Part 4
MR. B. (_overwhelmed with confusion, and not in the least knowing what he says_). No, no, I didn't think that--I hoped you mightn't--I mean, I was afraid you might--
[_Stops short, oppressed by the impossibility of explaining._
MISS R. You are not very complimentary to-night, are you?
MR. B. I can't pay compliments--to _you_--I don't know how it is, but I never can talk to you as I can to other people!
MISS R. Are you amusing when you are with other people?
MR. B. At all events I can find things to say to _them_.
_Enter_ ANOTHER MAN.
ANOTHER MAN (_to_ MISS R.). Our dance, I think?
MISS R. (_who had intended to get out of it_). I was wondering if you ever meant to come for it. (_To_ MR. B., _as they rise_.) Now I sha'n't feel I am depriving the other people! (_Perceives the speechless agony in his expression, and relents._) Well, you can have the next after this if you care about it--only _do_ try to think of something in the meantime! (_As she goes off._) You will--won't you?
MR. B. (_to himself_). She's given me another chance! If only I can rise to it. Let me see--what shall I begin with? _I_ know--_Supper!_ She hasn't been down yet.
HIS HOSTESS. Oh, Mr. Boldover, you're not dancing this--do be good and take some one down to supper--those poor Chaperons are dying for some food.
[Mr. B. _takes down a Matron whose repast is protracted through three waltzes and a set of Lancers_--_he comes up to find_ MISS ROUNDARM _gone_, _and the Musicians putting up their instruments_.
COACHMAN AT DOOR (_to Linkman, as_ MR. B. _goes down the steps_). That's the _lot_, Jim!
[Mr. B. _walks home, wishing the Park Gates were not shut, so as to render the Serpentine inaccessible_.
AT THE BRITISH MUSEUM.
IN THE SCULPTURE GALLERIES.
_Sightseers discovered drifting languidly along in a state of depression, only tempered by the occasional exercise of the right of every free-born Briton to criticize whenever he fails to understand. The general tone is that of faintly amused and patronizing superiority._
A BURLY SIGHTSEER _with a red face_ (_inspecting group representing "Mithras Sacrificing a Bull"_). H'm; that may be Mithras's notion of making a clean job of it, but it ain't _mine_!
A WOMAN (_examining a fragment from base of sculptured column with a puzzled expression as she reads the inscription_). "Lower portion of female figure--probably a Bacchante." Well, how they know who it's intended for, when there ain't more than a bit of her skirt left, beats _me_!
HER COMPANION. Oh, I s'pose they've got to put a name to it o' _some_ sort.
AN INTELLIGENT ARTISAN (_out for the day with his_ FIANCÉE--_reading from pedestal_). "Part of a group of As--Astrala--no, _Astraga_--lizontes"--that's what _they_ are, yer see.
FIANCÉE. But who _were_ they?
THE I. A. Well, I can't tell yer--not for certain; but I expect they'd be the people who in'abited Astragalizontia.
FIANCÉE. Was that what they used to call Ostralia before it was discovered? (_They come to the Clytie bust._) Why, if that isn't the same head Mrs. Meggles has under a glass shade in her front window, only smaller--and hers is alabaster, too! But fancy them going and copying it, and I dare say without so much as a "by your leave," or a "thank you!"
THE I. A. (_reading_). "Portrait of Antonia, sister-in-law of the Emperor Tiberius, in the character of Clytie turning into a sunflower."
FIANCÉE. Lor! They did queer things in those days, didn't they? (_Stopping before another bust._) Who's that?
THE I. A. 'Ed of Ariadne.
FIANCÉE (_slightly surprised_). What!--not young Adney down our street? I didn't know as he'd been took in stone.
THE I. A. How do you suppose they'd 'ave young Adney in among this lot--why, that's antique!
FIANCÉE. Well, I was _thinking_ it looked more like a female. But if it's meant for old Mr. Teak the shipbuilder's daughter, it flatters her up considerable; and, besides, I always understood as her name was Betsy.
THE I. A. No, no; what a girl you are for getting things wrong! that 'ed was cut out years and years ago!
