EVENINGS FROM HOME.
The next evening Tommy was dressed in an unusual style of elegance: every article of his attire was of the most exquisite cut; every species of ornament that fashion permitted to decorate his person was his; not a stud was omitted, nor was one drop, less than necessary, of india-rubber-boot-polish forgotten that could tend to render his toilet perfect. And, indeed, neither Mr. Barlow nor Harry were far behind him in appearance on this memorable occasion, which was nothing less than that of their first visit to the Royal Grecian Theatre, in the City Road.
Here, from their stalls (which were remarkably inexpensive, being, indeed, only one shilling and sixpence each) they surveyed the wonderful sight which presented itself to them, of a house densely packed from the floor to the ceiling.
The Pantomime was the only piece played, and was entitled Zig-Zag, the Crooked. When Mr. George Conquest, who represented Zig-Zag himself, first appeared, as if hewn out of the rock, inanimate as the Sphinx, a thrill of astonishment ran through the audience, which gradually showed itself in vehement applause when Zig-Zag's fearful eyes began to move, as at the command of the Young Prince, the monster became endued with life and descended from the rock.
Tommy. I declare this is the most extraordinary thing I ever saw.
Harry. Indeed, you are right, and I could not have conceived anyone being at once so hideous and so diverting.
Presently there was a brilliant scene, in which there were some admirable selections from the works of various composers, principally French, executed in a manner so creditable to the performers, as to call forth from Mr. Barlow the remark that he had heard nothing better of its kind in any Theatre this year. When Mr. Conquest and his Son leaped several times from the stage to the top scenes ("which" Mr. Barlow informed his pupils "are termed flies"), and tumbled through trap-doors, coming up again so quickly, and in so great a variety of places all over the "boards," that the audience was in a state of constant excitement as to what next might be going to happen; and when finally Zig-Zag took such a header, as Harry had seen the big boys at school do, when they were going to dive for chalk eggs, from the flies right through the stage, and was lost to all eyes, then the enthusiastic admiration of Mr. Barlow and his young friends knew no bounds, and they evinced their pleasure, as did the rest of the company, in such rounds of applause as brought on Mr. Conquest and his Son, without their wigs and false noses, to bow their acknowledgments.
The following night they went to the Gaiety to witness the performance of Mr. Toole in Dearer than Life, which Mr. Barlow had seen before, and in Thespis, the Christmas novelty at this theatre.
Tommy. If you please, Sir, what sort of piece is this?
Mr. Barlow. Indeed, my dear Tommy, I cannot exactly tell. And it is nearly impossible for an ordinarily well-instructed person to comprehend the precise meaning of any one subject on which those who should know best are apparently disagreed, and who, in consequence, signally fail in rendering their own meaning intelligible in the public.
Harry. That is true, Sir, and I perceive that you have noticed how, at various times, this same piece has been announced as a "Musical Extravaganza," an "Operatic Burlesque," a "Grotesque Drama, illustrated with music by Mr. Sullivan," a "Comic Opera," and lately an English Opera Bouffe. As perhaps next week it may be styled a Tragicomicopera, or some other title, I would like, Sir, to join Tommy in his question as to what you suppose this piece really to be?
Mr. Barlow. Why, then, for my part, I suppose it is intended for a specimen of English Opéra bouffe.
Harry. And what, Sir, is Opéra bouffe?
Mr. Barlow. It is a French burlesque—a vehicle for extravagances in costume, in acting, and in singing. It is in one, two, three, or even five Acts, and differs from the English burlesque in that it is written in prose, and depends mainly for its success upon the original music written for it by some composer, instead of on selections from various popular sources. In this piece, for example, the dialogue is prosy—I mean in prose—and the music has been written to suit it. I think we may, therefore, suppose this piece to be an English Opéra bouffe.
Tommy (during the First Act). I do not understand what characters these worthy people represent who are trying their best to divert us.
Mr. Barlow, who had been giving the play his closest attention, seemed to be unable to enlighten his pupil, and requested him to listen to what was going on, and occasionally refer to the programme, by which means he would probably arrive at some definite conclusion.
Harry. Truly, Sir, this piece reminds me of what you told me about Newton's Laws of Motion, and I look forward to being very happy and lively to-morrow morning.
Mr. Barlow. I am glad to hear it, Harry. But how do you connect such a result with the Laws of Motion?
Harry. Because, Sir, you told me that "Forces acting and reacting are always equal and contrary to each other." So, Sir, after this night is over, we may fairly expect a most exhilarating reaction.
Tommy was so much struck by this fresh instance of Harry's capacity for adapting his learning to whatever circumstances might present themselves, that he determined to learn the science of mechanics on the very first opportunity.
The audience continued to listen to the piece with a serenity which nothing could disturb, except the occasional appearance of Mr. Toole, who gave utterance to such quaint drolleries, of his own introduction, as sent the people into short spasms of laughter, in which Master Tommy most heartily joined, while Mr. Barlow applauded as loudly as the rest of the company. But Harry, whose temper was not quite so pliable, could not conceal the weariness that was gradually creeping over him. He gaped, he yawned, he stretched, he even pinched himself in order to keep his attention alive, but all in vain. He managed to rouse himself twice; once when Mr. Toole was singing an additional verse to his song (where, indeed, the accompaniment, consisting-of railway noises, would not let him sleep), and once when Mademoiselle Clary was exercising her skill in a rather pretty melody. But at length the narcotic influence of the dialogue, conspiring with the opiate charms of the music, he could resist no longer, but insensibly fell back upon his stall, fast asleep. This was soon remarked by his neighbours, who straightway conceived an unfavourable opinion of Harry's breeding, while he, in the meantime, enjoyed the most placid repose, undisturbed by either the envious remarks of some among the audience, or by the nudgings administered to his elbow by his friend Tommy; and, indeed, his slumber was not entirely dissipated until the performance was finished.
Harry (on their return to their Lodgings). Your remarks, Tommy, to-night remind me of the story of Polemo and the Continuous Highlander.
Mr. Barlow here made some excuse for retiring to his room; and as Harry was on the point of commencing the story, Tommy asked him to await his return, as he was only going to fetch his slippers, in order to sit and listen more comfortably to his friend's narrative.
Harry consented to wait for him, but, at the end of two hours, as Tommy did not return, he retired to his own room, and soon fell asleep.