.

He likewise decided that all the statues were most unpicturesque, and the varied and flashing electric advertis.e.m.e.nts to be seen hung up on high around the Square were not only hideous but impossible.

Consequently this imaginative being flung upon his canvas a mysterious blue s.p.a.ce, void of anything save the brilliantly coloured lanterns of his own land, swung upon bamboo poles, trembling in the darkness at picturesquely convenient distances. The effect was quite beautiful, but of course it could not in any way be considered as a reasonable likeness of this particular Square.

A French artist also selecting this portion of London for a picture, determined at once that it would be more becoming, not to say diplomatic, to paint only one end of the low stone wall surrounding the Square; yet entertaining doubts afterwards that it might not perhaps be recognised, he added the central stone cupola of the National Gallery, appearing over all like a hastily bestowed blessing, but covered the remaining s.p.a.ce upon his canvas with imaginary stalls of glowing flowers, and even more imaginary flower-sellers. His picture was greatly admired, and very much resembled the Market Square in Havre upon a Monday morning.

A Spanish artist chancing to pa.s.s the same way, likewise hastily completed a picture of Trafalgar Square as he wished to see it, adding by way of a decorative effect a lattice-work of trellised vines like unto his beloved vineyards of Andalusia. Dwarf oranges grew in profusion and hung their coloured golden globes over the squat stone walls. A brilliant Southern sun beat upon both, baking the walls red-hot and ripening the oranges at one and the same time. This picture the artist named Trafalgar Square when the Sun Shines.

A Cubist painter, not to be outdone with regard to his point of view of such a subject, covered an immense canvas with wonderful heaving squares of ochre and green, viewed from a background suggesting endless mud. This suggestion, however, may have been in the nature of a small tribute to the usual condition of the London streets. This production which the Cubist artist was optimistic enough to name simply Trafalgar Square, was instantly bought by a famous geologist, who to this day indulges in the beautiful belief that he possesses the only indication of what this particular portion of the world was like before ever the earth was made.

Last of all arrived a Futurist painter, who painted _everything_ in Trafalgar Square, and nothing that did _not_ appear in it. The painter, however, selected a really wonderful aspect of the Square, seen from a most strange angle, a sort of bird's-eye view of it, which could only have been obtained from a balloon. So remarkable was the perspective that the entire Square, as seen in the picture, appeared as if it were being gradually drawn sideways up to Heaven. The great Nelson column and all the four lions could be viewed simultaneously, and the artist had painted _all the four lions alike_.

Now a Writer whose chambers overlooked Trafalgar Square, and who was acquainted with its every aspect, by night as well as day, knew full well that the Futurist artist was wrong when he painted all the four lions _alike_. The Writer knew that one Lion was totally different from all the others; so the Writer smiled and kept his own counsel.

I will wait, said the Writer, until somebody else has made the same discovery that I have made. I will remain completely silent concerning one square patch of fairyland placed within the very hub and centre of the Universe, within the busiest part of a great city. When some other traveller finds the key to the mystic place, we shall both discover it is possible to talk about something which n.o.body else understands, and be enabled to compare notes.

BOOK I

WHAT RIDGWELL AND CHRISTINE DECLARED

CHAPTER I

THE PLEASANT-FACED LION

Ridgwell always told Christine afterwards that he thought the Lion first spoke to him in Trafalgar Square, the day when he was lost in the fog.

Ridgwell never knew how he became separated from the rest, but like all other unpleasant experiences it was one step, so to speak, and there he was, wandering about lost. The fog appeared to have swallowed up the friends he had been walking with a moment before; he could only hear voices as if people were talking through a gramophone, and see looming black shadows which did not seem to be accompanied by any bodies; then whack--he walked right into something big which did not move. At this point Ridgwell was seriously thinking about commencing to cry.

"Stop that," said a gruff voice.

"What?" faltered Ridgwell.

"Going to cry."

"I am not sure," said Ridgwell, "that I was."

"I am," said the gruff voice. "I saw the corners of your mouth go down. Now can you climb up? No, of course you can't, you are too small. Here, catch hold of my paw! There you are!" grunted the Lion, when Ridgwell was seated safely. "You just fit nicely; all the children fit in here. Knock those rolled-up policemen's capes off, they annoy me every day when they put them there. They tickle me, and I can't scratch about with my paws either."

Ridgwell was now lost in amazement, and regarded the Lion in open-mouthed astonishment.

The Lion purred contentedly. It was a nice homely sounding, domestic purr, and many times deeper and more impressive than that of a cat.

"What's your name?" demanded the Lion, whilst Ridgwell was still gasping.

"Ridgwell."

"Very appropriate too," said the Lion. "Here you are sitting in safety on the Ridge with me, and you are Well, aren't you?"

"Yes, thank you."

"There you are then," said the Lion. "_Ridge-Well_, what more do you want? Now I suppose you wish to know who I am? Well, I don't mind telling you. I am the Pleasant-Faced Lion. I am the only real Lion of the four, consequently I have a more intelligent expression than the others. The other three are only just common lions, and are always asleep. Now _I_ come to life once in every generation and have a talk to the children, or to any one grown up who is imaginative enough to understand me. I like children, they are a hobby of mine. I am not in my usual spirits to-day," continued the Lion, "I have caught cold."

"Have you?" said Ridgwell. "I am very sorry."

"Yes, they washed me for Trafalgar Day in some beastly solution which was most unsuitable to me. I cannot shake off the cold. Hang on!"

shouted the Lion suddenly, "I am going to sneeze, and I may shake you off the pedestal." Whereupon the Lion grabbed Ridgwell gently with his paw to steady him, and after sneezing heavily, proceeded. "After washing me for Trafalgar Day, which was most unnecessary, they hung a ridiculous wreath round my neck with a large N in leaves upon it. To add to the injury, an absurd person stood staring at me and explained to her children that the N stood for Napoleon. Bah!!!" growled the Lion. "Bah!!! Ignorance!"

"What did it stand for?" asked Ridgwell.

"Nile," grunted the Lion. "Short for Battle of the Nile."

"But I am so astonished. I did not know that you could talk, Mister Lion."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake don't call me Mister Lion, call me Lal."

"Why Lal?" inquired Ridgwell.

"Short for Lionel," whispered the Lion. "Lionel is my proper name."

"Oh, I see, but, Mister----"

"There you go again," said the Lion. "Call me Lal and be friendly."

"Indeed I am very friendly, Mister--I mean Lal; but there are so many things I don't understand."

"Common complaint of little boys," grumbled the Lion, "and you are going to see a lot more things in a minute that you will find most amazing. For instance, would you like to see a tournament?"