Life in London

by Edwin Hodder

  CHAPTER V.

  A FARCE.

  Harry Ashton kept his promise, and went one evening that week to seeGeorge at Islington. Hardy had been invited to meet him; and the threefriends, as they kept up a perfect rattle of conversation, interspersedwith many crossfired jokes, made the merriest and happiest little partythat could be imagined.

  Mrs. Weston was very much pleased with Ashton--his refined thought andgentlemanly address, joined with an open-hearted candour and a fund ofhumour which sparkled in every sentence, made it impossible for any onenot to like him. Charles Hardy thought he had never met a moreentertaining companion than Ashton; Ashton thought Hardy was anintelligent, agreeable fellow; and George declared to his mother that,if he had had the pick of all the young men in London, he could not havefound two nicer fellows.

  A hundred topics were discoursed upon during the evening, in whichAshton generally took the lead, and showed himself to be very wellinformed on all ordinary subjects. Incidentally the theatre wasmentioned.

  "Have you seen that new piece at the Lyceum?" said Ashton. "It is reallya very capital thing."

  "No," said George. "I have never been to a theatre."

  "Nor I," said Hardy.

  "Nor I," said Mrs. Weston.

  "Well, that is really very extraordinary," said Ashton; "I thoughtalmost everybody went to a theatre at some time or other. But perhapsyou have some objection?"

  "I have," said Mrs. Weston. "I think there is a great deal of evillearnt there, and very little good, if any. It is expensive; and itleads into other bad habits."

  "Those last objections cannot be gainsaid," said Ashton; "but theyequally apply to all amusements, and therefore, by that rule, allamusements are bad."

  "But not in an equal degree with that of the theatre," George remarked;"because other amusements do not possess such an infatuation. For myown part, I should not mind going to a concert; but I very muchdisapprove of the theatre, and should never hesitate to decline goingthere."

  "Yours is not a good argument, George. You have never been to thetheatre, you say, and yet you disapprove of it. Are you right inpronouncing such an opinion, which cannot be the result of your owninvestigation?"

  "I think I am," replied George; "I can adopt the opinions of those whomexperience has instructed in the matter, and in whom I can rely withimplicit confidence. If a man goes through a dangerous track, and fallsinto a bog, I should be willing to admit the track was dangerous, andavoid the bog, without going in to prove the former traveller was right;and this applies to going to theatres."

  "No, George; there is your error. There would be no two opinions aboutthe bog; but suppose you go for a tour to the Pyrenees, and, fromprejudice or some other cause, come back disgusted. You warn me not togo, telling me I shall be wasting my time, and find nothing interestingto reward my trouble in the journey. But Hardy goes the same tour, comeshome delighted, and says, 'Go to the Pyrenees by all means; it is aglorious place, the most pleasant in the whole world for a tour.' Todecide the question, I read two books; one agrees with you, and theother with Hardy. How can I arrive at an opinion unless I go myself, andsee what it is like? So it is with the theatre: some say it is the greatteacher of morals, others that it is the most wicked and hurtful place.Therefore I think every one should form his own opinion from his ownexperience."

  "You may be right," said George, waveringly. "I am not clear upon thesubject; but I do not think, even if I were to form an opinion in theway you prescribe, that I should ever choose the theatre as a place ofamusement."

  "Then what is your favourite amusement?" asked Ashton.

  "To come home and read, or spend a social evening with a friend," Georgeanswered.

  "Then I know what will suit you all to pieces," said Ashton; "and yourfriend Hardy too. I am a member of a literary institution. It is afirst-rate place--the best in London. There are lectures and classes,and soirees, a debating society, a good library, and rooms forchess-playing and that sort of thing. Now, you really must join it; itwill be so very nice for us to have a regular place of meeting; and,besides that, we can combine study with amusement. What do you say, Mrs.Weston?"

  "I cannot see any objection to literary institutions," said Mrs. Weston;"but I have always considered them better suited to young men who areaway from home, than for those who have comfortable homes in which tospend their evenings. You speak about having a regular place of meeting.I shall always be very pleased to see you and Mr. Hardy here, as oftenas ever you can manage to spend an evening with us."

