_A Pessimistic Matron_ (_the usual beady and bugle-y female, who
takes all her pleasure as a penance_). Well, they may _call_ it
"Venice," but _I_ don't see no difference from what it was when
the Barnum Show was 'ere--except--(_regretfully_)--that then they
'ad the Freaks o' Nature, and Jumbo's skelinton!
[Illustration: "I'm sure I'm 'ighly flattered, Mum, but I'm already
suited."]
_Her Husband_ (_an Optimist--less from conviction than
contradiction_). There you go, MARIA, finding fault the minute you've
put your nose inside! We ain't _in_ Venice yet. It's up at the top o'
them steps.
_The P.M._ Up all them stairs? Well, I 'ope it'll be worth seeing when
we _do_ get there, that's all!
_An Attendant_ (_as she arrives at the top_). Not this door,
Ma'am--next entrance for Modern Venice.
_The Opt. Husb._ You needn't go all the way down again, when the steps
join like that!
_The P.M._ I'm not going to walk sideways--_I_'m not a crab, JOE,
whatever _you_ may think. (_JOE assents, with reservations_). Now
wherever have those other two got to? 'urrying off that way! Oh,
_there_ they are. 'Ere, LIZZIE and JEM, keep along o' me and Father,
do, or we shan't see half of what's to be seen!
_Lizzie_. Oh, all right, Ma; don't you worry so! (_To JEM, her
fiancé_.) Don't those tall fellows look smart with the red feathers in
their cocked 'ats? What do they call _them_?
_Jem_ (_a young man, who thinks for himself_). Well, I shouldn't
wonder if those were the parties they call "Doges"--sort o' police
over there, d'ye see?
_Lizzie_. They're 'andsomer than 'elmets, I will say _that_ for them.
(_They enter Modern Venice, amidst cries of "This way for Gondoala
Tickets! Pass along, please! Keep to your right!"_ &c., &c.) It _does_
have a foreign look, with all those queer names written up. Think it's
like what it is, JEM?
_Jem_. Bound to be, with all the money they've spent on it. I daresay
they've idle-ised it a bit, though.
_The P.M._ Where are all these kinals they talk so much about? I don't
see none!
_Jem_ (_as a break in the crowd reveals a narrow olive-green
channel_). Why, what d'ye call _that_, Ma?
_The P.M._ That a kinal! Why, you don't mean to tell me any barge
'ud--
_The Opt. Husb._ Go on!--you didn't suppose you'd find the Paddington
Canal in _these_ parts, did you? This is big enough for all
_they_ want. (_A gondola goes by lurchily, crowded with pot-hatted
passengers, smoking pipes, and wearing the uncomfortable smile of
children enjoying their first elephant-ride._) That's one o' these
'ere gondoalers--it's a rum-looking concern, ain't it? But I suppose
you get _used_ to 'em--(_philosophically_)--like everything else!
_The P.M._ It gives me the creeps to look at 'em. Talk about
_'earses_!
_The Opt. Husb._ Well, look 'ere, we've come out to enjoy
ourselves--what d'ye say to having a ride in one, eh?
_The P.M._ You won't ketch me trusting _my_self in one o' them tituppy
things, so don't you deceive yourself!
_The Opt. Husb._ Oh, it's on'y two foot o' warm water if you do
tip over. _Come_ on! (_Hailing Gondolier, who has just landed his
cargo._) 'Ere, 'ow much'll you take the lot of us for, hey?
_Gondolier_ (_gesticulating_). Teekits! you tek teekits--là--you vait!
_Jem_. He means we've got to go to the orfice and take tickets and
stand in a cue, d'yer see?
_The P.M._ Me go and form a cue down there and get squeeged like at
the Adelphi Pit, all to set in a rickety gondoaler! I can see all _I_
want to see without messing about in one o' them things!
_The Others_. Well, I dunno as it's worth the extry sixpence, come to
think of it. (_They pass on, contentedly._)
_Jem_. We're on the Rialto Bridge now, LIZZIE, d'ye see? The one in
SHAKSPEARE, _you_ know.
_Lizzie_. That's the one they call the "Bridge o' Sighs," ain't it?
(_Hazily._) Is that because there's _shops_ on it?
_Jem_. I dessay. Shops--or else suicides.
_Lizzie_ (_more hazily than ever_). Ah, the same as the Monument.
(_They walk on with a sense of mental enlargement._)
_Mrs. Lavender Salt_. It's wonderfully like the real thing, LAVENDER,
isn't it? Of course they can't _quite_ get the true Venetian
atmosphere!
_Mr. L.S._ Well, MIMOSA, they'd have the Sanitary Authorities down on
them if they _did_, you know!
_Mrs. L.S._ Oh, you're so horribly unromantic! But, LAVENDER, couldn't
we get one of those gondolas and go about. It would be so lovely to be
in one again, and fancy ourselves back in dear Venice, now _wouldn't_
it?
