EVENINGS FROM HOME.
Mr. Barlow, with Masters Sandford and Merton, at the Queen's Theatre, to see "The Last Days of Pompeii."
Tommy. Pray, Sir, what and where was Pompeii?
Mr. Barlow. It was, my dear Tommy, a Roman municipality, full of eligible villas, pleasantly situated in the immediate neighbourhood of Mount Vesuvius, and within easy reach of the sea. It was "a place to spend a happy day," and "there and back" from Naples formed one of the chief excursions, at a very moderate rate, for the middle classes of Neapolis.
They had just commenced this instructive and entertaining conversation, when the curtain rising discovered to their eager eyes as artistic and effective a scene (with the exception of stationary painted groups, whose fixed attitude strangely contrasted with the movement of the actors in front of them) as it had hitherto been their lot to behold.
As the play went on, Harry requested permission of Mr. Barlow to ask a question.
Harry. Did you not tell us, Sir, that the "e" in Pompeii was long?
Mr. Barlow. Indeed, Harry, I did.
Harry. And did you not also tell us that one of the purposes of a theatrical exhibition, such as this is, is the advancement of education among all sorts and conditions of people?
Mr. Barlow. You are again correct, and truly I begin to perceive the drift of your remark. Therefore let me tell you that had any Eton boy said Pompĕii, instead of Pompēii, he would speedily have been taught the force of an argumentum addressed, as was one of Horace's Odes, ad puerum.
Harry. Surely too, Sir, a diphthong is long; so that the name Apœcides should not be rendered Appy-cides, as if the name were an unaspirated pronunciation of Happy Cides.
To this Mr. Barlow replied that doubtless these honest folks had cogent reasons for their mode of pronunciation, with which he advised Harry to become acquainted, before taking upon himself to pronounce an unmitigated condemnation of them.
"You will now perceive, Tommy," said Mr. Barlow, during the performance of the Third Scene of the First Act, "that the crafty Arbaces is anxious to entice the sentimental young gentleman, Appy Cides, to partake of the repast with him."
Harry. But, Sir, surely the young man's objection to accept the invitation of the Egyptian, must arise from a sense of politeness on his part, which, as there is nothing edible on the table, I fancy, except one plate of fruit, will not permit him to deprive Arbaces of even a portion of a dessert that has, evidently, been only ordered for one.
Mr. Barlow. Indeed, Harry, I think you are right, and had Arbaces thought of it, I am certain he would willingly have extended his hospitality to a bag of nuts or some cakes of gingerbread. But you must remember that Appy Cides, or, as he seems to me, Un-'appy Cides, is only the pupil of Arbaces, and does not appear at his tutor's table until dessert-time.
Tommy. If I were there I would go and eat everything, and then I would dance with one of the young ladies.
Mr. Barlow. I am sorry, Tommy, that you are of that mind; and at another time—for I perceive that the good people in the pit, by their repeated cries of hush, and by the direction of their attention towards us, wish rather to hear the dialogue on the stage than my discourse, which is, after all, of a personal and private character—at another time, I was about to say, I will read to you an instructive story on greediness, entitled Chares and the Convulsive Tailor.
Tommy looked on at the piece very sulkily for some time, being, indeed, intent upon the antique cups and goblets and upon the plate of luscious fruit which he had already noticed. But on seeing that neither Arbaces nor the sentimental young gentleman partook of anything that was provided for them, he began to have high opinion of their breeding, and before the scene was finished was heartily sorry for his error, and applauded all he saw and heard with increasing rapture and delight.
Mr. Barlow. You may, indeed, evince your gratitude to these worthy people, since they have done all in their power to entertain and instruct us. And, indeed, where all is done so vastly well, I know not what to commend most, whether the sonorous voice and dignified scoundrelism of that twice-crushed Priest of Isis, the iniquitous and unprincipled Arbaces, played by the remarkably upright and conscientious actor, Mr. Ryder; or whether the gentle pleadings of the blind Nydia—Miss Hodson is the young lady's name, my dear Tommy, and I have no doubt she saw and appreciated your boyish enthusiasm—or the bearing of Mr. Rignold throughout a remarkably difficult and most trying part. But, Harry, what is your opinion?