  "Many thanks for your kindness, Mrs. Weston," returned Ashton; "but itwould not be right for us to trespass on your good nature. Now I willgive you and your friend a challenge, George," he continued. "NextMonday, the first debate of the season comes off; will you allow me tointroduce you to the institution on that evening?--it is a member'sprivilege."

  "I shall be very pleased to join you, then," said George. "What say you,Hardy?"

  "I accept the invitation, with thanks," replied Hardy.

  On Monday night, as George and Hardy journeyed towards the place ofmeeting, they discussed the question of joining the institution.

  "If you will, I will," said Hardy. "My parents do not much like theidea; but, as you said the other evening, 'we must not allow ourselvesto be controlled like mere children.'"

  "I do think we really require a little recreation after business hours;and we can obtain none better than that of an intellectual kind, such asis found at literary institutions. The new term has only just commenced;so we may as well be enrolled as members at once."

  "I wish the institution was a little nearer home," said Hardy, "for itwill be so late of an evening for us to be out. However, we need notalways attend, nor is it necessary we should very often be late. Haveyou had any difficulty in obtaining Mrs. Weston's consent to yourjoining?"

  "None at all; she prefers my attending an institution of this kind toany other, although probably she would be better pleased if I did notjoin one at all. But, as Ashton says, we really must live up to thetimes, and know something of what is going on in the world around us.Did you not notice, the other evening, how Ashton could speak upon everysubject brought on the carpet? My mother said, 'What a remarkablyagreeable young man he is! he has evidently seen a good deal ofsociety;' and I think the two things are inseparable--to be agreeablein society, one must mix more with it."

  Ashton was punctual to his appointment; and all were at the institutionjust as the members were assembling for the debate. George was surprisedto find how many of the young men knew Ashton, and he admired the easeand elegance of his friend in acknowledging the greetings which met himon every hand.

  "I won't bore you with introductions to-night," he said, "except to justhalf-a-dozen fellows in particular, who, I am sure, you will like toknow; and we can all sit together and compare opinions during thedebate."

  The friends were accordingly introduced; and as the proceedings of theevening went on, and all waxed warm upon the subject under discussion,the party which Ashton had drawn together soon became known to oneanother, and were on terms of conversational acquaintance.

  The meeting separated at ten o'clock, and then George and Hardy essayedto bid good-night to their friends, and make their way at once towardsIslington.

  "Nonsense," said Ashton; "I want you to come with me to a nice quietplace I know, close by, and have a bit of supper and a chat over allthat has been said, and then I will walk part of the way home with you."

  "No, not to-night, Ashton; it is quite late enough already; and it willbe past eleven o'clock before we get home as it is."

  "What say you, Hardy? Can you persuade our sage old friend to abandonhis ten o'clock habits for one night?" asked Ashton.

  "I do not like to establish a bad precedent," said Hardy; "and as wehave to-night joined the institution, I think we should make a rule tostart off home as soon as we leave the meetings, because we have somedistance to go, and bad hours, you know, interfere with business."

  "I did no
t expect you to make a rule to keep bad hours," said Ashton;"but every rule has an exception--"

  "And therefore it will not do to commence with the exception; sogood-bye, till we meet again on Wednesday."

  Three nights a-week there was something going on at the institutionsufficiently attractive to draw George and Hardy there. One evening alecture, another the discussion class, and the third an elocution class,or more frequently that was resigned in favour of chess. From meetingthe same young men, night after night, a great number of newacquaintanceships were formed, and George would never have spent anevening at home, had he accepted the invitations which were frequentlybeing given him; but he had made a compact with himself, that he wouldnever be out more than three evenings a week, and would devote theremainder to the society of his mother. A certain little voice didsometimes say to him, "Is it quite right and kind of you, George, toleave your mother so often? Do you not think it must be rather lonelyfor her, sometimes, without you?" And George would answer to the voice,"Mother would never wish to stand between me and my improvement.Besides, she has many friends who visit her, and with whom she visits;and few young men of my age give their mothers more than three eveningsof their society a week."

  One evening, as George and Hardy were entering the institution, HarryAshton came up to them, and said,--

  "I have just had some tickets sent me for the Adelphi. There is nothinggoing on here worth staying for, so I shall go. Dixon will make one, andyou and Hardy must make up the quartette."

  "Dixon going?" asked George; "why, I thought he was such a sedatefellow, and never went to anything of the sort!"