FIANCÉE. Well, she's gone off _since_, that's all; but I wonder at old Mr. Teak letting it go out of the family, instead of putting it on his mantelpiece along with the lustres, and the two chiny dogs.
THE A. I. (_with ungallant candour_). 'Ark at you! Why you 'ain't much more sense nor a chiny dog yourself!
MORALIZING MATRON (_before the Venus of Ostia_). And to think of the poor ignorant Greeks worshipping a shameless hussey like that! It's a pity they hadn't some one to teach them more respectable notions! Well, well! it ought to make us thankful _we_ don't live in those benighted times, that it ought!
A CONNOISSEUR (_after staring at a colossal Greek lion_). A lion, eh? Well, it's another proof to my mind that the ancients hadn't got very far in the statuary line. Now, if you _want_ to see a stone lion done true to Nature, you've only to walk any day along the Euston Road.
A PRACTICAL MAN. I dessay it's a fine collection, enough, but it's a pity the things ain't more perfect. _I_ should ha' thought, with so many odds and ends and rubbish lying about as is no use to nobody at present they might ha' used it up in mending some that only requires a 'arm 'ere or a leg there, or a 'ed and what not, to make 'em as good as ever. But ketch _them_ (_he means the Officials_) taking any extra trouble if they can help it!
HIS COMPANION. Ah, but yer see it ain't so easy fitting on bits that belonged to something different. You've got to look at it _that_ way.
THE P. M. _I_ don't see no difficulty about it. Why, any stonemason could cut down the odd pieces to fit well enough, and they wouldn't have such a neglected appearance as they do now.
_A Group has collected round a Gigantic Arm in red granite._
FIRST SIGHTSEER. There's a _arm_ for yer!
SECOND S. (_a humourist_). Yes; 'ow would yer like to 'ave _that_ come a punching your 'ed?
THIRD S. (_thoughtfully_). I expect they've put it up 'ere as a sarmple like.
THE MORALIZING MATRON. How it makes one realize that there were giants in those days!
HER FRIEND. But surely the size must be a _little_ exaggerated, don't you think? Oh, is _this_ the God Ptah?
[_The_ M. M. _says nothing, but clicks her tongue to express a grieved pity, after which she passes on_.
THE INTELLIGENT ARTISAN _and his_ FIANCÉE _have entered the Nineveh Gallery, and are regarding an immense human-headed, winged bull_.
THE I. A. (_indulgently_). Rum-looking sort o' beast that 'ere.
FIANCÉE. Ye-es--I wonder if it's a likeness of some animal they used to 'ave then?
THE I. A. I _did_ think you was wider than _that_!--it's only imaginative. What 'ud be the good o' wings to a bull?
FIANCÉE (_on her defence_). You think you know so much--but it's got a man's 'ed, ain't it? and I know there used to be _'orses_ with 'alf a man where the 'ed ought to be, because I've seen their pictures--so there!
THE I. A. I dunno what you've got where _your_ 'ed ought to be, torking such rot!
IN THE UPPER GALLERIES; ETHNOGRAPHICAL COLLECTION.
THE GRIM GOVERNESS (_directing a scared small boy's attention to a particularly hideous mask_). See, Henry, that's the kind of mask worn by savages!
HENRY. Always--or only on the fifth of November, Miss Goole?
[_He records a mental vow never to visit a Savage Island on Guy Fawkes's Day, and makes a prolonged study of the mask, with a view to future nightmares._
A KIND, BUT DENSE UNCLE (_to_ NIECE). All these curious things were made by cannibals, ETHEL--savages who eat one another, you know.
ETHEL (_suggestively_). But, I suppose, Uncle, they wouldn't eat one another if they had any one to give them _buns_, would they?
[_Her_ UNCLE _discusses the suggestion elaborately, but without appreciating the hint_; _the_ GOVERNESS _has caught sight of a huge and hideous Hawaiian Idol, with a furry orange-coloured head, big mother-o'-pearl eyes, with black balls for the pupils, and a grinning mouth picked out with shark's teeth, to which she introduces the horrified_ HENRY.
MISS GOOLE. Now, Henry, you see the kind of idol the poor savages say their prayers to.
HARRY (_tremulously_). But n--not just before they go to bed, do they, Miss Goole?
AMONG THE MUMMIES.
