It was about nine o'clock in the evening, when we entered, what Cannon
called, one of the most "respectable music halls" in London.
I discovered the "entertainment" to consist of one or more persons
standing upon a stage, before a large assemblage of people, and
screaming in such a manner, that not a word could be understood of the
subject, about which they were supposed to be singing!
To make secure, against any chance of a sensible sound reaching the ears
of the audience, several instruments of music were being played at the
same time; and the combined effect of the screams, yells, moans, groans,
and other agonising noises proceeding from both singers and musicians,
nearly drove me distracted.
When an act of this "entertainment," was over; and the creatures
producing it were on the point of retiring, the entire audience
commenced clapping their hands, stamping their feet on the floor, and
making other ridiculous demonstrations. In my simplicity, I fancied
that this fracas arose from their satisfaction at getting rid of the
hideous screaching that had come from the stage. I was told, however,
that I was mistaken in this; and I afterwards learnt, that the clapping
of hands and stamping of feet were intended to express the pleasure of
the audience at what had been causing me positive pain!
I could see that these people had really been amused, or pretended that
such had been the case; and I fervently prayed, that I should never be
afflicted with the "refinement" that could cause me to take an interest
in the exhibition which appeared to have amused them.
While the storm of applause was raging, a man would spring up, and
announce the name of the next performer, or performers--though not a
word of what he said could be heard. During this "intellectual"
entertainment, the audience were urged to give orders for refreshments,
which were served to them by men moving about in "hammer-claw coats" and
white "chokers."
For the "refreshments" partaken of, an exorbitant price was charged; and
then something had to be paid to the ghoul-like creatures who placed
them before you.
So enlightened are the people of the world's metropolis, that a man is
expected to fee the waiter who sets his dinner before him.
An unenlightened people, who live far away from London, are such fools,
as to think that when a dinner is ordered, the proprietor of the place
is under some obligation to have it set on the table; but Londoners have
reached a pitch of refinement--in the art of extortion and begging--that
has conducted them to a different belief.
After staying in the "music hall" about an hour--and becoming thoroughly
disgusted both with actors and audience--I succeeded in persuading my
friend to take me away.
Our next visit was to a "tavern," where we were shown into a large
parlour, full of people, though it was some time before I became certain
of this fact, by the tobacco smoke that filled the apartment.
In this place also, part of the entertainment consisted of singing,
though none of the singers were engaged professionally. A majority of
those present, seemed to be acquainted with one another; and those who
could sing, either volunteered, or sung at the request of the "company."
A man sitting at the head of a long table, officiated as "chairman,"
and by knocking on the table with a small ivory hammer, gave notice when
a song was to commence, at the same time commanding silence.
In this place, we actually heard songs sung in good taste, and with much
feeling, for it was possible to understand both the words and the music.
On leaving this tavern we repaired to another; and gained admission
into the "parlour." We found it filled with linen draper's assistants,
and other "counter jumpers."
Their principal amusement appeared to be, that of trying which could use
the greatest quantity of slang and obscene language. It had been
raining, as we entered the house; and a young man--too elaborately
dressed to be a gentleman--who came in after us, reported to the rest of
the company, that it was "raining like old boots."
Another well-dressed young man entertained the company with the
important intelligence, that as soon as it should cease raining, he
intended to "be off like a shot."
The individuals assembled in this tavern parlour, had a truly snobbish
appearance. Their conversation was too obscene to be repeated, yet
every sentence of ribaldry was received by the company with shouts of
laughter!
My companion and I stayed but a few minutes among them. On going out
from this place, we resolved to separate for the night, as I was quite
satisfied with what I had seen of metropolitan amusements.
There are many disagreeable peculiarities about London life. It is the
only place visited by me in all my wanderings, in which I had seen women
insulted in the streets, and where I had been almost every day disgusted
by listening to low language.
London, for all this, offers many advantages as a home. The latest and
earliest news, from all parts of the world, is there to be obtained, as
well as almost everything else--even good bread and coffee--if one will
only take the trouble to search for them.
My brother had made London his home. It was the wish of his wife--
backed by that of her mother--that he should do so. This resolution on
his part, produced in my mind some unmanly envy; and perhaps a little
discontent.
Why could fortune not have been equally kind to me, and linked my fate
with Lenore. I had wandered widely over the world, and wished to wander
no more. Had fate been kind, I might have found a happy home, even in
London. But it was not to be; and I might seek for such in vain--in
London, as elsewhere.
Might I not be mistaken? Might I not follow the counsel of Cannon with
profit? By once more looking upon Lenore, might I not see something to
lessen my misery?
The experiment was worth the trial. It was necessary for me to do
something to vary the monotony of existence. Why not pay a visit to
Lenore?
Why not once more look upon her; and, perhaps as Cannon had said, "get
disenchanted." By so doing, I might still save Jessie, and along with
her myself.
Why was the presence of Jessie less attractive than the memory of
Lenore? She was not less beautiful. She was, perhaps, even more gentle
and truthful; and I believed no one could love me more. Why then should
I not follow Cannon's advice? Ah! such struggles of thought availed me
nothing. They could not affect my resolution of returning to Australia.
The more I reasoned, the more did I become convinced, that I loved only
one--only Lenore!
Volume Three, Chapter XXVIII.