OF THE GENT AT THE THEATRE.
WHEN the Promenade Concerts usurped the place of the regular Drama at
our theatres, and Kœnig and Musard occupied the places of Kean and
Macready—when Juliet was neglected for Jullien, Prospero for Prospère,
and Viola for the violins, the Gent was exceedingly gratified thereby.
The Promenade became his Paradise; and he used to walk round and round,
keeping his face towards the audience (admiring the young ladies in the
dress tier), with the pertinacity of the grand banners in stage
processions; which, painted only on one side, appear to be endowed with
some heliotropic principle, that causes their emblazoned surfaces to
revolve always on the same plane with the footlights. But, whilst the
Gent conceived that he was here “doing it—rather,” in the railway
trowsers and dazzling stock, he totally forgot that the true _flaneur_
would appear in something like evening costume, although he might not
altogether adopt the extreme _rigueur_.
[Illustration]
We were rather inquieted as to what the Gents would do when these
concerts closed. We made great search, and found at length that the
majority emigrated to the musical taverns, where they contrived to get
through the evening under the combined influence of Bellini, bottled
beer, and brandy-and-water; deriving additional excitement from the
novelty of seeing Somnambula performed through a haze of tobacco-smoke.
[Illustration]
But the theatre proper, is a favourite resort of the Gent, and
half-price to the boxes his usual plan of patronising it; more
especially when there is a ballet. Of the different parts of the house
he prefers the slips. If you are seated opposite, you will see him come
in about nine o’clock, and, leaving the panel door open, he stands on
the seat, with his hands in his pockets, his stick under his arm, and
thus makes his observations. Presently getting disgusted at the want of
respect shown to him by an old gentleman in front, who is watching the
performance most intently, with his head reclining on his arms, which
are again supported by the rail, and who requests that he will have the
goodness to shut the door, the Gent walks grandly away, and goes round
to the other side, evidently conceiving that his dignity has been hurt.
Here the same process of observation is repeated; and, if the Gent sees
a pretty girl in a private box, he stares unflinchingly at her, until he
thinks he has made an impression. And this is a strange lunatic notion
with Gents of every degree: they believe they have powers to fascinate
every female upon whom they cast their eyes, never thinking of the utter
contempt always excited by such obtrusiveness on the part of an entire
stranger.
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