CHAPTER XVIII
The innkeeper led me down to a large room the door of which he hadflung open with a flourish. "The furrin' gentleman, may it please you,sirs," he announced, and then retired.
The room was so full of smoke that at first I could see little, butsoon enough I made out a long table bordered with smoking and drinkinggentlemen. A hoarse voice, away at the head of the board, was growlingsome words which convulsed most of the gentlemen with laughter. Manycandles burned dimly in the haze.
I stood for a moment, doubtful as to procedure, but a gentleman nearthe foot of the table suddenly arose and came toward me with greatfrankness and good nature. "Sir," he whispered, so that he would notinterrupt the growls at the farther end of the room, "it would give mepleasure if you would accept a chair near me."
I could see that this good gentleman was moved solely by a desire tobe kind to a stranger, and I, in another whisper, gave my thanks andassent to his plan. He placed me in a chair next his own. The voicewas still growling from the head of the table.
Very quickly my eyes became accustomed to the smoke, especially afterI was handed a filled clay pipe by my new and excellent friend. Ibegan to study the room and the people in it. The room was panelledin new oak, and the chairs and table were all of new oak, well carved.It was the handsomest room I had ever been in.
Afterward I looked toward the growl. I saw a little old man in a chairmuch too big for him, and in a wig much too big for him. His head wasbent forward until his sharp chin touched his breast, and out fromunder his darkling brows a pair of little eyes flashed angrily andarrogantly. All faces were turned toward him, and all ears were opento his growls. He was the king; it was Fullbil.
His speech was all addressed to one man, and I looked at the latter.He was a young man with a face both Roman and feminine; with that typeof profile which is possessed by most of the popular actors in thereign of His Majesty of to-day. He had luxuriant hair, and, stung bythe taunts of Fullbil, he constantly brushed it nervously from hisbrow while his sensitive mouth quivered with held-in retorts. He wasBobbs, the great dramatist.
And as Fullbil growled, it was a curiously mixed crowd which applaudedand laughed. There were handsome lordlings from the very top of Londoncheek by cheek with sober men who seemed to have some intellectualoccupation in life. The lordlings did the greater part of thesniggering. In the meantime everybody smoked hard and drank punchharder. During occasional short pauses in Fullbil's remarks, gentlemenpassed ecstatic comments one to another.--"Ah, this is indeed a mentalfeast!"--"Did ye ever hear him talk more wittily?"--"Not I, faith; hesurpasses even himself!"--"Is it not a blessing to sit at table withsuch a master of learning and wit?"--"Ah, these are the times to livein!"
I thought it was now opportune to say something of the same kind to myamiable friend, and so I did it. "The old corpse seems to be saying aprayer," I remarked. "Why don't he sing it?"
My new friend looked at me, all agape, like a fish just over the sideof the boat. "'Tis Fullbil, the great literary master--" he began; butat this moment Fullbil, having recovered from a slight fit ofcoughing, resumed his growls, and my friend subsided again into aworshipping listener.
For my part I could not follow completely the words of the greatliterary master, but I construed that he had pounced upon the drama ofthe time and was tearing its ears and eyes off.
At that time I knew little of the drama, having never read or seen aplay in my life; but I was all for the drama on account of poor Bobbs,who kept chewing his lip and making nervous movements until Fullbilfinished, a thing which I thought was not likely to happen before anearly hour of the morning. But finish he did, and immediately Bobbs,much impassioned, brought his glass heavily down on the table in ademand for silence. I thought he would get little hearing, but, muchto my surprise, I heard again the ecstatic murmur: "Ah, now, we shallhear Bobbs reply to Fullbil!"--"Are we not fortunate?"--"Faith, thiswill be over half London to-morrow!"
