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19.

To bring a reaction on my sickened heart, the Prince of Mysteries took me to a densely crowded meeting in a great hall. He was right—it was a change of air and scene. There were many speakers. All of them were energetic, and mightily eloquent with their shoulders, if not in words. These latter were pointed and particular, and I was strongly impressed with the forbearance of the people.

They were told they had not their rights; that they were little better than slaves; that this arose from their want of resolution and cowardice. Their patience and forbearance I did think most admirable.

As I went out of the door, several of the audience were standing about. A man pushed me. Imitating the marvellous example I had just witnessed, I forbore, and said nothing. Another man observing this, gave me a push; a third then twitched my coat; a fourth struck my hat; a fifth knocked it over my eyes, so that in a short time I was monstrously buffetted and abused; and all this through my forbearance in the first instance. I may not be able to anatomise the characteristics of the meeting, but, in spite of them, I learnt from my own sad lot, that no one could put up with an insult page 99 in any case without being abused by all around him. Their martyrs were adored only as historic facts.

Tenebrosa now took me through a series of scenes on which I do not wish to revive my memory; they might be received as hints and incentives, and give my own memory no sweet odour.

"Surely," said I to him, when we found time and space on Waterloo Bridge in which to breathe freely—"Surely, amidst so much lying, pilfering, slandering, and detracting, all men must feel petty and insecure."

"Far from that," replied the Tutelary Spirit. "If men know of insecurity, it is more of that of others than of their own. They attack as vigorously as they are attacked. And as for their own esteem, it is as great in the conquered as in the conqueror. When they fall, they believe it is not from the superior power of the oppressor, but by reason of inauspicious circumstances assisting his power. Besides, all men are heroes to some few others at least—if married, particularly to their wives. . . . . . . . . .To that merchant," alluding to a celebrated person we had met in the city, "the prime minister is an universal genius; but, to his clerk, that merchant is a much greater man than the prime minister; and that clerk's wife believes her husband to have greater capacity than his master; his master's reputation is in his keeping—she knows that; and, indeed, his master's pounds would, she thinks, cease to increase and multiply, and would become extinct, but for her husband's home and foreign policy in the office. What is more, his master's pounds are not of near so much importance in her eyes as her husband's pence. All men are heroes, in honesty page 100 or the want of it; in wealth, or the want of it; in talent, or the want of it; in health, or the want of it; in love, or the want of it. Above all, husbands are heroes—to their wives."

"Ah, if the married men are," said I, "what of the others?"

"Yes, of the others," said he. "We shall see."

He transferred me to a pleasant party, where there were maidens for husbands, and husbands for maidens; parents to negotiate, and altogether a pretty market.

After the usual tea and scandal, he said, "They watch us, let us watch them."

Not without wit was my genius, for he transformed himself ere we entered, and was not the smart, sharp-looking, loveless mortal of busy life. No! his tenebrific guise was moderated, and he bloomed in visage, beard, and wig, the uproarious and enchanting Sanguinosa. Out of his jolly pipe came a thousand luscious inanities of speech, and organ tones of laughter that overturned the hearts of all the company through their ears. And, seconding his words and roars, his rolling eyes shot looks of varied qualities. Now his pleasantry was mocking the infirmity of some unsuspecting gentleman; now it was wooing soft some obstinate dame; and now—'twas everything, yet nothing. And, chiefly, with his language and his laugh to every fair one did he pursue the litany of love; whilst, all throughout, his guileless-looking guile provoked no jealousy—no, nor deprecation.

The Matchless Scrutiniser was rarefy silent.

* * * * * * * *

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"Sweet Angel," said I.

"Yes, Miss Lighthought does listen intently to his words, and looks up to his face delighted, confiding, &c. And she plucked her nosegay to pieces last night, listening to his companion's vows, and sighed, and sent him away happy. Genial beauty! sympathising with every tender sentiment, and sincere with no one. Sweet illustration of our metaphysics! Her heart is a sheet of white paper, which receives every scrawl."

* * * * * * * *

"Yes, Mr. Sillyboy, junior, is pale and thoughtful. His sweet-scented pocket handkerchief, in its frequent use, betokens a mental thaw. He has a piece of red flannel under his collar, and will drench himself with whisky hot—three times hot—three times whisky—tonight. A lady with more romance than he has sense, gave him a catarrh at her balcony last night instead of sentiment."

* * * * * * * *

"Yes, the ladies are very flippant and tripping of tongue; but their letters! ah! you should see them. 'To be near them,' says one of their songs. Well, at that time you would be astonished. 'What shall I say?' they enquire petulantly, imperatively,—imperatively, cry they, 'What shall I say?' At no other time do you hear the question."

"And the men?" asked I.

"Silence," cried the ruby-faced Sanguinosa, with a change of countenance. "We are of them, and women traditionally—"

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"That reminds me," cried I, interrupting him, "according to tradition, why did you not take a woman's form?"

"That you shall understand hereafter. Keep things as they are. The finest fruit for the grossest appetite. Angels for earth worms."

Leaving those Bowers of Bliss, we found ourselves just in time for a Theatre, where a celebrated actress had performed nightly for some months. By a contrivance, known only to those who frequented these places of amusement, Archimago obtained a free admission for us. We preferred the pit as the best point of observation.

"Behold," said Sanguinosa, indicating the tiers of boxes and the stage—"behold! actors come to observe actors."

We waited impatiently for the great piece of the evening. When it did come, I found, as usual, that its purpose was to introduce a hideous monster which nature had brought into the world, and which it was the object of the art of the author and stage properties to send expertly and expeditiously out of it. A scheme then very popular.

The man who acted the tragic character, did it with wonderful acuteness and ability; but, when the course of his soliloquies led him to satirise a few of the views of the age, the audience set him down as a good general comedian only.

The machinery of the stage kiss worked smoothly and delicately, and the personal summary of what had gone before was admirably accomplished at several stages of the performance. The heroine herself,—lovely, page 103 young, Grecian, pale, and self-possessed,—moved by one supreme passion, which opened now on the shrill note of hate, now on the dulcet tone of love,—was eloquent in her face and gestures.

"Very good," cried Archimago, "but why does she prepossess the audience as Phryne? It is ingenious."

I too would have said something severe, but my eyes grew moist, and I could only exclaim,

"What fools these actors do make of us."