Discovery of America

ONCE there was a sparrow named Hubert or Herbert, I don’t know which. Let’s call him Hubert. He used to spend his winters in Miami and then in the spring he and Enid his wife would come up to New York and open up their old nest, which was in a window embrasure of the Metropolitan Museum. They had done this for a good many years. From the nest they could look in on a small room full of paintings of the Dutch School — sixteenth century. Thus Enid, while she was sitting on her eggs, could look in and contemplate beauty, and Hubert felt that this probably had a good effect on the children. Also they both had cultural pretensions, and around the Museum they picked up a lot of snappy art talk that they used to good effect on their Florida acquaintances.

Well, one spring when they had almost reached New York, Enid said she wished they could go somewhere else that year. She said, ‘I’m getting pretty sick of looking at those Dutch interiors.’ ‘Well, you know, dear,’ said Hubert, ‘what happened that year we went over to the Museum of Modern Art.’ That had been two years before, when they had begun to feel that their point of view was getting to be too academic. Their nest had had a view of two Marins and a small Matisse. But that year two of their eggs did n’t hatch at all and the other two produced fledglings so bizarrely marked and so definitely subnormal that at migration time they had flown off north and had never been heard of again. ‘Perhaps,’ said Hubert, ‘we might try the National Arts Club.’ ‘Oh dear, no,’ said Enid. ‘No, I mean something entirely different.’ ‘Well,’ said Hubert, ‘there are banks and clubs and patriotic organizations — ’ ‘Fancy you getting patriotic!’ said Enid. ‘No, let’s live in the country.’

Well, Hubert thought that would be nice, but he did n’t want to say so right away, so he pished and tushed a bit, but finally gave in and sighed and said, ‘Well, since you wish it, my dear. Though,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid the social life will not be very stimulating.’ ‘Rather primitive, no doubt,’ said Enid, ‘but we have become perhaps almost too sophisticated and I am sure we shall feel more sanely balanced after a summer among the simple kindly country folk.’ ‘True,’ said Hubert. ‘After all, New York is not America.’

So they flew on past New York and picked out a little white village called Æschylus Centre. And they built a nest in the eaves of a nice old house on the green and settled down in it and Enid laid an egg in it.

Well, so far they had n’t had much time to get acquainted with their neighbors. But when they had been settled a week and nobody had come to call they began to think it was kind of funny. A pair of phœbes had the next nest to them and around the corner lived a wren and his wife, and many other birds lived in the neighboring trees. They nodded politely to Enid and Hubert when they met them around town, but it never went any further than that. Enid laid three more eggs, and by and by, when she was n’t going out any more, Hubert would say when he came home in the afternoon, ‘Anybody call?‘ And she would say, ‘No.’ It was pretty discouraging.

But at last one day when he came home she said that the cat had called. ‘Well, that was darn decent of him,’ said Hubert. He did n’t have much use for cats as a rule, but at least that was a beginning. And he said, ‘ Did you get out of him why people don’t come to see us?’ Enid said No — they’d just talked about the weather and things like that. But a few days later the cat came again when Hubert was there, so Hubert asked him point-blank if he knew what was the matter.

The cat was a little embarrassed and said Why, no — he did n’t know of any reason. He said, ‘ Of course everybody knows you come from New York.’ And Hubert said, ‘Yes, I thought it might be that, but there is really no reason for any of them to be uncomfortable with us, for we wish to make no parade of our sophistication or of such cultural advantages as we may have had, but merely to take part in the village life. For,’ he said, ‘we are quite simple people really.’ ‘I am sure you are,’ said the cat. ‘What do you mean by that?’ said Enid, and the cat said, ‘Nothing — oh, nothing at all,’ and then he hesitated a minute and said, ‘But I feel that you are perhaps on the wrong track, for true sophistication can be only an advantage in any society, and the higher your culture the greater the esteem in which you will be held here as elsewhere.’ ‘ I am glad to hear you say that,’ said Hubert, and then he asked the cat how he thought it would be if he were to give a little informal talk on some phase of art. ‘For,’ he said, ‘I am in a sense connected with the Metropolitan Museum and I have studied the subject for many years.’

