Thursday 20 June 2024

Thursday's Serial: "Babes in Toyland" by Glen MacDonough (in English) - III

 

ACT II: SCENE: The Christmas Tree Grove in Toyland.

TOYLAND FAIR WALTZ (at the end of the number Barnaby and Widow Piper enter from arch up L.C. Hilda from down R)

Barnaby - (to Hilda) Mary's in Toyland, I'm sure of that, and we'll not go home again till we find her.

Widow - A fine dance she has lead us for three weeks!

Barnaby - (sentimentally) A love-chase for me.

Widow - Never mind, we'll make her Mrs. Barnaby yet.

Barnaby - With the aid of Isnpector Marmaduke!

Hilda - Who's he?

(Marmaduke enters from arch, unseen by others)

Barnaby - The leading detective of Toyland.

Marmaduke - (melodramatically) You have sent for Marmaduke and he is here!

Barnaby - Can you find Contrary Mary?

Marmaduke - You have sent for me because you cannot find her yourself!

Widow - (to Hilda) He's a regular mind-reader!

Barnaby - Do you think you can run her down?

Marmaduke - (With dignity) A well-bred detective never runs a lady down.

Widow - Mary was the apple of my eye. She has lips like cherries and cheeks like peaches.

Marmaduke - (Writing in note-book) Wanted--a female with a face like a fruit store. Would you like to take her dead or alive?

Barnaby - Alive for choice. She's to be my wife, you know.

Marmaduke - Must she marry you?

Barnaby & Widow - She must!

Marmaduke - (going L.) And does she know it?

Barnaby & Widow - She does.

Marmaduke - We'll begin with looking in the river. (exit down L. with Widow and Barnaby)

(Tom Tom enters from arch)

Tom - Ah, Hilda!

Hilda - Tom Tom! (they embrace) My, but your Ma's mad at you and Mary!

Tom - (surprised) Where is mother? Not here in Toyland?

Hilda - Here with your brothers and sisters and old Barnaby.

Tom - Don't say you've seen me.

Hilda - Never fear.

Tom - I'm employed as Court Crier to the Court Royal, and Mary is a doll's dressmaker at the Master Toymaker's workshop, under the name of Mlle. Elisette.

Hilda - Who's the Master Toymaker?

Tom - A great person here. He sets the fashion in dolls and toys for all the world.

Hilda - Barnaby has just engaged Inspector Marmaduke to hunt for Mary.

Tom - Follow me, we'll go to her and warn her! (both exeunt up L.)

(Marmaduke re-enters down R; Jake and Alan enter from arch)

Marmaduke - Strangers! Where did you come from?

Alan - We know where we come from, but we don't where we've got to. We were lost in a forest at our home, and after many adventures, reached a strange sea coast. A passing vessel brought us here, and we don't care how soon another takes us away.

Marmaduke - This is Toyland.

Alan - (to Marmaduke) Toyland? Were you made in Germany or Connecticut?

Marmaduke - (indignantly) I'm not a dummy. I'm a detective.

Alan - What's the difference?

Marmaduke - Do you know Contrary Mary, I'm looking for her? (Jake & Alan nod) Tell me what she wore the last time you saw her. (produces note book)

Jane - A blue and white polka-dot dress.

Marmaduke - Ah, a clue!

Alan - You'll be sure to find her now.

Marmaduke - Why?

Alan - A polka-dot dress is always spotted.

Marmaduke - Bah!

Jane - If I could only find Tom Tom, I wouldn't care. (to Marmaduke) Do you know Tom Tom?

Marmaduke - Is it anything like Contract?

Jane - No, he's a young man - very very handsome...and he has the grandest eyes and teeth and the most sensitive ears --

Marmaduke - I'm not in the least interested.

Jane - Of course everybody doesn't call him Tom Tom.

Alan - No, especially those who don't know him.

Jane - His family name was Piper, so to strangers he is Mr. Piper, but he is very very handsome, and he has the grandest eyes and teeth, and the most sensitive ears.

Marmaduke - But I haven't sensitive ears. (rushes off under arch.)

(girls begin to enter during preceding speech)

Jane - Wait, I want to tell you more about Tom Tom.

1st Girl - (looking at Jane and Alan) My dear, what fine looking things the parade has brought to town!

2nd Girl - What perfect frights, they must have fallen out of the moon.

1st Girl - Tell us where you came from?