THE UNCLE. That's King Rameses' mummy, Ethel.
ETHEL. And what was _her_ name, Uncle?
THE GOVERNESS (_halting before a case containing a partially unrolled_ _mummy, the spine and thigh of which are exposed to view_). Fancy, Henry, that's part of an Egyptian who has been dead for thousands of years! Why, you're not _frightened_, are you?
HARRY (_shaking_). No, I'm not frightened, Miss Goole--only if you don't mind, I--I'd rather see a gentleman not _quite_ so dead. And there's one over there with a gold face and glass eyes, and he looked at me, and--please, I _don't_ think this is the place to bring such a little boy as me to!
_A Party is examining a Case of Mummied Animals._
THE LEADER. Here you are, you see, mummy cats--don't they look comical all stuck up in a row there?
FIRST WOMAN. Dear, dear--to think o' going to all that expense when they might have had 'em stuffed on a cushion! And monkeys, and dogs too--well, I'm sure, fancy _that_ now!
SECOND WOMAN. And there's a mummied crocodile down there. I _don't_ see what they'd want with a mummy _crocodile_, do you?
THE LEADER (_with an air of perfect comprehension of Egyptian customs_). Well, you see they took whatever they could get 'old of, _they_ did.
IN THE PREHISTORIC GALLERY.
OLD LADY (_to_ POLICEMAN) Oh, Policeman, can you tell me if there's any article here that's supposed to have belonged to Adam?
POLICEMAN (_a wag in his way_). Well, Mum, we _'ave_ 'ad the 'andle of his spade, and the brim of his garden 'at, but they wore out last year and 'ad to be thrown away--things won't last for ever--even _'ere_, you know.
GOING OUT.
A PEEVISH OLD MAN. I ain't seen anything to call worth seeing, _I_ ain't. In our Museum at 'ome they've a lamb with six legs, and hairy-light stones as big as cannon-balls; but there ain't none of that sort 'ere, and I'm dog-tired trapesing over these boards, I am!
HIS DAUGHTER (_a candid person_). Ah, I ought to ha' known it warn't much good taking _you_ out to enjoy yourself--you're too old, _you_ are!
ETHEL'S UNCLE (_cheerily_). Well, Ethel, I think we've seen all there is to be seen, eh?
ETHEL. There's _one_ room we haven't been into yet, Uncle, dear.
UNCLE. Ha--and what's that?
ETHEL (_persuasively_). The _Refreshment_ Room.
[_The hint is accepted at last._
THE TRAVELLING MENAGERIE.
OUTSIDE.
_A crowd is staring stolidly at the gorgeously gilded and painted entrance, with an affectation of superior wisdom to that of the weaker-minded, who sneak apologetically up the steps from time to time. A tall-hatted orchestra have just finished a tune, and hung their brazen instruments up like joints on the hooks above them._
A WOMAN CARRYING AN INFANT (_to her_ HUSBAND). Will 'ee goo in, Joe?
JOE (_who is secretly burning to see the show_). Naw. Sin it arl afoor arfen enough. Th' outside's th' best on it, I reckon.
HIS WIFE (_disappointed_). Saw 'tis, and naw charge for lookin' at 'en neither.
THE PROPRIETOR. Ladies and Gentlemen, Re-mem-bar! This is positively the last opportunity of witnessing Denman's Celebrated Menagerie--the largest in the known world! The Lecturer is now describing the animals, after which Mlle. Cravache and Zambango, the famous African Lion-tamers, will go through their daring feats with forest-bred lions, tigers, bears, and hyenas, for the last time in this town. Remembar--the last performance this evening!
JOE (_to his_ WIFE). If ye'd _like_ to hev a look at 'em, I wun't say nay to et.
HIS WIFE. I dunno as I care partickler 'bout which way 'tis.
JOE (_annoyed_). Bide where 'ee be then.
HIS WIFE. Theer's th' child, Joe, to be sure.
JOE. Well we bain't a gooin' in, and so th' child wun't come to no 'arm, and theer's a hend on it!