Well, the cat thought that would be all right. ‘Only I should tell you,’ he said, ‘that there are four artists and one art critic in Æschylus Centre, so that there is not a bird in the village that has n’t some knowledge of such matters.’ ‘That is fine,’ said Hubert, ‘for then I shall be assured of interest in my talk.’ ‘Yes,’ said the cat doubtfully, ‘but do make it as lively and anecdotal as possible. Remember, too, what Santayana says — that an artist may visit a museum, but only a pedant can live there.’

‘Who in hell is Santayana?’ said Hubert when he had gone. ‘Oh, he just made it up,’ said Enid. ’I don’t think I like that cat as well as I did,’ said Hubert. ‘And who do you suppose the four artists are?’ ‘Probably old ladies that paint on china or do burnt wood,’ said Enid. ‘For if they were really any good they would n’t stay in a little place like this.’ ‘Shall I give my talk on Art Treasures of the Nation that I gave in Miami last year?’ said Hubert. ‘No,’ said Enid, ‘I think something like Modern Trends in Art would be better. Modern always gets people who are n’t up to date.’

Well, there was a bird bath in the garden, and the next day Hubert went down and hung around there and told all the birds that came to bathe that he was giving a little talk next Tuesday afternoon and he hoped they’d come. They had never said anything more than how-dy-do to him before, but they were very polite and said they hoped to be able to come. But they were n’t as impressed as Hubert had expected and so he began to brag a little. He did n’t brag much, but just enough to show that he could if he wanted to. And finally a peewee who had been sitting on the edge of the pool for some time came over and said, ’I wish you’d tell me, Mr. Hubert — just where do you place Modigliani?’ ‘Modi — er — oh yes,’ stammered Hubert. ‘ Well, I hope to cover that in my talk.’ ’I do hope,’ said a wren, ‘that you will talk about Chirico and what you feel is his relation to the Surréalistes.’ ‘Too metaphysical — Chirico,’ said a woodpecker. ‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ said the wren, ‘for just as compositions . . .’ And they began to argue.

Well, poor Hubert. He was no fool, and he saw that he had stepped in right over his head. ‘Gosh darn it, I got these birds all wrong,’ he said to himself, ‘for, my God, I don’t even know the names of these artists, and what a monkey they’ll make out of me if I try to give a talk on art!’ The argument went on around him, and other birds joined in, and pretty soon they began to appeal to Hubert. Only they did it sort of with a sly smile, as if they did n’t expect him to say anything. And at first he did n’t say anything. Until a rather superior catbird looked down his beak at him and said, ‘Mr. Hubert is reticent.’ ‘Yes,’ said Hubert. ‘Er— yes.’ ‘Yet, no doubt,’ said the catbird, ‘with his vast knowledge he could give us all the facts and settle the argument very easily.’ ‘Perhaps he feels,’ said the wren, ‘ that le secret d’ennuyer est de tout dire.’ ‘An excellent maxim for any lecturer to keep in mind,’ said the catbird.

Well, Hubert saw that he was being kidded, so he forced a smile and excused himself and went home and told Enid about it. And while he was talking the cat came along and he told him. ‘Well,

I tried to warn you,’ said the cat. ‘These birds out here have the edge on you.’ ‘Pooh! I can’t believe it,’ said Hubert. ‘Why, with all our advantages— ’ ‘Advantages my eye,’ said the cat. ‘Why, in all that dirt and rush you’re too busy picking up a living to do more than snatch at the last thing that’s going on. Oh, I grant you you know that. You’re all for fashion and keeping up to date, and if Anthony Eden’s canary wears his tail feathers cocked at an angle of sixty degrees you all copy him. But these birds know the latest things too, only they don’t take it so hard because they also know everything that has gone before and have time to talk about it all.’ ‘Well,’ said.Hubert doubtfully, ‘perhaps I had just better stick to personal reminiscences in my talk.’ ’I think that would be better,’ said the cat.

So Hubert prepared his talk without much art in it and he gave it several times to Enid, who laughed and applauded in all the right places, and then about noon Tuesday he thought he’d better take a bath and brighten up his feathers before the lecture. He did n’t feel like going down to the bird bath, which seemed pretty crowded anyway, so he flew over across the railroad tracks to the millpond. And he was giving his wing coverts a final tweak and polish when he heard band music.