Jane - First, I want to find out something about the place I am in! Pardon me while I go sight seeing! (exits down R)

1st Girl - And who are you?

Alan - I'm nothing yet, but when I grow up, I want to be a radio star.

1st Girl - What could you do on the radio?

Alan - I could be Uncle Don Crosby. That's something new, isn't it? Giving advice to the children in song form.

1st Girl - You mean a sort of lullaby?

Alan - Yes, just what!

SONG: Alan and chorus: "ROCK A BYE BABY" (Alan and others exeunt on number)

(Piper children enter from L. side of stage, they are playfully pulling the master toymaker after them, each child drags or carries on a toy. Possible dance here with baby dolls...or a cakewalk)

Toymaker - There! There! You have me quite out of breath, my dears. I must rest a moment. (sits on large toy block, which two of the children place C. for him)

Bo Peep - When we find Mother, she'll pay you for these lovely play- things.

Toymaker - There's nothing to pay. I am the world's master toymaker and I want to give these toys to you. Just a little rememberance in the heart of a child is more to me than anything else in the world. (a general murmur "Thank you" etc)

Bo Peep - Haven't you any little boys and girls of your own?

Toymaker - No. That's why I'm free to love all children, and to try and make them love me.

Red Hiding Hood - Do you make toys that talk?

Toymaker - Aye, talk and walk and do everything but think. I can give them everything but a soul, and some day I may give them even that. (He reads the underlined phrase, so tragically, that all the children shrink from him. Noticing their notion he immediately returns to his amiable manner) But I must go. I have work to do. (to Children) Come to my work-shop, and see all the other toys that I have there. (exits down L. Enter Widow from arch)

Widow - Ah here are my angels!

Bo Peep - See what the Master Toymaker has given us. (children show toys, Barnaby enters up L., holding Tom Tom by the wrist)

Barnaby - Here's Tom-Tom. Just caught him in the crowd. (cries of "Hello Tom Tom", "Hello, brother", from the children)

Widow - Naughty boy, where's your sister?

Tom - (defiantly) - I don't know. I don't know anything about her.

Barnaby - Tell the truth, you rascal! You ran away together.

Tom - No, we didn't. I don't know where Mary is at all!

Widow - (to children) Come, all of you, look for her. Scatter and be quick about it! Tom tom, you go with us. (Widow exits quickly with Tom Tom)

Barnaby - (to children) Hurry up! Find your sister! Be off with you!

Bo Peep - Find her for you? Not much. (The children rush off stage; Jill remains on the stage playing with the doll the Toymaker gave her, Barnaby turns and sees Jill busy with doll, sitting on the stage down R)

Barnaby - (sharply) Jill, why don't you do as you're told? (sneeringly) Precious Pet-mother's ownest! Just wait till I'M your brother-in-law!

Jill - (guying him) I could faint with joy at the prospect!

Barnaby - Badness, where do you expect to go when you die?

Jill - If it's any place where you ain't, I'll be happy.

Barnaby - (shaking his cane at her, furiously) If you were only mine! How I could box your ears! if you were only mine!

Jill - (with mock sentiment) It's hopeless! I can never be yours! (Barnaby seizes Jill's doll, strikes it, then kicks it about the stage) Help! Help! A lady's being struck -give me my doll!

(Grumio enters at top of runway over arch. Hears Jill's cries, stumbles and rolls down runway to stage)

Grumio - (picking up doll and facing Barnaby) Hold! How dare you strike a helpless female in the face!

Jill - Bless you! You have saved my child! (faints in Grumio's arms)

Barnaby - You'll hear from me later. (exits angrily under arch)

Grumio - (calling after him) Yes, do write, even if it's just a post-card. Courage, beautiful stranger--your child has only lost an ear.

Jill - My name is Jill. What's yours?

Grumio - Grumio. I'm the Master Toymaker's apprentice. What do you do?

Jill - Oh, I live a life of leisure, but I'm going to leave society and go to work. Perhaps I'll even be on relief.

Grumio - I had trouble at home too. Mother kept a butler, who objected to my wearing his evening clothes.

Jill - But didn't you ever have any other ambitions?

Grumio - Yes, I wanted to be a politician. It's the only business where you can sit down and run at the same time!

Jill - Is there any chance of landing a job here.

Grumio - Come to my master's workshop. They're shorthanded there and I can get you a place.

Jill - Can you fix my doll there?