HIS WIFE. Nay, she'd lay in my arms as quiet as quiet. I wur on'y thinkin', Joe, as it 'ud be somethin' to tell her when she wur a big gell, as her daddy took her to see th' wild beasties afoor iver she could tark--that's arl I wur meanin', Joe. And they'll let 'er goo in free, too.
JOE. Ay, that'll be fine tellin's fur 'er, sure 'nough. Come arn, Missus, we'll tek th' babby in--happen she'll niver git th' chance again.
[_They mount the steps eagerly._
INSIDE.
JOE'S WIFE (_with a vague sense of being defrauded_). I thart thee'rd ha' bin moor smell, wi' so many on 'em!
JOE. They doan't git naw toime for it, I reckon, allus on the rord as they be.
THE LECTURER. Illow me to request yar kind hattention for a moment. (Stand back there, you boys, and don't beyave in such a silly manner!) We har now arrived at the Haswail, or Sloth Bear, described by Buffon as 'aving 'abits which make it a burden to itself. (_Severely._) The Haswail. In the hajoinin' cage observe the Loocorricks, the hony hanimal to oom fear is habsolootly hunknown. When hattacked by the Lion, he places his 'ed between his fore-legs, and in that position awaits the honset of his would-be destroyer.
JOE'S WIFE. I thart it wur th' _hostridge_ as hacted that away.
JOE. Ostridges ain't gotten they long twisted harns as iver _I_ heard on.
HIS WIFE (_stopping before another den_). Oh, my blessed! 'Ere be a queer-lookin' critter, do 'ee look at 'en, Joe. What'll _he_ be now?
JOE. How do 'ee suppose as I be gooin' to tell 'ee the name of 'en? He'll likely be a sart of a 'arse. [_Dubiously._
HIS WIFE. They've a let' en git wunnerful ontidy fur sure. 'Ere, Mister (_to_ STRANGER) can you tell us the name of that theer hanimal?
STRANGER. That--oh, that's a Gnu.
JOE'S WIFE. He says it be a noo.
JOE. A noo _what_?
HIS WIFE. Why, a noo _hanimal_, I s'pose.
JOE. Well, he bain't naw himprovement on th' hold 'uns, as I can see. They'd better ha' left it aloan if they couldn't do naw better nor _'im_. Dunno what things be coming to, hinventin' o' noo hanimals at this time o' day.
BEFORE ANOTHER CAGE.
A BOOZED AND ARGUMENTATIVE RUSTIC. I sez as that 'un's a fawks, an' I'm ready to prove it on anny man.
A COMPANION (_soothingly_). Naw, naw, 'e baint naw fawks. I dunno what 'tis,--but 'tain't naw fawks nawhow.
B. AND A. RUSTIC. I tell 'ee _'tis_ a fawks, I'm sure on it. (_To_ MILD VISITOR) _Bain't_ 'e a fawks, Master, eh?
MILD VISITOR. Well, really, if you ask me, I should say it was a hyena.
THE RUSTIC'S COMP. A hyanna! ah, that's a deal moor like; saw 'tis!
THE RUSTIC. A pianner? Do 'ee take me vur a vool? I'll knack th' 'ed arf o' the man as plays 'is priskies wi' me, I wull! Wheer be 'e? Let me get at 'en!
[MILD V. _not being prepared to defend his opinion by personal combat, discreetly loses himself in crowd_.
ON THE ELEPHANT'S BACK.
SECOND BOY. Sit a bit moor forrard, Billy, cann't 'ee!
FIRST BOY. _Cann't_, I tell 'ee, I be sittin' on th' scruff of 'is neck as 'tis.
THIRD BOY. I can see my vaither, I can. 'Ere, vaither, vaither, look at me--see wheer _I_ be!
FOURTH BOY (_a candid friend_). Shoot oop, cann't 'ee', ya young gozzle-'ead! Think ya vaither niver see a hass on a hellyphant afoor!
FIFTH BOY. These yere helliphants be main straddly roidin'. I wish 'e wudn't waak honly waun haff of 'en at oncest, loike. What do 'ee mean, a kitchin' old o' me behind i' that way, eh, Jimmy Passons!
SIXTH BOY. _You'd_ ketch 'old 'o hanything if you was like me, a slidin' down th' helliphant's ta-ail.
