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Page 37

"He must be mad. And is he a success?" asked Austin.

"Judge for yourself--you've just been seeing him," replied St Aubyn.
"Though, of course, his name is no more Buskin than yours or mine."

"Good Heavens!" cried the boy. "And Mr Buskin was--all that?"

"He was all that," responded the other. "It was rather painful for me
to see him this evening in his present state, as you may imagine. As
to his being successful in a monetary sense, I really cannot tell you.
But, to do him justice, I don't think he cares for money in the very
least. So long as he makes two ends meet he's quite satisfied. All he
cares about is painting his face, and dressing himself up, and
ranting, and getting rounds of applause. And, so far, he certainly has
his reward. His highest ambition, it is true, he has not yet attained.
If he could only get his portrait published in a halfpenny paper
wearing some new-shaped stock or collar that the hosiers were anxious
to bring into fashion, he would feel that there was little left to
live for. But that is a distinction reserved for actors who stand at
the tip-top of their profession, and I'm afraid that poor Buskin has
but little chance of ever realising his aspiration."

"Are you serious?" said Austin, open-eyed.

"Absolutely," replied St Aubyn. "I know it for a fact."

"Well," exclaimed Austin, fetching a deep breath, "of course if a man
has to do this sort of thing for a living--if it's his only way of
making money--I don't think I despise him so much. But if he does it
because he loves it, loves it better than any other earthly thing,
then I despise him with all my heart and soul. I cannot conceive a
more utterly unworthy existence."

"And to such an existence our friend Buskin has sacrificed his whole
career," replied St Aubyn, gravely.

"What a tragedy," observed the boy.

"Yes; a tragedy," agreed the other. "A truer tragedy than the
imitation one that he's been acting in, if he could only see it. Well,
here is my turning. Good-night! I'm very glad we met. Come and see me
soon. I'm not going away again."

Then Austin, left alone, stumped thoughtfully along the country road.
The sweet smell of the flowery hedges pervaded the night air, and from
the fields on either side was heard ever and anon the bleating of some
wakeful sheep. How peaceful, how reposeful, everything was! How strong
and solemn the great trees looked, standing here and there in the wide
meadows under the moonlight and the stars! And what a contrast--oh,
_what_ a contrast--was the beauty of these calm pastoral scenes to
the tawdry gorgeousness of those other "scenes" he had been witnessing,
with their false effects, and coloured fires, and painted, spouting
occupants! There was no need for him to argue the question any more,
even with himself. It was as clear as the moon in the steel-blue sky
above him that the associations of the theatre were totally, hopelessly,
and radically incompatible with the ideals of the Daphnis life.

Chapter the Eighth

It is scarcely necessary to say that Austin knew nothing whatever
about his aunt's preoccupation, and that even if she had taken him
into her confidence, he would have paid little or no attention to the
matter. I am afraid that his ideas about finance were crude in the
extreme, being limited to a sort of vague impression that capital was
what you put into a bank, and interest was what you took out; while
the difference between the par value of a security and the price you
could get for it on the market, would have been to him a hopelessly
unfathomable mystery. Aunt Charlotte, therefore, was very wise in
abstaining from any reference, in conversation, to the great
enterprise for extracting gold from sea-water, in which she hoped to
purchase shares; for one could never have told what foolish remark he
might have made, though it was quite certain that he would have said
something foolish, and probably very exasperating. So she kept her
secret locked up in her own breast, and silently counted the hours
till she could get a reply from her bankers.

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Mon 22nd Dec 2025, 8:45

Austin and His Friends by Frederic H. Balfour