Grumio - (holding doll so sawdust pours out) Yes, better hurry up, she may have a sawdust hemmorhage.

Jill - What'll you charge?

Grumio - My charge will be just one kiss.

Jill - All right, you send the bill to mother.

Grumio - But after I've seen mother's face, I may not want to collect it. Give me one kiss and I'll be satisfied.

Jill - No.

Grumio - You won't give me one kiss.

Jill - Yes, but you won't be satisified. (he starts to kiss her)

(Pantomine, possibly a dance speciality.)

(He is just about to kiss her, but enter the Widow and Barnaby.)

Widow - Brute! (leads JILL down stage grasping her by the ear, and Barnaby chases Grumio off stage thru arch.) You're too young to be kissing strangers!

Jill - I just wanted to find out what a kiss was.

Widow - A kiss is nothing divided by two. You got that kissing idea from the movies... from now on you'll see nothing but travelogues. (leads Jill off L.)

Toymaker - (enters with Man reading document.) You may report to me in the toyshop, in an hour!

Barnaby - (enters from arch, to Toymaker) You're the King-pin of all the toymakers, I've heard. I'd like to hire you to make a few toys for me.

Toymaker - Ah, then you love the children too?

Barnaby - Oh, I simply dote on them!

Toymaker - What would you like me to make for them?

Barnaby - A lot of dangerous toys. Toys that a child would eagerly accept. That would destroy them, and even kill them, in some clever way. (Jane enters under arch, overhears)

Toymaker - Why do you hate the children so bitterly?

Barnaby - My late sister left her two vicious bad-tempered children Alan and Jane for me to look after. What a life they've led me! Even their fortune, which will be mine in another week, could hardly repay me for the trouble they have caused me.

Toymaker - Are they dead?

Barnaby - Yes, they were lost in the forest, I've seen the last of them! (JANE exits silently) A thousand dollars, if you'll take the order. Twelve hundred! Fifteen hundred!

Toymaker - No, no!

Barnaby - Eighteen hundred!

Toymaker - No, no, don't tempt me. Eighteen hundred dollars for toys, that would kill and destroy!

(starts off L.)

Barnaby - I'll make it two thousand dollars! Just let me see you alone in your work shop, and we'll close the bargain. (both exeunt L)

(Jane and Alan enter under arch much excited)

Alan - And if we're not home in a week, Uncle Barnaby gets our fortune!

Jane - Yes, that's what I heard him say!

Alan - Now I understand Uncle Barnaby now I know him. He's as easy to see thru as a cellophane wrapper.

Jane - I'm sure he had us lost in the woods.

Alan - And lost at sea the same way. Oh, he's been playing a losing game with every way.

Jane - We must get home--we haven't a penny, what's to be done?

Alan - Or, who's to be done?

Jane - First let us change these clothes. Nobody else in Toyland dresses like this, and Uncle Barnaby will surely hear about us.

Alan - That's a risk we can't afford. We must shift our wardrobe, but how?

(Jill enters L)

Jill - Can it be? Alan and Jane!

Jane - Jill!

Jill - And a runaway just like you two!

Alan - I hope you've run away with a tailor!

Jane - Or a dressmaker.

Jill - Neither, but I've just been engaged to dress the dolls at the Master Toymaker's.

Alan - Do you think you could find anything there to fit us? We don't want to be captured.

Jill - Perhaps, some of the Toymaker's dolls are nearly as big as you.

Jane - Where are they?

Jill - (melodramatically) Follow me! (they exeunt under arch)

(Bo Peep & Boy Blue enter under arch; other Piper Children re-enter)

Bo Peep - I wonder what's become of Mary?

Boy Blue - Maybe she's married a title, and has had to go to work to support him.

(Mary enters under arch with small milliner's box under arm)

Bo Peep, Boy Blue etc. - It's Mary! (general embrace)

Bo Peep - What in the world are you doing in Toyland? (Marmaduke enters under arch)

Mary - Oh, I'm making dolls for the master Toymaker and my alias is Mam'sell Elisette.

Marmaduke - Hold in the name of the law! Stand up where you are! Hold, I say!

Mary - (ignoring Marmaduke, coming down with the group) I want to hear all the news from home. Are all the guinea pigs well, and how is the new donkey?

Marmaduke - I am here!

Mary - (looking over her shoulder) But you're not the one I was speaking of.

