Our simple villagers _had_ seen circuses; but youthful Roscusses
were entirely beyond their experience. Quite as unfamiliar was the
word _rôle_, which, to their badly-lettered fancy, stood for
movement, by 'turning on the surface, or with a circular motion,
in which all parts of the surface are successively applied to a
plane, 'as to roll a barrel or puncheon.' [You use Webster?]
So, when the 'show' opened, there was a large attendance, and in
that vast multitude of two hundred and thirty men, women, and
children, there was not one who did not anticipate an acrobatic
performance.
The play pleased them, however. Temperance was rife among us in
those days; it was 'in our midst,' as people ought _not_ to say,
and the drunken disgraces of John the Inebriate were appreciated.
Still, there was an evident feeling of unsatisfied anticipation,
which grew with every act, and in all the house there was not a
soul who did not murmur to his or her neighbor, 'I wonder when
he's goin' to roll down-hill.'
The play terminated. The Inebriate died, under a strong pressure
of delirium tremens, groaning and braying loud enough to scare
away the fiends which gathered around. But, to the amazement of
all parties upon the stage and behind the scenes, the fall of the
curtain was accompanied by a thunder-roar of disgust, and the
rain-like sound of numerous hisses.
The audience voted the play a humbug. The village was disgusted.
Eglantine Mowbray stock went down to nothing.
But the manager was a shrewd fellow. He found out what was
wanting, and resolved to remedy it. So, the next morning's posters
announced that on that evening Mr. Eglantine Mowbray would
perform, at the conclusion, his terrific and unparalleled feat of
_rolling_ down the hill!
And he did. At the last moment, the Inebriate appeared, bottle in
hand, agonizing and howling on the summit of a high rock, from
which a slope, at an angle of forty-five degrees, went down to a
mysterious craggy pit, thickly grown around with briers and
shrubs, all bearing spiky thorns of the most fish-hooky and
ten-penny nail description imaginable. The _flat_ or back-scene,
suddenly lighted up from behind, presented, as a transparency,
that terrible collection of devils which you may have witnessed in
a popular engraving entitled, 'Delirium Tremens.' The Inebriate,
taking one parting drink, staggered--fell--rolled over and over
_down the hill_ into the abyss, from which flames burst forth,
red, green, and blue, and the audience were wild with delight.
Three times was Eglantine Mowbray compelled, by the rapturous
encores, to roll down that hill into the fiery pit. No wonder
that, at the last trial, there rose from the abyss a wild cry of
'I'll be _blessed_ if I do it again.'
MORAL.--When in country villages, don't talk about rôle-ing,
unless you mean to do it!
* * * * *
Since the _gilet de matin_ has superseded the _robe de châmbre_, or
dressing-gown, it is marvelous to see with what wrath the fast men,
club-men, and other highly civilized forms of humanity, pursue the
ancient garment. One of the most vigorous assaults on the gabardine in
question, comes to us as