Hubert flew back to the village and perched on the awning of Millspaugh’s grocery between a flicker and the phœbe who lived next door to him, just as a band, with drums banging and banners flying, swung into Main Street. ‘What’s going on?’ Hubert asked, and the flicker said, ‘Opening of the baseball season. Æschylus Centre plays Southington to-day.’ ‘How quaint,’ said Hubert. The band went by and then the fire company and then the local Legion Post, preceded by a carriage in which rode old Mr. Haggerty, the Centre’s sole surviving G. A. R. veteran. And behind the legion came the two teams and then another band.

Hubert smiled a bored and kindly smile as the laughter and applause and cheering came down the street. And he began selecting the words in which he would tell his Florida friends about this simply killing procession. All these peasants so solemn in their gay uniforms, and the whipped-up patriotism, and the beauty and the chivalry of Æschylus Centre so vulgarly parading to a ball ground. . . . ‘That’s Edgar Hopperson, the dramatic critic, playing the trombone,’ said the phœbe, ‘and you see that tall man driving the hose cart? That’s George Wright, owner of the New York Sentinel. And next him is Lew Bishop. He’s sort of the village idiot, but a wonderful hand with horses. And the fellow with the drum — he’s Grierson, the banker.’ ‘Really?’ said Hubert. ‘What an extraordinary thing!’ ‘Why?’ said the phœbe.

Before Hubert could think of an answer the second band, which was just below him, crashed into action. In spite of himself, an exultation which he had not felt since the first time he had tried his wings swept over Hubert. He fought it for a minute, and then in front of him a flag went snapping and rippling by, and suddenly he opened his beak and yelled at the top of his lungs, ‘Hooray!’ ‘Atta boy, Hubie!’ said the phœbe, clapping him on the back. ‘I knew you had it in you somewhere. Come on — let’s go to the game.’

So Hubert went to the ball game. At first he kept glancing uneasily over his shoulder to see if Enid was around anywhere. But pretty soon he forgot all about Enid, and when Æschylus Centre won, 12-11, he cheered until he was hoarse.

It was n’t until he was almost home that he remembered his lecture. ‘ Great heavens!’ he said as he lit on the edge of the nest, ‘I forgot all about my talk! Were they terribly sore?’ ‘Nobody came,’ said Enid. ‘But Hubert, the most awful thing has happened!’ ‘Nobody came?’ exclaimed Hubert. ‘You mean there wasn’t any audience?’ ‘No,’ said Enid, ‘but what does that matter? Look at this!’ And she moved aside to let him see the first chick that had hatched out.

‘My God!’ said Hubert, staring at him. ‘Why, his head is on backwards!’ ‘Yes,’ said Enid. ‘Oh, I knew something terrible would happen if we came to the country!’ ‘Well, you wanted to come,’ said Hubert. ‘ I did n’t expect anything like this!’ said his wife. ‘Well, we’ll just have to make the best of it and go back to New York. Another year here and goodness knows what we’d get.’ ‘Why, I know what we’d get,’ said Hubert. ‘They’d be completely turned backwards — not just their heads. And then,’ he said, ‘all parts of them — heads and feet — would be facing the same way, and in that case who’s to say which direction is backwards, anyway?’ ‘Backwards?’ said Enid. ‘Why, that’s so! They’d just turn around, would n’t they?’ ‘No,’ said Hubert; ‘for they’d be facing the right way. We’ve been facing the wrong way, Enid.’ ‘Well,’ said Enid, ‘I do like the country. But if people won’t visit us and won’t come to your lectures —’

‘Hello, Hubie,’ said the phœbe, lighting on a near-by twig. ‘Hello, Enid.’ ‘Why, hello,’ said Enid, covering her strange offspring with her wing. ‘Sorry we forgot all about your talk, Hubie,’ said the phœbe, ‘but maybe you’ll give it to-morrow. We’ll all come — really we will.’ ‘There is n’t going to be any talk,’ said Hubert. ‘Why, Hubert!’ said Enid. ‘But of course he must,’ said the phœbe. ‘No,’ said Hubert firmly. ‘I guess I made a sort of discovery this afternoon. I used to think that New York was not America.’ ‘It’s not,’ said the phœbe. ‘No, it’s not,’ said Hubert. ‘Only I’d say it differently. I’d say — America’s not New York.’ ‘Well, there’s a subject for your lecture,’ said the phœbe.