Marmaduke - Listen to me for a moment! Do any of you know a girl named Mary? Don't answer if it may incriminate you.

Mary - Who are you?

Marmaduke - I am the world's most famous inspector!

Mary - What of boilers?

Marmaduke - No, of the police! Describe Contrary Mary to me.

Mary - She has long bobbed hair, a lovely speaking voice, but very loud. And she cries so much her cheeks are streamlined.

Marmaduke - (taking notes) Complexion?

Mary - Fair. Just fair, and I believe at that I'm exaggerating.

Marmaduke - How was she dressed when you saw her last?

Mary - She was wearing a white fish net over black satin.... the satin was white at one time. The neck line was high with a Freddie Bartholomew collar...The back was low, sweet and lo, - there were little cream puff sleeves... with blue ribbon on the side...

Marmaduke - I don't believe --

Mary - The dress was straight to the knees, where it was gored by 8 champagne inserts to give it a waltz swing...a sort of Champagne Waltz!

Marmaduke - I don't believe I'm getting anywhere....but I am getting anywhere--anywhere away from you! (dashes off under arch)

Bo Peep - Well, you certainly tired him out!

Mary - You don't know how glad I am to see you all, but I wish Tom Tom were here....

Boy Blue - And what about Alan? Don't you miss him?

Mary - Of course I do. Oh, if you only knew how heavy my heart is.

SONG: MARY. (Mary and Children exeunt on number)

(Grumio enters from arch, carrying the head of a toy captain)

Grumio - The toy captain is busted, and now the parade is spoiled.

(Jill enters L.)

Jill - What's the matter, Grumio?

Grumio - (pointing to head) I'll be put in jail for this. This was the wooden soldier that was to head the wooden regiment he presents to the City today... I had charge on him, and when I went to wind him up, I found someone had stolen his clothes. Let me find out who did it! That's all!

Jill - (melodramatically) Twas I Grumio! (falls on knees)

Grumio - You?

Jill - Strike and avenge yourself! I took the clothes to help two old friends...

Grumio - Ah! To help old friends you ruin me! Be gone, female, and leave me to the sorrow you have brought upon me! (throws her to the ground and steps over her)

(JANE & ALAN enter in the doll costumes and exchange surprised glances and military salutes

with the other two)

Alan - (noting Grumio's red hair, aside to Jane) Looks like a bottle of Chili sauce. (aloud) Who are you?

Grumio - The Toymaker's apprentice, who is responsible for the toys that you have broken. (points to wooden captain's broken head)

Alan - The wooden captain? (to Jill) The toy I broke when I took these clothes off of him!

Grumio - The same. It's time for the parade, but I can't start without the wooden captain.

Alan - Well, I can't do without his clothes.

Grumio - (with sudden inspiration) Then by the way of paying for them, you might lead the parade yourself.

Alan - (surprised) What - me?

Grumio - That will get me out of the trouble that you have got me into. Do you think you could act like a toy soldier?

Jane - (to Alan) Of course -- just be yourself.

Alan - Jane, I'll lead the parade, and you can look for Tom Tom.

Jane - I'm sure Tom Tom isn't here.

Alan - (to Grumio) One word more, my one cylinder brained friend! If I get you out of this trouble, will you help us to get out of the country?

Grumio - Come to the work shop after the parade, and I'll arrange it!

Jane and Alan - How?

Grumio - Leave that to me! Just join the wooden grenadiers, they're ready to march!

Alan - (takes Jane's hand) Come on, we're off! (exeunt up L.; bugle call.)

Jill - Oh, the parade must have started.

Grumio - Come with me and I'll get you a seat in the reviewing stand! (Jill and Grumio exeunt)

THE TOY MARCH: (Big number and dance and black cut and change to Street scene.)

Wednesday 19 June 2024

Excellent Readings: Sonnet CVI by William Shakespeare (in English)

When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme,
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have expressed
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And for they looked but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
   For we, which now behold these present days,
   Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

Tuesday 18 June 2024

Tuesday's Serial: “Lavengro” by George Borrow (in English) - XIX

 

Chapter 37

my brother—fits of crying—mayor-elect—the committee—the norman arch—a word of greek—the church and the state—at my own expense

 

One morning I arose somewhat later than usual, having been occupied during the greater part of the night with my literary toil. On descending from my chamber into the sitting-room I found a person seated by the fire, whose glance was directed sideways to the table, on which were the usual preparations for my morning's meal. Forthwith I gave a cry, and sprang forward to embrace the person; for the person by the fire, whose glance was directed to the table, was no one else than my brother.

