_Dec. 26_--Colonel Goldsworthy ran on, till General Bude reminded him it
was time they should appear in the concert-room.
“Ay,” cried he, reluctantly, “now for the fiddlers! There I go, plant
myself against the side of the chimney, stand first on one foot, then
on the other, hear over and over again all that fine squeaking, and then
fall fast asleep, and escape by mere miracle from flouncing down plump
in all their faces.”
“What would the queen say if you did that?”
“O, ma'am, the queen would know nothing of the matter; she'd only
suppose it some old double bass that tumbled.”
“Why, could not she see what it was?”
“O no! ma'am, we are never in the room with the queen! that's the
drawing-room, beyond, where the queen sits; we go no farther than
the fiddling-room. As to the queen, we don't see her week after week
sometimes. The king, indeed, comes there to us, between whiles,
though that's all as it happens, now Price is gone. He used to play at
backgammon with Price.”
“Then what do you do there?”
“Just what I tell you--nothing at all, but stand as furniture. But the
worst is, sometimes, when my poor eye-peepers are not quite closed, I
look to the music-books to see what's coming; and there I read 'Chorus
of Virgins:' so then, when they begin, I look about me. A chorus of
virgins, indeed! why, there's nothing but ten or a dozen fiddlers! not
a soul beside! it's as true as I'm alive! So then, when we've stood
supporting the chimney-piece about two hours, why then, if I'm not
called upon, I shuffle back out of the room, make a profound bow to the
harpsichord, and I'm off.”