  "Neither does he, as a rule; but he has never been to the Adelphi, andhe wants to go. Will you accompany us?"

  "No, thank you," said George; "I told you once I did not like theatres;perhaps you recollect we discussed the point one evening?"

  "We did, and you said you had never been to a theatre: you disapprovedof them, without ever having had an opportunity of judging whether theywere good or bad places. Now, take the opportunity."

  "I am not anxious to form a judgment; and I so dislike all theassociations of a theatre that it would be no pleasure for me to go."

  "Complimentary, certainly!" laughed Ashton. "But I will grant you thismuch--there are bad associations connected with the theatres, and thisis the stronghold of objectors; but we are four staid sober fellows, weshall go to our box without any bother, sit and see the play withoutexchanging a word with anybody beyond our own party, and then leave assoon as the performance is over. You had better say you will go, eh?"

  "No, it would be very late before I got home," said George: "and I donot like keeping my mother up, more particularly as I was so very latethe other evening. But what do you say, Hardy?"

  "I don't know what to say," said Hardy. "I did once say to myself Iwould never go to a theatre; but I am not sure that there is any moralobligation why I should keep my word, when the compact rests only withmyself. I have not time to consult Paley, and so I put the question toyou--Can I go, seeing I have said to myself I will not?"

  "Arrange it in this way," said Ashton; "both of you go, and when you getthere, if you decide you have done wrong, then leave at once; or if youfind that your consciences are in durance vile, and you have notpatience or sufficient interest to stay and see the play out, go, and Iwill excuse you then with all my heart; but I won't excuse your notgoing. Now is your time to decide; for here comes Dixon, true to hisappointment."

  "I suppose you have got your party complete, Ashton?" he said; "and ifso, we had better start at once, or the play will have begun before weget there."

  George pondered no longer. "Suppose we try it, Hardy, on Ashton'splan," said he; "I don't see any harm in that, do you?"

  "No, I think that is the best way in which the case can be put," hereplied; "and I don't see that any harm can possibly come of it."

  Away went the party, full of high spirits, bent upon amusement. ButGeorge felt a certain uneasy something, which tried to make him feelless pleased with himself than usual, and his laugh was at first forcedand unnatural; there was not the same joyousness there would have beenhad he been starting on some recreation which he knew would be approvedby parent and friends, and his own conscience. Ashton noticed he did notseem to be quite at ease; and therefore he brought all his humour intoplay to provoke hilarity. By the time they arrived at the theatre, thatlove of novelty and excitement which is so natural to young peoplecompletely overcame all other feelings, and the sight of the crowdsflocking into all parts of the house was now an irresistible temptationto follow in too.

  They were shown into a very comfortable box, commanding a good view ofthe whole of the theatre. The thrilling strains of music issuing fromthe orchestra, the dazzling lights, and the large assembly of elegantlydressed ladies in the boxes, a mass of people in the pit, and tiers ofheads in the galleries, filled George with excitement. He who a littlewhile before had been the dullest of the party, was now the gayest ofthe gay; he was lost in astonishment at all he saw and heard, dazzledwith the brilliancy of the scene, and abandoned to all the enjoyments ofthe hour.

  The performances that evening consisted of a farce, the comedy of the"Serious Family," and a ballet. When the curtain rose, and the farcecommenced, George entered heart and soul into the spirit of theperformance; laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks at thedilemmas of an unlucky wight who acted a prominent part, and stampedapplause in favour of a young lady who tried in every way to defend thisunfortunate individual from his persecutors.

  When it was over, Ashton turned to George, and said--

  "Well, Weston, so much for the farce; now, if you think it isobjectionable, off you go, old fellow, and we will forgive you."

  "No," said George; "I think that farce was capital, and I shall stay nowand see the end. I am not surprised people like the theatre--I neverenjoyed a laugh more in my life. But there is one thing I have notliked. That hero of the piece did not scruple to use language for whichhe would have been kicked out of any respectable private house--and yetthere are respectable people here, old and young, all listening andseeming to enjoy it. That shows there is insincerity somewhere; eitherthese people hush their sensitive feelings in the playhouse, or they arehypocrites at home, and profess to be much more refined than they reallyare."