'And how are things going on at home?' said I to my brother, after we had kissed and embraced. 'How is my mother, and how is the dog?'

'My mother, thank God, is tolerably well,' said my brother, 'but very much given to fits of crying. As for the dog, he is not so well; but we will talk more of these matters anon,' said my brother, again glancing at the breakfast things: 'I am very hungry, as you may suppose, after having travelled all night.'

Thereupon I exerted myself to the best of my ability to perform the duties of hospitality, and I made my brother welcome—I may say more than welcome; and, when the rage of my brother's hunger was somewhat abated, we recommenced talking about the matters of our little family, and my brother told me much about my mother; he spoke of her fits of crying, but said that of late the said fits of crying had much diminished, and she appeared to be taking comfort; and, if I am not much mistaken, my brother told me that my mother had of late the Prayer-book frequently in her hand, and yet oftener the Bible.

We were silent for a time—at last I opened my mouth and mentioned the dog.

'The dog,' said my brother, 'is, I am afraid, in a very poor way; ever since the death he has done nothing but pine and take on. A few months ago, you remember, he was as plump and fine as any dog in the town; but at present he is little more than skin and bone. Once we lost him for two days, and never expected to see him again, imagining that some mischance had befallen him; at length I found him—where do you think? Chancing to pass by the churchyard, I found him seated on the grave!'

'Very strange,' said I; 'but let us talk of something else. It was very kind of you to come and see me.'

'Oh, as for that matter, I did not come up to see you, though of course I am very glad to see you, having been rather anxious about you, like my mother, who has received only one letter from you since your departure. No, I did not come up on purpose to see you; but on quite a different account. You must know that the corporation of our town have lately elected a new mayor, a person of many qualifications—big and portly, with a voice like Boanerges; a religious man, the possessor of an immense pew; loyal, so much so that I once heard him say that he would at any time go three miles to hear any one sing "God save the King"; moreover, a giver of excellent dinners. Such is our present mayor; who, owing to his loyalty, his religion, and a little, perhaps, to his dinners, is a mighty favourite; so much so that the town is anxious to have his portrait painted in a superior style, so that remote posterity may know what kind of man he was, the colour of his hair, his air and gait. So a committee was formed some time ago, which is still sitting; that is, they dine with the mayor every day to talk over the subject. A few days since, to my great surprise, they made their appearance in my poor studio, and desired to be favoured with a sight of some of my paintings; well, I showed them some, and, after looking at them with great attention, they went aside and whispered. "He'll do," I heard one say; "Yes, he'll do," said another; and then they came to me, and one of them, a little man with a hump on his back, who is a watchmaker, assumed the office of spokesman, and made a long speech—(the old town has been always celebrated for orators)—in which he told me how much they had been pleased with my productions—(the old town has been always celebrated for its artistic taste)—and, what do you think? offered me the painting of the mayor's portrait, and a hundred pounds for my trouble. Well, of course I was much surprised, and for a minute or two could scarcely speak; recovering myself, however, I made a speech, not so eloquent as that of the watchmaker of course, being not so accustomed to speaking; but not so bad either, taking everything into consideration, telling them how flattered I felt by the honour which they had conferred in proposing to me such an undertaking; expressing, however, my fears that I was not competent to the task, and concluding by saying what a pity it was that Crome was dead. "Crome," said the little man, "Crome; yes, he was a clever man, a very clever man in his way; he was good at painting landscapes and farm-houses, but he would not do in the present instance were he alive. He had no conception of the heroic, sir. We want some person capable of representing our mayor striding under the Norman arch out of the cathedral." At the mention of the heroic an idea came at once into my head. "Oh," said I, "if you are in quest of the heroic, I am glad that you came to me; don't mistake me," I continued, "I do not mean to say that I could do justice to your subject, though I am fond of the heroic; but I can introduce you to a great master of the heroic, fully competent to do justice to your mayor. Not to me, therefore, be the painting of the picture given, but to a friend of mine, the great master of the heroic, to the best, the strongest, τω κρατίστῳ," I added, for, being amongst orators, I thought a word of Greek would tell.'

'Well,' said I, 'and what did the orators say?'

