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Page 33

Then the music came to an end in a series of defiant bangs, the
curtain rolled itself out of sight, and a brilliant spectacle
appeared. The only occupant of the scene at first was a gentleman in a
thick black beard and fantastic garb who seemed to have acquired the
habit of talking very loudly to himself. In this way the audience
discovered that the gentleman, who was no less a personage than the
Queen's brother, was seriously dissatisfied with his royal
brother-in-law, whose habits were of a nature which did not make for
the harmony of his domestic circle. Then soft music was heard, and in
lounged Sardanapalus himself--a glittering figure in flowing robes of
silver and pale blue, garlanded with flowers, and surrounded by a
crowd of slaves and women all very elegantly dressed; and it really
was quite wonderful to notice how his Majesty lolled and languished
about the stage, how beautifully affected all his gestures were, and
with what a high-bred supercilious drawl he rolled out his behests
that a supper should be served at midnight in the pavilion that
commanded a view of the Euphrates. And this magnificent, absurd
creature--this mouthing, grimacing, attitudinising popinjay, thought
Austin, was no other than Mr Bucephalus Buskin, with whom he had
chatted on easy terms in a common field only a few days previously!
The memory of the umbrella, the tight frock-coat, the bald head, the
fat, reddish face, and the rather rusty "chimney-pot" here recurred to
him, and he nearly giggled out loud in thinking how irresistibly funny
Mr Buskin would look if he were now going through all these fanciful
gesticulations in his walking dress. The fact was that the man himself
was perfectly unrecognisable, and Austin was mightily impressed by
what was really a signal triumph in the art of making up.

The play went on, and Sardanapalus showed no signs of moral
improvement. In fact, it soon became evident that his code of ethics
was deplorable, and Austin could only console himself with the
thought that the real Mr Buskin was, no doubt, a most virtuous and
respectable person who never gave Mrs Buskin--if there was one--any
grounds for jealousy. Then the first act came to an end, the lights
went up, and a subdued buzz of conversation broke out all over the
theatre. The second act was even more exciting, as Sardanapalus,
having previously confessed himself unable to go on multiplying
empires, was forced to interfere in a scuffle between his
brother-in-law and Arbaces--who was by way of being a traitor; but the
most sensational scene of all was the banquet in act the third, of
which so glowing an account had been given to Austin by the great
tragedian himself. That, indeed, was something to remember.

"Guests, to my pledge!
Down on your knees, and drink a measure to
The safety of the King--the monarch, say I?
The god Sardanapalus! mightier than
His father Baal, the god Sardanapalus!"
[_Thunder. Confusion._]

Ah, that was thrilling, if you like, in spite of the halting rhythm.
And yet, even at that supreme moment, the vision of the umbrella and
the rather shabby hat would crop up again, and Austin didn't quite
know whether to let himself be thrilled or to lean back and roar. The
conspiracy burst out a few minutes afterwards, and then there ensued
a most terrifying and portentous battle, rioters and loyalists
furiously attempting to kill each other by the singular expedient of
clattering their swords together so as to make as much noise as
possible, and then passing them under their antagonists' armpits, till
the stage was heaped with corpses; and all this bloody work entirely
irrespective of the valuable glass and china on the supper-table, and
the costly hearthrugs strewn about the floor. Even Sardanapalus,
having first looked in the glass to make sure that his helmet was
straight, performed prodigies of valour, and the curtain descended to
his insatiable shouting for fresh weapons and a torrent of tumultuous
applause from the gallery.

"Now for it!" said Austin to himself, when another act had been got
through, in the course of which Sardanapalus had suffered from a
distressing nightmare. He took Mr Buskin's card out of his pocket,
and, hurrying out as fast as he could manage, stumped his way round to
the stage door. Cerberus would fain have stopped him, but Austin
flourished his card in passing, and enquired of the first
civil-looking man he met where the manager was to be found. He was
piloted through devious ways and under strange scaffoldings, to the
foot of a steep and very dirty flight of steps--luckily there were
only seven--at the top of which was dimly visible a door; and at this,
having screwed his courage to the sticking-place, he knocked.

"Come in!" cried a voice inside.

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Mon 22nd Dec 2025, 0:34

Austin and His Friends by Frederic H. Balfour