TWO-PENN'ORTH OF THEOSOPHY.
(A Sketch at the Islington Arcadia.)
SCENE—The Agricultural Hall. A large Steam-Circus is revolving with its organ in full blast; near it is a "Razzle-Dazzle" Machine, provided with a powerful mechanical piano. To the combined strains of these instruments, the merrier hearts of Islington are performing a desultory dance, which seems to consist chiefly in the various couples charging each other with desperate gallantry. At the further end of the Hall is a Stage, on which a Variety Performance is in progress, and along the side of the gallery a Switchback, the rolling thunder of which, accompanied by masculine whoops and feminine squeaks, is distinctly audible. Near the entrance is a painted house-front with two doors, which are being pitilessly battered with wooden balls; from time to time a well-directed missile touches a spring, one of the doors opens, and an idiotic effigy comes blandly goggling and sliding down an inclined plane, to be saluted with yells of laughter, and ignominiously pushed back into domestic privacy. Amidst surroundings thus happily suggesting the idyllic and pastoral associations of Arcady, is an unpretending booth, the placards on which announce it to be the temporary resting-place of the "Far-famed Adepts of Thibet," who are there for a much-needed change, after a "3500 years' residence in the Desert of Gobi." There is also a solemn warning that "it is impossible to spoof a Mahatma." In front of this booth, a fair-headed, round-faced, and Spectacled Gentleman, in evening clothes, and a particularly crumpled shirt-front—who presents a sort of compromise between the Scientific Savant and the German Waiter has just locked up his Assistant in a wooden pillory, for no obvious reason except to attract a crowd. The crowd collects accordingly, and includes a Comic Coachman, who, with his Friend—a tall and speechless nonentity—has evidently come out to enjoy himself.
The Spectacled Gentleman (letting the Assistant out of the pillory, with the air of a man who does not often unbend to these frivolities). Now, Gentlemen, I am sure all those whom I see around me have heard of those marvellous beings—the Mahatmas—and how they can travel through space in astral bodies, and produce matter out of nothing at all. (Here the group endeavour to look as if these facts were familiar to them from infancy, while the Comic Coachman assumes the intelligent interest of a Pantomime Clown in the price of a property fish.) Very well; but perhaps some of you may not be aware that at this very moment the air all around you is full of ghosts.
The Comic Coachman (affecting extreme terror). 'Ere, let me get out o' this! Where's my friend?
The Sp. G. I am only telling you the simple truth. There is, floating above the head of each one of you, the ghostly counterpart of himself; and the ghost of anybody who is smoking will be smoking also the ghost of a cigar or a pipe.
The C.C. (to his attendant Phantom). 'Ere, 'and me down one o' your smokes to try, will yer?
The Sp. G. You laugh—but I am no believer in making statements without proof to support them, and I shall now proceed to offer you convincing evidence that what I say is true. (Movement of startled incredulity in group.) I have here two ordinary clean clay pipes. (Producing them.) Now, Sir, (to the C.C.) will you oblige me by putting your finger in the bowls to test whether there is any tobacco there or not?
The C.C. Not me. None o' those games for me! Where's my friend?—it's more in 'is line!
[The Friend, however, remains modestly in the background, and, after a little hesitation, a more courageous spirit tests the bowls, and pronounces them empty.
The Sp. G. Very well, I will now smoke the spirit-tobacco in these empty pipes. (He puts them both in his mouth, and emits a quantity of unmistakable smoke.) Now, in case you should imagine this is a deception, and I produce the smoke from my throat in some manner, will you kindly try my esoteric tobacco, Sir? (To a bystander, who, not without obvious misgivings, takes a few whiffs and produces smoke, as well as a marked impression upon the most sceptical spectators.) Having thus proved to you the existence of a Spirit World, allow me to inform you that this is nothing to the marvels to be seen inside for the small sum of twopence, where I shall have the honour of introducing to you Mlle. SCINTILLA, who is not only the most extraordinary Scientific Wonder of the World, but also the loveliest woman now living!