'They gazed dubiously at me and at one another,' said my brother; 'at last the watchmaker asked me who this Mr. Christo was; adding, that he had never heard of such a person; that, from my recommendation of him, he had no doubt that he was a very clever man; but that they should like to know something more about him before giving the commission to him. That he had heard of Christie the great auctioneer, who was considered to be an excellent judge of pictures; but he supposed that I scarcely—Whereupon, interrupting the watchmaker, I told him that I alluded neither to Christo nor to Christie; but to the painter of Lazarus rising from the grave, a painter under whom I had myself studied during some months that I had spent in London, and to whom I was indebted for much connected with the heroic.

'"I have heard of him," said the watchmaker, "and his paintings too; but I am afraid that he is not exactly the gentleman by whom our mayor would wish to be painted. I have heard say that he is not a very good friend to Church and State. Come, young man," he added, "it appears to me that you are too modest; I like your style of painting, so do we all, and—why should I mince the matter?—the money is to be collected in the town, why should it go into a stranger's pocket, and be spent in London?"

'Thereupon I made them a speech, in which I said that art had nothing to do with Church and State, at least with English Church and State, which had never encouraged it; and that, though Church and State were doubtless very fine things, a man might be a very good artist who cared not a straw for either. I then made use of some more Greek words, and told them how painting was one of the Nine Muses, and one of the most independent creatures alive, inspiring whom she pleased, and asking leave of nobody; that I should be quite unworthy of the favours of the Muse, if, on the present occasion, I did not recommend them a man whom I considered to be a much greater master of the heroic than myself; and that, with regard to the money being spent in the city, I had no doubt that they would not weigh for a moment such a consideration against the chance of getting a true heroic picture for the city. I never talked so well in my life, and said so many flattering things to the hunchback and his friends, that at last they said that I should have my own way; and that if I pleased to go up to London, and bring down the painter of Lazarus to paint the mayor, I might; so they then bade me farewell, and I have come up to London.'

'To put a hundred pounds into the hands of—'

'A better man than myself,' said my brother, 'of course.'

'And have you come up at your own expense?'

'Yes,' said my brother, 'I have come up at my own expense.'

I made no answer, but looked in my brother's face. We then returned to the former subjects of conversation, talking of the dead, my mother, and the dog.

After some time my brother said, 'I will now go to the painter, and communicate to him the business which has brought me to town; and, if you please, I will take you with me and introduce you to him.' Having expressed my willingness, we descended into the street.

 

 

Chapter 38

painter of the heroic—i'll go!—a modest peep—who is this?—a capital pharaoh—disproportionably short—imaginary picture—about english figures

 

The painter of the heroic resided a great way off, at the western end of the town. We had some difficulty in obtaining admission to him; a maid-servant, who opened the door, eyeing us somewhat suspiciously: it was not until my brother had said that he was a friend of the painter that we were permitted to pass the threshold. At length we were shown into the studio, where we found the painter, with an easel and brush, standing before a huge piece of canvas, on which he had lately commenced painting a heroic picture. The painter might be about thirty-five years old; he had a clever, intelligent countenance, with a sharp grey eye—his hair was dark brown, and cut à-la-Rafael, as I was subsequently told, that is, there was little before and much behind—he did not wear a neckcloth; but, in its stead, a black riband, so that his neck, which was rather fine, was somewhat exposed—he had a broad, muscular breast, and I make no doubt that he would have been a very fine figure, but unfortunately his legs and thighs were somewhat short. He recognised my brother, and appeared glad to see him.

'What brings you to London?' said he.

Whereupon my brother gave him a brief account of his commission. At the mention of the hundred pounds, I observed the eyes of the painter glisten. 'Really,' said he, when my brother had concluded, 'it was very kind to think of me. I am not very fond of painting portraits; but a mayor is a mayor, and there is something grand in that idea of the Norman arch. I'll go; moreover, I am just at this moment confoundedly in need of money, and when you knocked at the door, I don't mind telling you, I thought it was some dun. I don't know how it is, but in the capital they have no taste for the heroic, they will scarce look at a heroic picture; I am glad to hear that they have better taste in the provinces. I'll go; when shall we set off?'