Bobbs waited until this murmur had passed away. Then he began, nailingan impressive forefinger to the table:
"Sir, you have been contending at some length that the puzzlingsituations which form the basis of our dramas of the day could notpossibly occur in real life because five minutes of intelligentexplanation between the persons concerned would destroy the sillymystery before anything at all could happen. Your originality, sir, isfamous--need I say it?--and when I hear you champion this opinion inall its majesty of venerable age and general acceptance I feel stunnedby the colossal imbecile strength of the whole proposition. Why, sir,you may recall all the mysterious murders which occurred in Englandsince England had a name. The truth of them remains in unfathomableshadow. But, sir, any one of them could be cleared up in five minutes'intelligent explanation. Pontius Pilate could have been saved hisblunder by far, far, far less than five minutes of intelligentexplanation. But--mark ye!--but who has ever heard five minutes ofintelligent explanation? The complex interwoven mesh of lifeconstantly, eternally, prevents people from giving intelligentexplanations. You sit in the theatre, and you say to yourself: 'Well,I could mount the stage, and in a short talk to these people I couldanticipate a further continuation of the drama.' Yes, you could; butyou are an outsider. You have no relations with these characters. Youarise like an angel. Nobody has been your enemy; nobody has been yourmistress. You arise and give the five minutes' intelligentexplanation; bah! There is not a situation in life which does not needfive minutes' intelligent explanation; but it does not get it."
It could now be seen that the old man Fullbil was simply aflame with adestructive reply, and even Bobbs paused under the spell of thisanticipation of a gigantic answering. The literary master began verydeliberately.
"My good friend Bobbs," said he, "I see your nose gradually is turningred."
The drama immediately pitched into oblivion. The room thundered with agreat shout of laughter that went to the ceiling. I could see Bobbsmaking angry shouts against an invulnerable bank of uncontrolledmerriment. And amid his victory old Fullbil sat with a vain smile onhis cracked lips.
My excellent and adjacent friend turned to me in a burst ofenthusiasm.
"And did you ever hear a thing so well turned? Ha, ha! 'My good friendBobbs,' quoth he, 'I see your nose gradually is turning red.' Ha, ha,ha! By my King, I have seldom heard a wittier answer."
"Bedad!" said I, somewhat bewildered, but resolved to appreciate thenoted master of wit, "it stamped the drama down into the ground. Sure,never another play will be delivered in England after that tremendousoverthrow."
"Aye," he rejoined, still shuddering with mirth, "I fail to see howthe dramatists can survive it. It was like the wit of a newShakespeare. It subsided Bobbs to nothing. I would not be surprised atall if Bobbs now entirely quit the writing of plays, since Fullbil'swords so closely hit his condition in the dramatic world. A dangerousdog is this Fullbil."
"It reminds me of a story my father used to tell--" I began.
"Sir," cried my new friend hastily, "I beg of you! May I, indeed,insist? Here we talk only of the very deepest matters."
"Very good, sir," I replied amiably. "I will appear better, no doubt,as a listener; but if my father was alive--"
"Sir," beseeched my friend, "the great Fancher, the immortal critic,is about to speak."
"Let him," said I, still amiable.
A portly gentleman of middle age now addressed Bobbs amid a generaland respectful silence.
"Sir," he remarked, "your words concerning the great age of what Ishall call the five-minutes-intelligent-explanation theory was firstdeveloped by the Chinese, and is contemporaneous, I believe, withtheir adoption of the custom of roasting their meat instead of eatingit raw."
"Sir, I am interested and instructed," rejoined Bobbs.
Here old Fullbil let go two or three growls of scornful disapproval.
"Fancher," said he, "my delight in your company is sometimes dimmed bymy appreciation of your facilities for being entirely wrong. The greattheory of which you speak so confid
ently, sir, was born no earlierthan seven o'clock on the morning of this day. I was in my bed, sir;the maid had come in with my tea and toast. 'Stop,' said I, sternly.She stopped. And in those few moments of undisturbed reflection, sir,the thought came to life, the thought which you so falsely attributeto the Chinese, a savage tribe whose sole distinction is its abilityto fly kites."
