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Page 34

He found himself on the threshold of a room such as he had never seen
before. There was no carpet, and the little furniture it contained was
heaped with masses of heterogeneous clothes. Two looking-glasses were
fixed against the walls, and in front of one of them was a sort of
shelf, or dresser, covered with small pots of some ungodly looking
materials of a pasty appearance--rouge, grease-paint, cocoa-butter,
and heaven knows what beside--with black stuff, white stuff, yellow
stuff, paint-brushes, gum-pots, powder-puffs, and discoloured rags
spread about in not very picturesque confusion. In a corner of this
engaging boudoir, sitting in an armchair with a glass of liquor beside
him and smoking a strong cigar, was the most extraordinary and
repulsive object he had ever clapped his eyes on. The face, daubed and
glistening with an unsightly coating of red, white, and yellow-ochre
paint, and adorned with protuberant bristles by way of eyebrows,
appeared twice its natural dimensions. The throat was bare to the
collar-bones. A huge wig covered the head, falling over the shoulders;
while the whole was encircled by a great wreath of pink calico roses,
the back of which, just under the nape of the neck, was fastened by a
glittering pinchbeck tassel. The arms were nude, their natural growth
of dark hair being plastered over with white chalk, which had a
singularly ghastly effect; a short-skirted, low-necked gold frock, cut
like a little girl's, partly covered the body, and over this were
draped coarse folds of scarlet, purple, and white, with tinsel stars
along the seams, and so disposed as to display to fullest advantage
the brawny calves of the tragedian.

"Great Scott, if it isn't young Dot-and-carry-One!" exclaimed Mr
Sardanapalus Buskin, as the slim figure of Austin, in his simple
evening-dress, appeared at the entrance. "Come in, young gentleman,
come in. So you've come to beard the lion in his den, have you? Well,
it's kind of you not to have forgotten. You're welcome, very welcome.
That was a very pleasant little meeting we had the other day, over
there in the fields. And what do you think of the performance? Been in
front?"

"Oh, yes--thank you so very much," said Austin, hesitatingly. "It is
awfully kind of you to let me come and see you like this. I've never
seen anything of the sort in all my life."

"Ah, I daresay it's a sort of revelation to you," said Sardanapalus,
with good-humoured condescension. "Have a drop of whiskey-and-water?
Well, well, I won't press you. And so you've enjoyed the play?"

"The whole thing has interested me enormously," replied Austin. "It
has given me any amount to think of."

"Ah, that's good; that's very good, indeed," said the actor, nodding
sagely. "Do you remember what I was saying to you the other day about
the educative power of the stage? That's what it is, you see; the
greatest educative power in the land. How did that last scene go? Made
the people in the stalls sit up a bit, I reckon. Ah, it's a great
life, this. Talk of art! I tell you, young gentleman, acting's the
only art worthy of the name. The actor's all the artists in creation
rolled into one. Every art that exists conspires to produce him and to
perfect him. Painting, for instance; did you ever see anything to
compare with that Banqueting Scene in the Palace? Why, it's a triumph
of pictorial art, and, by Jove, of architecture too. And the actor
doesn't only paint scenes--or get them painted for him, it comes to
the same thing--he paints himself. Look at me, for instance. Why, I
could paint you, young gentleman, so that your own mother wouldn't
know you. With a few strokes of the brush I could transform you into a
beautiful young girl, or a wrinkled old Jew, or an Artful Dodger, or
anything else you had a fancy for. Music, again--think of the effect
of that slow music in the first act. There was pathos for you, if you
like. Oratory--talk of Demosthenes or Cicero, Mr Gladstone or John
Bright! Why, they're nowhere, my dear young friend, literally nowhere.
Didn't my description of the dream just _fetch_ you? Be honest now; by
George, Sir, it thrilled the house. Look here, young man"--and
Sardanapalus began to speak very slowly, with tremendous emphasis and
solemnity--"and remember what I'm going to say until your dying day.
If I were to drink too much of this, I should be intoxicated; but what
is the intoxication produced by whiskey compared with the intoxication
of applause? Just think of it, as soberly and calmly as you
can--hundreds of people, all in their right minds, stamping and
shouting and yelling for you to come and show yourself before the
curtain; the entire house at your feet. Why, it's worship, Sir, sheer
worship; and worship is a very sacred thing. Show me the man who's
superior to _that_, and I'll show you a man who's either above or
below the level of human nature. Whatever he may be, I don't envy him.
To-morrow morning I shall be an ordinary citizen in a frock-coat and a
tall hat. To-night I'm a king, a god. What other artist can say as
much?"

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Mon 22nd Dec 2025, 2:39

Austin and His Friends by Frederic H. Balfour