FIFTH BOY. If 'ee doan't let go o' me, I'll job th' helliphant's ribs, and make 'un gallop, I will, so _now_, Jimmy Passons!
IN FRONT OF THE LIONS' DEN DURING PERFORMANCE.
VARIOUS SPEAKERS. Wheer be pushin' to? Car that manners screouging like that!... I cann't see nawthen, _I_ cann't wi' all they 'ats in front.... What be gooin' arn, do 'ee know?... A wumman gooin' in along 'o they lions and tigerses? Naw, ye niver mane it!... Bain't she a leatherin' of 'un too!... Now she be a kissin' of 'un--maakin' it oop loike.... John, you can see better nor me--what be she oop to now?... Puttin' 'er 'ed inside o' th' lion's? Aw, dear me, now--_there_'s a thing to be doin' of! Well, I'd ruther it was 'er nor me, I know _that_.... They wun't do 'er naw 'arm, so long's she kips 'er heye on 'em.... What do 'ee taak so voolish vor? How's th' wumman to kip 'er heye on 'em, with 'er 'ed down wan on 'em's throat, eh?... Gracious alive! if iver I did!... Oh, I do 'ope she bain't gooin' to let off naw fire-arms, I be moor fear'd o' pistols nor any tigers.... Theer, she's out now! She be bold fur a female, bain't her?... She niver maade 'em joomp through naw bla-azin' 'oops, though.... What carl would she hev fur doin' that? Well, they've a drared 'er doin' of it houtside', that's arl I know.... An' they've a drared Hadam outside a naamin' of th' hanimals--but ye didn't expect to see _that_ doon inside', did 'ee?... Bob, do 'ee look at old Muster Manders ovver theer by th' hellyphant. He's a maakin' of 'isself that familiar--putting biskuts 'tween his lips and lettin' th' hellyphant take 'em out wi's troonk!... _I_ see un--let un aloan, th' hold doitler, happen he thinks he's a feedin' his canary bird!
At the Regent Street Tussaud's.
_Before the effigy of Dr. Koch, who is represented in the act of examining a test-tube with the expression of bland blamelessness peculiar to Wax Models._
WELL-INFORMED VISITOR. That's Dr. Koch, making his great discovery!
UNSCIENTIFIC V. What did _he_ discover?
WELL-INF. V. Why, the Consumption Bacillus. He's got it in that bottle he's holding up.
UNSC. V. And what's the good of it, now he _has_ discovered it?
WELL-INF. V. Good? Why, it's the thing that causes _consumption_, you know!
UNSC. V. Then it's a pity he didn't leave it alone!
_Before a Scene representing "The Home Life at Sandringham."_
FIRST OLD LADY (_with Catalogue_). It says here that "the note the page is handing _may_ have come from Sir Dighton Probyn, the Comptroller of the Royal Household." Fancy _that_!
SECOND OLD LADY. He's brought it in in his fingers. Now _that's_ a thing I never allow in _my_ house. I always tell Sarah to bring all letters, and even circulars, in on a tray!
_Before a Scene representing the late Fred Archer, on a rather quaint quadruped, on Ascot Racecourse._
A SPORTSMAN. H'm--Archer, eh? Shouldn't have backed his mount in _that_ race!
_Before "The Library at Hawarden."_
GLADSTONIAN ENTHUSIAST (_to_ FRIEND, _who, with the perverse ingenuity of patrons of Waxworks, has been endeavouring to identify the Rev. John Wesley among the Cabinet in Downing Street_). Oh, never mind all that lot, Betsy; they're only the _Gover'ment_! Here's dear Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone in this next! See, he's lookin' for something in a drawer of his side-board--ain't that _natural_? And only look--a lot of people have been leaving Christmas cards on him (_a pretty and touching tribute of affection, which is eminently characteristic of a warm-hearted Public_). I wish I'd thought o' bringing one with me!
HER FRIEND. So do I. We might send one 'ere by post--but it'll have to be a New Year Card now!