After the murmurs of glee had died away, Fancher answered with spirit:
"Sir, that you are subject to periods of reflection I will not deny, Icannot deny. Nor can I say honourably that I give my support to ourdramatic friend's defence of his idea. But, sir, when you refer to theChinese in terms which I cannot but regard as insulting, I amprepared, sir, to--"
There were loud cries of "Order! Order! Order!" The wrathful Fancherwas pulled down into his chair by soothful friends and neighbours, towhom he gesticulated and cried out during the uproar.
I looked toward old Fullbil, expecting to see him disturbed, orannoyed, or angry. On the contrary he seemed pleased, as a little boywho had somehow created a row.
"The excellent Fancher," said he, "the excellent Fancher is wroth. Letus proceed, gentlemen, to more friendly topics. You, now, DoctorChord, with what new thing in chemics are you ready to astound us?"
The speech was addressed to a little man near me, who instantlyblushed crimson, mopping his brow in much agitation, and looked at thetable, unable for the moment to raise his eyes or speak a word.
"One of the greatest scientists of the time," said my friend in myear.
"Sir," faltered the little man in his bashfulness, "that part of thediscourse which related to the flying of kites has interested megreatly, and I am ready to contend that kites fly, not, as many say,through the influence of a demon or spirit which inhabits thematerials, but through the pressure of the wind itself."
Fancher, now himself again, said:
"I wish to ask the learned doctor whether he refers to Chinese kites?"
The little man hurriedly replied that he had not Chinese kites in hismind at all.
"Very good, then," said the great critic. "Very good."
"But, sir," said Fullbil to little Chord, "how is it that kites mayfly without the aid of demons or spirits, if they are made by man? Forit is known, sir, that man may not move in the air without the aid ofsome devilish agency, and it is also known that he may not send aloftthings formed of the gross materials of the earth. How, then, canthese kites fly virtuously?"
There was a general murmur of approbation of Fullbil's speech, and thelittle doctor cast down his eyes and blushed again, speechless.
It was a triumph for Fullbil, and he received the congratulations ofhis friends with his faint vain smile implying that it was reallynothing, you know, and that he could have done it much better if hehad thought that anybody was likely to heed it.
The little Doctor Chord was so downtrodden that for the remainder ofthe evening he hardly dared to raise his eyes from the table, but Iwas glad to see him apply himself industriously to the punch.
To my great alarm Fullbil now said: "Sirs, I fear we have sufferedourselves to forget we have with us to-night a strange gentleman fromforeign parts. Your good fortune, sir," he added, bowing to me overhis glass. I bowed likewise, but I saw his little piggish eyes lookingwickedly at me. There went a titter around the board, and I understoodfrom it that I was the next victim of the celebrated Fullbil.
"Sir," said he, "may I ask from what part of Italy do you come?"
"I come from Ireland, sir," I answered decently.
He frowned. "Ireland is not in Italy, sir," said he. "Are you so goodas to trifle with me, sir?"
"I am not, sir," said I.
All the gentlemen murmured; some looked at me with pity, some withcontempt. I began to be frightened until I remembered that if I oncedrew my sword I could chase the whole roomful of philosophy into thenext parish. I resolved to put on a bold front.
"Probably, sir," observed Fullbil, "the people of Ireland have heardso much of me that I may expect many visits from Irish gentlemen whowish to hear what my poor mind may develop in regard to the only truephilosophy of life?"
"Not in the least, sir," I rejoined. "Over there they don't know youare alive, and they are not caring."
Consternation fell upon that assembly like snow from a roof. Thegentlemen stared at me. Old Fullbil turned purple at first, but hisgrandeur could not be made to suffer long or seriously from myimpudence. Presently he smiled at me,--a smile confident, cruel,deadly.
"Ireland is a great country, sir," he observed.
"'Tis not so great as many people's ignorance of it," I repliedbluntly, for I was being stirred somewhat.
"Indeed!" cried Fullbil. Then he triumphantly added: "Then, sir, weare proud to have among us one so manifestly capable of giving usinstruction."