Thereupon it was arranged between the painter and my brother that they should depart the next day but one; they then began to talk of art. 'I'll stick to the heroic,' said the painter; 'I now and then dabble in the comic, but what I do gives me no pleasure, the comic is so low; there is nothing like the heroic. I am engaged here on a heroic picture,' said he, pointing to the canvas; 'the subject is “Pharaoh dismissing Moses from Egypt," after the last plague—the death of the first-born; it is not far advanced—that finished figure is Moses': they both looked at the canvas, and I, standing behind, took a modest peep. The picture, as the painter said, was not far advanced, the Pharaoh was merely in outline; my eye was, of course, attracted by the finished figure, or rather what the painter had called the finished figure; but, as I gazed upon it, it appeared to me that there was something defective—something unsatisfactory in the figure. I concluded, however, that the painter, notwithstanding what he had said, had omitted to give it the finishing touch. 'I intend this to be my best picture,' said the painter; 'what I want now is a face for Pharaoh; I have long been meditating on a face for Pharaoh.' Here, chancing to cast his eye upon my countenance, of whom he had scarcely taken any manner of notice, he remained with his mouth open for some time. 'Who is this?' said he at last. 'Oh, this is my brother, I forgot to introduce him. . . . '

We presently afterwards departed; my brother talked much about the painter. 'He is a noble fellow,' said my brother; 'but, like many other noble fellows, has a great many enemies; he is hated by his brethren of the brush—all the land and water scape painters hate him—but, above all, the race of portrait-painters, who are ten times more numerous than the other two sorts, detest him for his heroic tendencies. It will be a kind of triumph to the last, I fear, when they hear he has condescended to paint a portrait; however, that Norman arch will enable him to escape from their malice—that is a capital idea of the watchmaker, that Norman arch.'

I spent a happy day with my brother. On the morrow he went again to the painter, with whom he dined; I did not go with him. On his return he said, 'The painter has been asking a great many questions about you, and expressed a wish that you would sit to him as Pharaoh; he thinks you would make a capital Pharaoh.' 'I have no wish to appear on canvas,' said I; 'moreover he can find much better Pharaohs than myself; and, if he wants a real Pharaoh, there is a certain Mr. Petulengro.' 'Petulengro?' said my brother; 'a strange kind of fellow came up to me some time ago in our town, and asked me about you; when I inquired his name, he told me Petulengro. No, he will not do, he is too short; by the by, do you not think that figure of Moses is somewhat short?' And then it appeared to me that I had thought the figure of Moses somewhat short, and I told my brother so. 'Ah!' said my brother.

On the morrow my brother departed with the painter for the old town, and there the painter painted the mayor. I did not see the picture for a great many years, when, chancing to be at the old town, I beheld it.

The original mayor was a mighty, portly man, with a bull's head, black hair, body like that of a dray horse, and legs and thighs corresponding; a man six foot high at the least. To his bull's head, black hair, and body the painter had done justice; there was one point, however, in which the portrait did not correspond with the original—the legs were disproportionably short, the painter having substituted his own legs for those of the mayor, which when I perceived I rejoiced that I had not consented to be painted as Pharaoh, for, if I had, the chances are that he would have served me in exactly a similar way as he had served Moses and the mayor.

Short legs in a heroic picture will never do; and, upon the whole, I think the painter's attempt at the heroic in painting the mayor of the old town a decided failure. If I am now asked whether the picture would have been a heroic one provided the painter had not substituted his own legs for those of the mayor—I must say, I am afraid not. I have no idea of making heroic pictures out of English mayors, even with the assistance of Norman arches; yet I am sure that capital pictures might be made out of English mayors, not issuing from Norman arches, but rather from the door of the 'Checquers' or the 'Brewers Three.' The painter in question had great comic power, which he scarcely ever cultivated; he would fain be a Rafael, which he never could be, when he might have been something quite as good—another Hogarth; the only comic piece which he ever presented to the world being something little inferior to the best of that illustrious master. I have often thought what a capital picture might have been made by my brother's friend, if, instead of making the mayor issue out of the Norman arch, he had painted him moving under the sign of the 'Checquers,' or the 'Three Brewers,' with mace—yes, with mace,—the mace appears in the picture issuing out of the Norman arch behind the mayor,—but likewise with Snap, and with whiffler, quart pot, and frying-pan, Billy Blind and Owlenglass, Mr. Petulengro and Pakomovna;—then, had he clapped his own legs upon the mayor, or any one else in the concourse, what matter? But I repeat that I have no hope of making heroic pictures out of English mayors, or indeed, out of English figures in general. England may be a land of heroic hearts, but it is not, properly, a land of heroic figures, or heroic posture-making. Italy . . . what was I going to say about Italy?