  "You evidently don't understand plays yet," said Ashton; "that mandepicts a certain style of life, and he must be true to it. If he enactsthe part of a costermonger, he must swear and talk slang, and commitcrimes, if need be, or anything suiting the character he assumes; orelse the thing would be absurd, and the gentleman and costermonger wouldbe both alike."

  "The theatre must be a 'great teacher of morals,' then, if we come hereto be initiated into the vices of costermongers," said George, rathersarcastically.

  "George," whispered Hardy, "we've got into a mess; look down in thepit--Williams and Lawson are there. They have recognized us, and arenodding--shall we nod?"

  "Yes," said George, and he nodded; but his face was red as crimson. "Iwould not have had Lawson and Williams see us here for the world," hewhispered to Hardy; "but it's too late now--as you say, we've got into amess."

  Just then the curtain rose again, and the play of the "Serious Family,"commenced.

  The plot of the piece is this:--

  Mr. Abinadab Sleek and Lady Creamly are two hypocrites, introduced asordinary specimens of Christians. They are living in the house of theirdaughter and son-in-law (Mr. and Mrs. Charles Torrens), over whom theyexercise a stern and despotic control. Mr. Charles Torrens, "for thesake of peace and quietness," agrees to all the solemnities opposed uponhim; and is willing to pass himself off in Christian circles as aco-worker with Mr. Abinadab Sleek. In his heart he detests everythinglike seriousness; and whenever an opportunity occurs, on the pretext ofgoing into the country, indulges in the gaieties and vices of Londonfashionable life. He is visited by an old friend, Captain MurphyMaguire, who persuades him to renounce boldly the sanctimonious customsof
the "Serious Family," and enjoy with unshackled freedom the pleasuresof the world. To this he consents; but he has not courage to alter thefamily customs. Captain Maguire aids his plans by convincing Mrs. C.Torrens that unless she provides in her home those amusements which arefound in the world, her husband will prefer the world to his home. Aconspiracy is laid to oppose the religious tyranny of Mr. AbinadabSleek, the result of which is, that a ball is given by Mr. Torrens,assisted by his wife, who, throwing off her former profession ofChristianity, becomes a woman of the world. On all this their futurehappiness as man and wife is made to hinge; and when, through the flimsyplot of the piece, the tableau arrives, the curtain drops, leaving theyounger members of the "Serious Family" whirling in the giddy dance,commencing the new era of domestic happiness.

  Throughout the play, Scripture is quoted and ridiculed, religion is madecontemptible, and vice under the name of "geniality, openheartedness,and merriment," is made to appear the one thing necessary to constitutereal happiness.

  George followed the play through all its shifting scenes; now laughed,now sighed, now felt the hot blush of shame as he listened to theatrocious mockery of everything which, from the time he had been aninfant on his mother's knee, he had been taught to regard as good andpure. He was heated to indignation when the audience applauded the basecharacter of Maguire, and shuddered when as he thought that a maskedhypocrite was brought before the world as the type of a Christian, andthat a "Serious Family" was only another name for an unhappy, cantingset of ignorant people.

  And yet George did not leave the theatre. He was hurt, wounded to theheart by what he saw and heard, felt he would have given the world tohave stood up in the box, and have told the audience that the play was alibel upon everything sacred and solemn; but he stayed and saw it out,rivetted by that strange, unholy infatuation which has been the bane ofso many.

  "Let us go now, Hardy," he said, as the curtain dropped; "you do notcare to see the ballet, do you?"

  "Oh, in for a penny, in for a pound. While we are here, we may as wellsee all that is to be seen. I won't ask you how you liked the comedy. Iwant to see something lively now, to remove the disagreeable impressionsit has left upon me."

  And so they stayed, delighted with the music, fascinated with thegraceful dancing, and dazzled with the scenery. At length the curtainfell, and the evening's performance was over.

  "It is only half-past eleven," said Ashton, when they got outside; "nowwe must just turn in somewhere, and get a bit of supper, and then, Isuppose we must separate. There is a first-rate hotel close handy, whereI sometimes dine. What do you say?"

  "Just the place for us," said Dixon; "because we must limit ourselves tohalf an hour, and we shall get what we want quickly there."

  As they went into the supper-room, George saw, to his vexation, Lawsonand Williams, with a party of boon companions, seated round a table atthe further end. He instantly drew back; but it was too late, they hadrecognised him.

