Everywhere, you see things that make you wonder how old these old houses
were before the night of destruction came—things, too, which bring back
those long-dead inhabitants and place them living before your eyes. For
instance: The steps (two feet thick—lava blocks) that lead up out of the
school, and the same kind of steps that lead up into the dress circle of
the principal theater, are almost worn through! For ages the boys
hurried out of that school, and for ages their parents hurried into that
theater, and the nervous feet that have been dust and ashes for eighteen
centuries have left their record for us to read to-day. I imagined I
could see crowds of gentlemen and ladies thronging into the theater,
with tickets for secured seats in their hands, and on the wall I read
the imaginary placard, in infamous grammar, “POSITIVELY NO FREE LIST,
EXCEPT MEMBERS OF THE PRESS!” Hanging about the doorway (I fancied) were
slouchy Pompeiian street boys uttering slang and profanity, and keeping
a wary eye out for checks. I entered the theater, and sat down in one of
the long rows of stone benches in the dress circle, and looked at the
place for the orchestra, and the ruined stage, and around at the wide
sweep of empty boxes, and thought to myself, “This house won’t pay.” I
tried to imagine the music in full blast, the leader of the orchestra
beating time, and the “versatile” So-and-So (who had “just returned from
a most successful tour in the provinces to play his last and farewell
engagement of positively six nights only, in Pompeii, previous to his
departure for Herculaneum”) charging around the stage and piling the
agony mountains high—but I could not do it with such a “house” as that;
those empty benches tied my fancy down to dull reality. I said, these
people that ought to be here have been dead, and still, and moldering to
dust for ages and ages, and will never care for the trifles and follies
of life any more forever—“Owing to circumstances, etc., etc., there will
not be any performance to-night.” Close down the curtains. Put out the
lights.