The C.C. 'Ere, I'm comin' in, I am. I'm on to this. Where's my friend? he'll pay for me. He promised to take care o' me, and I can't trust myself anywhere without 'im.
[He enters the Show, followed by the Tall Nonentity, and the bulk of the bystanders, who feel that the veil is about to be lifted, and that twopence is not an exorbitant fee for initiation. Inside is a low Stage, with a roughly painted Scene, and a kind of small Cabinet, the interior of which is visible and vacant; behind the barrier which, separates the Stage from the Audience stands Mlle. SCINTILLA, a young lady in a crimson silk blouse and a dark skirt, who if not precisely a Modern Helen, is distinctly attractive and reassuringly material.
The C.C. Oh, I say, if this is a Mahatma, I like 'em!
[The Sibyl receives this tribute with a smile.
The Sp. G. (appearing on the Stage as Showman). Now, Ladies and Gentlemen! (There is one Lady present, who stands at the side, by way of indicating that she declines to give the proceedings any moral support whatever.) You all know that Adepts have the power of disintegrating material objects and re-integrating them when they please. I have here a hollow mask. (He exhibits a Pantomime demon head.) I place it upon the roof of this cabinet, which as you perceive is empty. I raise it—and underneath you will see materialised a wonderful young lady who consists of a head and nothing else. (He discovers the head of a very human young person with short curly hair.) Now those of you who are unmarried would find this young lady an admirable wife for a man of small income, for, having no body, she will cost him nothing whatever for her food or frocks.
The C.C. (with a touch of cynicism). She'd make it up in 'ats and bonnets, though; trust 'er!
The Showman. She is extremely sweet-tempered; and, when she observes a number of good-looking gentlemen in the front row, as there are to-night, she will smile affectionately at them.
[The Head gives a very practical confirmation of this assertion, and the Lady in the corner sniffs with strong disapproval.
The C.C. 'Ere, I say—where's my friend? I want to take my 'ook out o' this—the young Lady's 'ed is a smilin' at me, and it ain't good enough, yer know—she's left too much of herself at 'ome to suit me!
The Showman (after extinguishing the Head, which is giggling helplessly, in the Mask). Now this other, young Lady, Mlle. SCINTILLA, known to her friends as "SPARKS," is equally wonderful in her way. It may surprise you when I inform you—(here he puts his arm affectionately round the Sibyl's neck)—that, beautiful as she is, she has never been kissed in her whole life!
The C.C. (with chivalrous indignation). What? Ere, if that's all!—
[He intimates, in pantomime, his perfect readiness to repair this omission at once.
The Showman. This is owing to the fact that she is impregnated with electricity to such an extraordinary degree, that any contact with her lips will produce a shock which would probably prove fatal!
The C.C. Oh, where is that friend o' mine? (To the Sibyl.) I come out without my lightnin' conductor this evenin', Miss; but I've got a friend somewhere in 'ere as 'll be 'appy to represent me.
[The Tall Nonentity tries to efface himself, but is relieved to find that the Sibyl does not take the offer seriously.
The Showman. As a proof that I am not speaking without foundation, this young lady will allow you to feel her hands, when you will at once become aware of the electric current. [The Sibyl leans across the barrier, and tenders a decidedly pretty palm for public pressure, but there is the usual reluctance at first to embrace the opportunity. At length a seeker after truth grasps the hand, and reports that he "can feel a somethink," whereupon his example is followed by the others, including the C.C., who, finding the sensation agreeable, pretends to be electrified to such an extent that he is unable to let go—which concludes the entertainment.
Spectators (departing). She may have 'ad one o' them galvanic belts on for all you can tell. But, mind yer, there's a lot in it, all the same. Look at the way he brought smoke out o' them clays!
The C.C. (to his Friend.) That was a lark, JIM! But look 'ere—don't you go tellin' the Missus; she ain't on the Me'atmer lay—not much, she ain't!