_Mr. L.S._ The illusion is cheap at sixpence; so come along, MIMOSA!
[_He secures, tickets, and presently the LAVENDER SALTS,
find themselves part of a long queue, being marshalled
between barriers by Italian gendarmes in a state of politely
suppressed amusement._
_Mrs. L.S._ (_over her shoulder to her husband, as she imagines_). I'd
no idea we should have to go through all this! Must we really herd
in with all these people? Can't we two manage to get a gondola all to
ourselves?
_A Voice_ (_not LAVENDER's--in her ear_). I'm sure I'm 'ighly
flattered, Mum, but I'm already suited; yn't I, DYSY?
[_DYSY corroborates his statement with unnecessary emphasis._
_A Sturdy Democrat_ (_in front, over his shoulder_). Pity yer didn't
send word you was coming, Mum, and then they'd ha' kep' the place
clear of us common people for yer! [Mrs. L.S. _is sorry she spoke._
IN THE GONDOLA.--_Mr. and Mrs. L.S. are seated in the back
seat, supported on one side by the Humorous 'ARRY and his
Fiancée, and on the other by a pale, bloated youth, with a
particularly rank cigar, and the Sturdy Democrat, whose two
small boys occupy the seat in front._
_The St. Dem._ (_with malice aforethought_). If you two lads ain't
got room there, I dessay this lady won't mind takin' one of yer on her
lap. (_To Mrs. L.S., who is frozen with horror at the suggestion._)
They're 'umin beans, Mum, like yerself!
_Mrs. L.S._ (_desperately ignoring her other neighbours_). Isn't that
lovely balcony there copied from the one at the Pisani, LAVENDER--or
is it the Contarini? I forget.
_Mr. L.S._ Don't remember--got the Rialto rather well, haven't they?
I suppose that's intended for the dome of the Salute down there--not
quite the outline, though, if I remember right. And, if that's the
Campanile of St. Mark, the colour's too brown, eh?
_The Hum. 'Arry_ (_with intention_). Oh, I sy, DYSY, yn't that the
Kempynoily of Kennington Oval, right oppersite? and 'aven't they got
the Grand Kinel in the Ole Kent Road proper, eh?
_Dysy_ (_playing up to him, with enjoyment_). Jest 'aven't they!
On'y I don't quoite remember whether the colour o' them gas-lamps is
correct. But there, if we go on torkin' this w'y, other parties might
think we wanted to show orf!
_Mrs. L.S._ Do you remember our _last_ gondola expedition, LAVENDER,
coming home from the Giudecca in that splendid sunset?
_The Hum. A._ Recklect you and me roidin' 'ome from Walworth on a
rhinebow, DYSY, eh?
_Chorus of Chaff from the bridges and terraces as they pass._ 'Ullo,
'ere comes another boat-load! 'Igher up, there!... Four-wheeler!...
Ain't that toff in the tall 'at enjoyin' himself? Quite a 'appy
funeral! &c., &c.
_Mrs. L.S._ (_faintly, as they enter the Canal in front of the
Stage_). LAVENDER, dear, I really can't stand this _much_ longer!
_Mr. L.S._ (_to the Bloated Youth_). Might I ask you, Sir, not to puff
your smoke in this lady's face--it's extremely unpleasant for her!
_The B.Y._ All right, Mister, I'm always ready to oblige a
lydy--but--(_with wounded pride_)--as to its bein' _unpleasant_, yer
know, all _I_ can tell yer is--(_with sarcasm_)--that this 'appens to
be one of the best tuppeny smokes in 'Ammersmith!
_Mr. L.S._ (_diplomatically_). I am sure of that--from the aroma, but
if you _could_ kindly postpone its enjoyment for a little while, we
should be extremely obliged!
_The B.Y._ Well, I must keep it _aloive_, yer know. If there's anyone
'ere that understands cigars, they'll bear me out as it never smokes
the same when you once let it out.
[_The other Passengers confirm him in this epicurean dictum,
whereupon he sucks the cigar at intervals behind Mrs. L.S.'s
back, during the remainder of the trip._
_Mr. L.S._ (_to Mrs. L.S. when they are alone again_). Well, MIMOSA,
illusion successful, eh?
_Mrs. L.S._ Oh, _don't_!
* * * * *
[Illustration: ABOMINATIONS OF MODERN SCIENCE.
MARIANA ARRIVES AT THE MOATED GRANGE (AFTER A LONG, DAMP JOURNEY) JUST
IN TIME TO DRESS FOR DINNER, AND FINDS, TO HER SORROW, THAT HER ROOM
IS WARMED BY HOT WATER PIPES AND LIGHTED BY ELECTRICITY.]
* * * * *