There was a loud shout of laughter at this sally, and I was veryuncomfortable down to my toes; but I resolved to hold a brave face,and pretended that I was not minding their sneers. However, it wasplain enough that old Fullbil had made me the butt of the evening.
"Sir," said the dramatist Bobbs, looking at me, "I understand that inIreland pigs sit at table with even the best families."
"Sir," said the critic, Fancher, looking at me, "I understand that inIreland the chastity of the women is so great that no child is bornwithout a birthmark in the shape of the initials of the legal husbandand father."
"Sir," said old Fullbil, "I understand that in Ireland people go nakedwhen it rains, for fear of wetting their clothes."
Amid the uproarious merriment provoked by their speeches I sat insilence. Suddenly the embarrassed little scientist, Doctor Chord,looked up at me with a fine friendly sympathy. "A glass with you,sir," he said, and as we nodded our heads solemnly over the rims Ifelt that there had come to my help one poor little frightened friend.As for my first acquaintance, he, seeing me attacked not only by theredoubtable Fullbil, but also by the formidable Bobbs and thedangerous Fancher, had immediately begun to pretend that never in hislife had he spoken to me.
Having a great knowledge of Irish character I could see that troublewas brewing for somebody, but I resolved to be very backward, for Ihesitated to create a genuine disturbance in these philosophicalcircles. However, I was saved this annoyance in a strange manner. Thedoor opened, and a newcomer came in, bowing right and left to hisacquaintances, and finally taking a seat near Fullbil. I recognizedhim instantly; he was Sir Edmund Flixton, the gentleman who had hadsome thought of fighting me in Bath, but who had refrained from itupon hearing that I had worsted Forister.
However, he did not perceive me at that time. He chattered withFullbil, telling him evidently some very exciting news, for I heardthe old man ejaculate. "By my soul, can it be possible?" Later Fullbilrelated some amusing things to Flixton, and, upon an inquiry fromFlixton, I was pointed out to him. I saw Flixton's face change; hespoke hastily to old Fullbil, who turned pale as death. Swiftly somebit of information flashed around the board, and I saw men's eyes openwide and white as they looked at me.
I have said it was the age of bullies. It was the age when men ofphysical prowess walked down the street shouldering lesser men intothe gutter, and the lesser men had never a word to say for themselves.It was the age when if you expressed opinions contrary to those of abully he was confidently expected to kill you or somehow maltreat you.
Of all that company of genius there now seemed to be only onegentleman who was not a-tremble. It was the little scientist DoctorChord. He looked at me with a bright and twinkling eye; suddenly hegrinned broadly. I could not but burst into laughter when I noted theappetite with which he enjoyed the confusion and alarm of his friends.
"Come, Fullbil! Come, Bobbs! Come, Fancher! Where are all your prettywits?" he cried; for this timid little man's impudence increasedmightily amid all this helpless distress. "Here's the dignity andpower of learning of you, in God's truth. Here's knowledge enthroned,fearless, great! Have ye all lost your tongues?"
And he was for going on to worry them,
but that I called out to him,--
"Sir," said I mildly, "if it please you, I would not have thegentlemen disturbed over any little misunderstanding of a pleasantevening. As regards quarrelling, I am all milk and water myself. Itreminds me of an occasion in Ireland once when--" Here I recounted astory which Father Donovan always began on after more than threebottles, and to my knowledge he had never succeeded in finishing it.But this time I finished it. "And," said I, "the fellow was sittingthere drinking with them, and they had had good fun with him, when ofa sudden he up and spoke. Says he: ''Tis God's truth I never expectedin all my life to be an evening in the company of such a lot of scurvyrat-eaters,' he says to them. 'And,' says he, 'I have only one wordfor that squawking old masquerading peacock that sits at the head ofthe table,' says he. 'What little he has of learning I could put in myeye without going blind,' says he. 'The old curmudgeon!' says he. Andwith that he arose and left the room, afterward becoming the King ofGalway and living to a great age."
This amusing tale created a sickly burst of applause, in the midst ofwhich I bowed myself from the room.