Harry. Why, Sir, I am very little judge of these matters, but I protest that I feel mightily indebted to those clever gentlemen, Masters Gordon and Harford (I had well-nigh slipt into the error of saying Masters Merton and Sandford) for the scenery which has so admirably served to illustrate this play. I am sorry that Appy Cides was killed, as, having become a Christian, there would, I am sure, have been every opportunity open to him as an estimable young curate of evangelical proclivities.
Tommy (during the cleverly arranged Amphitheatre Scene, Act IV.) I am glad to see, Sir, that in this scene where we have so much to admire, the tumblers——
Mr. Barlow. These, my dear Tommy, represent the gladiators. And you must remember that on the stage, where every combat has to be carefully arranged both as to the number and fashion of the blows given and received, and as to who shall be, and who shall not be the conqueror, the contest of two determined champions, or rather of two champions whose course has been previously determined, cannot fail to be of a most thrilling and exciting character.
Tommy. O, Sir! they have given orders to let the Lion loose. O, Sir! the Lion is coming!
Harry. I do not believe that all these fine gentlemen and ladies would remain so still if there were, indeed, a Lion approaching.
Mr. Barlow. The Lion, my dear Tommy, is a native of both India and Africa. When they are hungry, they kill every animal they meet, and will even devour little boys——
Here poor Tommy's trepidation was increased to such an extent that he would have quitted his seat and the theatre, but for the sudden entry of the traitor Calenus, whose charge of murder brought against his master, the wily Arbaces, instantly distracted everyone's thoughts from the coming of the expected monster.
Both Mr. Barlow and Harry were loud in their praises of the dramatist who had contrived to arouse in the breasts of the spectators such emotions of fear, by the absence of the Lion, as could scarcely have been equalled by his formidable presence.
"Indeed," said Mr. Barlow, "on reflection, I am led to consider the chiefest part in this piece to be the Lion's share in it. He is spoken of at the commencement of the play, he is often alluded to throughout, and the bare mention of his name sensibly electrifies the spectators on and off the stage. From the very first we are incited to expect his appearance. He has not to roar to make himself dreaded. He has not even to be present, either on or off, the scene.
Harry. This device is, in my humble judgement, worthy of high commendation in the play-wright, who has thus evinced his reverence for the words of the immortal William, and whose plan is in cordial agreement with Bottom's opinion on this very matter, which, my dear Tommy, as you are as yet unacquainted with the works of Shakspeare, I will repeat to you. "Masters," says Bottom, "You ought to consider with yourselves, to bring in a lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing, for there is not a more fearful wild fowl than your lion, living."
Tommy was so forcibly struck by this adroit application of a famous passage from the plays of Shakspeare, that he determined, on the first opportunity to read all these dramas through from beginning to end. And having already set himself to the study of astronomy and mechanics, solely in order to make himself as proficient in the art of applicable illustrations as was his friend Harry Merton, Tommy now found that he had at least one hour of the day fully occupied.
On their return from the theatre Mr. Barlow, ever anxious for the improvement of both his young friends, commenced reading to them the story of The Magistrate and the Elephant; but, seeing that both his young friends were fast asleep in their chairs, he lit his chamber-candle and retired for the night.
On entering his room somewhat suddenly, a pair of boots, artfully placed so as to rest on the door, which had been standing ajar, descended on his head; and the next instant, on his taking one step forward, he came in contact with a stout string, so skilfully fastened, as not only to throw him sharply on the floor, but, being cunningly connected with the fire-irons and the washing-stand, it brought down these articles also with a great crash and much confusion. Before he could arise from his painful position, Tommy and Harry had rushed up-stairs to render to their revered preceptor what assistance was in their power. Being questioned as to the hand they had had in this strange affair, Master Tommy, with becoming modesty, acknowledged that it was he who had devised the scheme. "And," said he, "I protest I think it is no inadequate representation of what must have been the consequence in several houses during the Eruption of Mount Vesuvius in the Last Days of Pompeii."
So saying, both the boys withdrew themselves rapidly from their beloved tutor's apartment, and locked themselves into their own rooms. Soon after this, they were all in a sound slumber, which lasted until a late hour on the following morning.