A STRICT OLD LADY (_before next group_). Who are these two? "Mr. 'Enery Irving, and Miss Ellen Terry in _Faust_, eh? No--I don't care to stop to see them--that's play-actin', that is--and I don't 'old with it nohow! What are these two parties supposed to be doin' of over here? What--Cardinal Newman and Cardinal Manning at the High Altar at the Oratory, Brompton! Come along, and don't encourage Popery by looking at such figures. I _did_ 'ear as they'd got Mrs. Pearcey and the prambilator somewheres. I _should_ like to see that, now."
IN THE CHILDREN'S GALLERY.
AN AUNT (_who finds the excellent Catalogue a mine of useful information_). Look, Bobby, dear (_reading_). "Here we have Constantine's Cat, as seen in the _Nights of Straparola_, an Italian romancist, whose book was translated into French in the year 1585--"
BOBBY (_disappointed_). Oh, then it _isn't Puss in Boots_!
A GENIAL GRANDFATHER (_pausing before Crusoe and Friday_). Well, Percy, my boy, you know who _that_ is, at all events--eh?
PERCY. I suppose it is Stanley--but it's not very like.
THE G. G. Stanley!--Why, bless my soul, never heard of _Robinson Crusoe_ and his man _Friday_?
PERCY. Oh, I've _heard_ of them, of course--they come in Pantomimes--but I like more grown-up sort of books myself, you know. Is this girl asleep _She_?
THE G. G. No--at least--well, I expect it's _The Sleeping Beauty_. You remember her, of course--all about the ball, and the glass slipper, and her father picking a rose when the hedge grew round the palace, eh?
PERCY. Ah, you see, Grandfather, you had more time for general reading than we get. (_He looks through a practicable cottage window._) Hallo, a Dog and a Cat. Not badly stuffed!
THE G. G. Why, that must be _Old Mother Hubbard_. (_Quoting from memory._) "Old Mother Hubbard sat in a cupboard, eating a Christmas pie--or a _bone_ was it?"
PERCY. Don't know. It's not in _Selections from British Poetry_, which we have to get up for "rep."
THE AUNT (_reading from Catalogue_). "The absurd ambulations of this antique person, and the equally absurd antics of her dog, need no recapitulation." Here's _Jack the Giant Killer_, next. Listen, Bobby, to what it says about him here. (_Reads._) "It is clearly the last transmutation of the old British legend told by Geoffrey of Monmouth, of Corineus, the Trojan, the companion of the Trojan Brutus, when he first settled in Britain. But more than this"--I hope you're listening, Bobby?--"_more_ than this, it is quite evident, even to the superficial student of Greek mythology, that many of the main incidents and ornaments are borrowed from the tales of Hesiod and Homer." Think of that, now!
[BOBBY _thinks of it, with depression_.
THE G. G. (_before figure of Aladdin's Uncle selling new lamps for old_). Here you are, you see! "_Ali Baba_," got 'em all here, you see. Never read your _Arabian Nights_, either! Is that the way they bring up boys nowadays!
PERCY. Well, the fact is, Grandfather, that unless a fellow reads that kind of thing when he's _young_, he doesn't get a chance afterwards.
THE AUNT (_still quoting_). "In the famous work," Bobby, "by which we know Masûdi, he mentions the Persian Hezar Afsane-um-um-um,--nor have commentators failed to notice that the occasion of the book written for the Princess Homai resembles the story told in the Hebrew Bible about Esther, her mother or grandmother, by some Persian Jew two or three centuries B.C." Well, I never knew _that_ before!... This is _Sindbad and the Old Man of the Sea_--let's see what they say about _him_. (_Reads._) "Both the story of _Sindbad_ and the old Basque legend of Tartaro are undoubtedly borrowed from the _Odyssey_ of Homer, whose _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_ were translated into Syriac in the reign of Harun-ur-Rashid." Dear, dear, how interesting, now! and, Bobby, what _do_ you think some one says about _Jack and the Beanstalk_? He says--"This tale is an allegory of the Teutonic Al-fader, the red hen representing the all-producing sun; the moneybags, the fertilizing rain; and the harp, the winds." Well, I'm sure it seems likely enough, doesn't it?
[BOBBY _suppresses a yawn_; PERCY'S _feelings are outraged by receiving a tin trumpet from the Lucky Tub; general move to the scene of the Hampstead Tragedy_.
BEFORE THE HAMPSTEAD TABLEAUX.