Oho, Lionel! quoth the elder friend; Thespian and classical,worth seeing, no doubt. Then turning to a grave cobbler in leathern apron, who was regarding with saturnine interest the motley figures ranged in front of the curtain as the Drumatis Persona, he said, You seem attracted, sir; you have probably already witnessed the performance. Yes, returned the Cobbler; this is the third day, and to-morrows the last. I are nt missed once yet, and I sha nt miss; but it are nt what it was a while back.
That is sad; but then the same thing is said of everything by everybody who has reached your respectable age, friend. Summers, and suns, stupid old watering-places, and pretty young women, `are nt what they were a while back. If men and things go on degenerating in this way, our grandchildren will have a dull time of it.
The Cobbler eyed the young man, and nodded approvingly. He had sense enough to comprehend the ironical philosophy of the reply; and our Cobbler loved talk out of the common way. You speaks truly and cleverly, sir. But if old folks do always say that things are worse than they were, bent there always summat in what is always said? Im for the old times; my neighbour, Joe Spruce, is for the new, and says we are all a-progressing. But he s a pink; I m a blue.
You are a blue? said the boy Lionel; I dont understand.
Young un, Im a Tory,thats blue; and Spruce is a Rad,thats pink! And, what is more to the purpose, he is a tailor, and Im a cobbler.
Aha! said the elder, with much interest; more to the purpose is it? How so?
The Cobbler put the forefinger of the right hand on the forefinger of the left; it is the gesture of a man about to ratiocinate or demonstrate, as Quintilian, in his remarks on the oratory of fingers, probably observes; or if he has failed to do so, it is a blot in his essay.
You see, sir, quoth the Cobbler, that a mans business has a deal to do with his manner of thinking. Every trade, I take it, has ideas as belong to it. Butchers dont see life as bakers do; and if you talk to a dozen tallow-chandlers, then to a dozen blacksmiths, you will see tallow-chandlers are peculiar, and blacksmiths too.
You are a keen observer, said he of the jean cap, admiringly; your remark is new to me; I dare say it is true.
Course it is; and the stars have summat to do with it; for if they order a mans calling, it stands to reason that they order a mans mind to fit it. Now, a tailor sits on his board with others, and is always a-talking with em, and a-reading the news; therefore he thinks, as his fellows do, smart and sharp, bang up to the day, but nothing riginal and all his own, like. But a cobbler, continued the man of leather, with a majestic air, sits by hisself, and talks with hisself; and what he thinks gets into his head without being put there by another mans tongue.
You enlighten me more and more, said our friend with the nose in the air, bowing respectfully,a tailor is gregarious, a cobbler solitary. The gregarious go with the future, the solitary stick by the past. I understand why you are a Tory and perhaps a poet.
Well, a bit of one, said the Cobbler, with an iron smile. And many s the cobbler who is a poet,or discovers marvellous things in a crystal,whereas a tailor, sir (spoken with great contempt), only sees the upper leather of the worlds sole in a newspaper.
Here the conversation was interrupted by a sudden pressure of the crowd towards the theatre. The two young friends looked up, and saw that the new object of attraction was a little girl, who seemed scarcely ten years old, though in truth she was about two years older. She had just emerged from behind the curtain, made her obeisance to the crowd, and was now walking in front of the stage with the prettiest possible air of infantine solemnity. Poor little thing! said Lionel. Poor little thing! said the Cobbler. And had you been there, my reader, ten to one but you would have said the same. And yet she was attired in white satin, with spangled flounces and a tinsel jacket; and she wore a wreath of flowers (to be sure, the flowers were not real) on her long fair curls, with gaudy bracelets (to be sure, the stones were mock) on her slender arms. Still there was something in her that all this finery could not vulgarize; and since it could not vulgarize, you pitied her for it. She had one of those charming faces that look straight into the hearts of us all, young and old. And though she seemed quite self-possessed, there was no effrontery in her air, but the ease of a little lady, with a simple childs unconsciousness that there was anything in her situation to induce you to sigh, Poor thing!
You should see her act, young gents, said the Cobbler: she plays uncommon. But if you had seen him as taught her,seen him a year ago.
Whos he?
Waife, sir; mayhap you have heard speak of Waife?
I blush to say, no.
Why, he might have made his fortune at Common Garden; but thats a long story. Poor fellow! hes broke down now, anyhow. But she takes care of him, little darling: God bless thee! and the Cobbler here exchanged a smile and a nod with the little girl, whose face brightened when she saw him amidst the crowd.
By the brush and pallet of Raphael! cried the elder of the young men, before I am many hours older I must have that childs head!
Her head, man! cried the Cobbler, aghast.
In my sketch-book. You are a poet,I a painter. You know the little girl?
Dont I! She and her grandfather lodge with me; her grandfather,thats Waife,marvellous man! But they ill-uses him; and if it warnt for her, hed starve. He fed them all once: he can feed them no longer; hed starve. Thats the world: they use up a genus, and when it falls on the road, push on; thats what Joe Spruce calls a-progressing. But theres the drum! theyre a-going to act; wont you look in, gents?
Of course, cried Lionel,of course. And, hark ye, Vance, well toss up which shall be the first to take that little girls head.
Murderer in either sense of the word! said Vance, with a smile that would have become Correggio if a tyro had offered to toss up which should be the first to paint a cherub.
CHAPTER II
The historian takes a view of the British stage as represented by the irregular drama, the regular having (ere the date of the events to which this narrative is restricted) disappeared from the vestiges of creation.
They entered the little theatre, and the Cobbler with them; but the last retired modestly to the threepenny row. The young gentlemen were favoured with reserved seats, price one shilling. Very dear, murmured Vance, as he carefully buttoned the pocket to which he restored a purse woven from links of steel, after the fashion of chain mail. Ah, Messieurs and Confreres the Dramatic Authors, do not flatter yourselves that we are about to give you a complacent triumph over the Grand Melodrame of The Remorseless Baron and the Bandits Child. We grant it was horrible rubbish, regarded in an aesthetic point of view, but it was mighty effective in the theatrical. Nobody yawned; you did not even hear a cough, nor the cry of that omnipresent baby, who is always sure to set up an unappeasable wail in the midmost interest of a classical five-act piece, represented for the first time on the metropolitan boards. Here the story rushed on, per fas aut nefas, and the audience went with it. Certes, some man who understood the stage must have put the incidents together, and then left it to each illiterate histrio to find the words,words, my dear confreres, signify so little in an acting play. The movement is the thing. Grand secret! Analyze, practise it, and restore to grateful stars that lost Pleiad the British Acting Drama.