  "Confound it!" he said to Ashton, "there are some chaps from our office,at the end there. I do not wish to meet them; cannot we go into aprivate room?"

  "Certainly," said Ashton; and the party retreated. "But why do you notwish to meet your fellow clerks?"

  "Because they are a low set of fellows with whom I have nothing incommon."

  When supper was over and the clock had struck twelve, the partyseparated.

  "Good night, old fellow," said Ashton to George. "I am sorry we havenot seen quite the sort of play you would have liked; but now you haveseen the worst side of the theatre, and next time we go together we willtry and see the best; so that between the two extremes you will be ableto discriminate and determine what sort of place the theatre is as anamusement."

  "Thank you, Ashton, for your share in the entertainment to-night. I willtalk to you about the play some other time; but I must say, candidly, Inever felt so distressed in my life as I did while that gross insult toall good feeling, 'The Serious Family,' was being performed. If you hadsaid to me what that wretch, Captain Maguire, said in my hearingto-night, I would not have shaken hands with you again as I do now."

  An omnibus happened to be passing for the Angel at Islington thatmoment, and George and Hardy got up.

  "What shall we do with regard to Williams and Lawson?" said Hardy. "Theyhave got a victory to-night. I fear our protest against theatres andtaverns is over with them for ever now, seeing they have caught us atboth places."

  "I cannot but regret the circumstance," said George, "but it is nothingto them; they are not our father-confessors, and we are not bound toenter into any particulars with them. The greatest difficulty with me ishow to manage when I get home. I don't like deceiving my mother; but Ishould not like to pain her by saying I have been to the theatre. Sheknew I started for the institution, and that I might possibly be late;so, unless she asks me where I have been, I don't see that there will beany good in unnecessarily distressing her."

  "The disagreeable thing in such a case is," replied Hardy, "if the factcomes out afterwards, it _looks_ as if a deception had been practised."

  George and Hardy had never talked together like this before; and theyspoke hesitatingly, as if they hardly liked to hear their own voicesjoining to discuss a mean, unworthy, dishonourable trick.

  O temptation! what an inclined path is thine! How slippery for the feet,and how rapidly the unwary traveller slides along, lower and lower--eachstep making the attempt to ascend again to high ground more difficult!George had made many dangerous slips that night--would he ever regainhis position?

  Mrs. Weston was sitting up for George, and pleased was she to hear, atlast, his knock at the door.

  "Mother, this is too bad of me, keeping you up so late," said George. "Ireally did not mean to keep bad hours to-night; but I will turn over anew leaf for the future."

  "I do not mind sitting up, George, if it is for your good," sheanswered; "but I fear you will not improve your health by being so lateas this. Have you enjoyed your meeting to-night?"

  "Pretty well," said George; "but I have been with Ashton, Dixon, andHardy since."

  "Then you have not had supper?"

  "Yes, we had supper with Ashton." George got red as he said this. It wasthe first time he ever remembered wilfully deceiving his mother.

  "Oh! that has made you late, then," said Mrs. Weston. "I am afraidAshton has so many attractions in those apartments of his--what withfriends, books, and curiosities--that you find it difficult to break upyour social gatherings."

  "It is too bad of me to leave you so often, my dear mother; but I don'tmean to go to Ashton's again for some time, unless he comes to see us;and so I shall return straight home from the institution for a longwhile."

  When George retired to his room, he felt so distracted with all thathad taken place, that his old custom of reading a chapter from God'sWord, and kneeling down to pray before getting into bed, was abandonedfor that night. He tried to sleep, but could not. The strains of musicwere yet ringing in his ears, and the dazzling light was still flashingbefore his eyes. Then the plays came again before him; and he followedthe plots throughout, smiling again over some of the jokes, and feelingdepressed at the sad parts. Then he thought of Williams and Lawson, andreproached himself for having acted that evening very, very foolishly.Alas! this was not the right term; it was more than foolishness totamper with the voice of conscience, to violate principles which hadbeen inculcated from childhood, to plot wilful deceit, and act a lie.Instead of saying he had acted foolishly, he should have said, "Father,I have sinned against heaven and in thy sight Have mercy upon me, O God!Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquities, and cleanse me from my sin; foragainst Thee, Thee only have I sinned, and done this evil." But Georgeonly said, "I am so very vexed I went with Ashton to-night; it was veryfoolish!--very foolish!"