We were rather inquieted as to what the Gents would do when these concerts closed. We made great search, and found at length that the majority emigrated to the musical taverns, where they contrived to get through the evening under the combined influence of Bellini, bottled beer, and brandy-and-water; deriving additional excitement from the novelty of seeing Somnambula performed through a haze of tobacco-smoke.
But the theatre proper, is a favourite resort of the Gent, and half-price to the boxes his usual plan of patronising it; more especially when there is a ballet. Of the different parts of the house he prefers the slips. If you are seated opposite, you will see him come in about nine o’clock, and, leaving the panel door open, he stands on the seat, with his hands in his pockets, his stick under his arm, and thus makes his observations. Presently getting disgusted at the want of respect shown to him by an old gentleman in front, who is watching the performance most intently, with his head reclining on his arms, which are again supported by the rail, and who requests that he will have the goodness to shut the door, the Gent walks grandly away, and goes round to the other side, evidently conceiving that his dignity has been hurt. Here the same process of observation is repeated; and, if the Gent sees a pretty girl in a private box, he stares unflinchingly at her, until he thinks he has made an impression. And this is a strange lunatic notion with Gents of every degree: they believe they have powers to fascinate every female upon whom they cast their eyes, never thinking of the utter contempt always excited by such obtrusiveness on the part of an entire stranger.
CHAPTER V.
OF THE GENT, AFTER THE PLAY, AT A TAVERN.
By the following signs may the Gent at this period be known: He walketh six abreast under the Piazza, singing a negro air in chorus; and, perchance, danceth a lively measure to the refrain, until he arriveth at the entrance of Evans’s Grand Hotel. He descendeth the stairs, and, on entering the room, he goeth to the upper end thereof; and, having greeted the singers with a wink, calleth out “Charles!” No response being made by the waiter, he rappeth with his stick upon the table, until the peppercastor falleth on the floor; for which unseemly conduct Evans mildly reproveth him. He taketh a sight at Evans in return, when he can do so unobserved, and saith that he liketh him not so well as Rhodes: and then he calleth “Henry!” Being served with the rabbit of Wales, he saith to the funny singer,—“How are you, old feller!” and presseth him to partake of his grog. He proffereth a prayer that the funny singer will oblige him with a particular song. The funny singer complieth; and the Gent singeth the chorus, prolonging it far beyond the proper length, to the indignation of Evans. At its conclusion, his animal spirits and enthusiastic approbation impel him to call out—“Bravo, Rouse!” which promoteth political dissension amongst the guests. Evans telleth him “that he cannot have the harmony of the room disturbed by one individual”—a sentiment which the Gent applaudeth lustily, and ordereth some champagne, which he drinketh, with the singers, from a tankard. The anger of Evans is in a measure appeased. The Gent joineth in a glee at the wrong time; but turneth away wrath by buying a copy of it when finished. He ordereth more champagne, and believeth that he is taken by the room for a “Lord about town.” He saith he hath a pony that he will back against every other to do every thing. He talketh of actresses, and winketh mysteriously. He telleth the funny singer that if he will come and see him at his little place in the city, he will put him up to a thing or two. At last he getteth troublesome, and is coaxed away by his companions. The next morning he saith what a spree he had, and that he sat opposite to an officer who knew one of the ballet, and had spoken to her once behind the scenes; and so he thinketh that he hath a link with the great world. But yet, upon reflection, he hath not.
