Part 12 (1/2)
MRS. CANTON.--”Dear me, that only means skipping; I don't see any great advantage in writing a chapter, merely for people to skip it.”
PISISTRATUS.--”Neither do I!”
MR. CANTON (dogmatically).--”It is the repose in the picture,--Fielding calls it 'contrast.'--(Still more dogmatically.)--I say there can't be a doubt about it. Besides” added my father after a pause,--”besides, this usage gives you opportunities to explain what has gone before, or to prepare for what's coming; or, since Fielding contends, with great truth, that some learning is necessary for this kind of historical composition, it allows you, naturally and easily, the introduction of light and pleasant ornaments of that nature. At each flight in the terrace you may give the eye the relief of an urn or a statue. Moreover, when so inclined, you create proper pausing-places for reflection; and complete by a separate, yet harmonious ethical department, the design of a work, which is but a mere Mother Goose's tale if it does not embrace a general view of the thoughts and actions of mankind.”
PISISTRATUS.--”But then, in these initial chapters, the author thrusts himself forward; and just when you want to get on with the dramatis personae, you find yourself face to face with the poet himself.”
MR. CANTON.--”Pooh! you can contrive to prevent that! Imitate the chorus of the Greek stage, who fill up the intervals between the action by saying what the author would otherwise say in his own person.”
PISISTRATUS (slyly).--”That's a good idea, sir,--and I have a chorus, and a ch.o.r.egus too, already in my eye.”
MR. CANTON (unsuspectingly).--”Aha! you are not so dull a fellow as you would make yourself out to be; and, even if an author did thrust himself forward, what objection is there to that? It is a mere affectation to suppose that a book can come into the world without an author. Every child has a father,--one father at least,--as the great Conde says very well in his poem.”
PISISTRATUS.--”The great Conde a poet! I never heard that before.”
MR. CANTON.--”I don't say he was a poet, but he sent a poem to Madame de Montansier. Envious critics think that he must have paid somebody else to write it; but there is no reason why a great captain should not write a poem,--I don't say a good poem, but a poem. I wonder, Roland, if the duke ever tried his hand at 'Stanzas to Mary,' or 'Lines to a Sleeping Babe.'”
CAPTAIN ROLAND.--”Austin, I'm ashamed of you. Of course the duke could write poetry if he pleased,--something, I dare say, in the way of the great Conde; that is, something warlike and heroic, I'll be bound. Let's hear!”
MR. CAXTON (reciting).--
”Telle est du Ciel la loi severe Qu'il faut qu'un enfant ait un pere; On dit meme quelquefois Tel enfant en a jusqu'a trois.”
[”That each child has a father Is Nature's decree; But, to judge by a rumour, Some children have three.”]
CAPTAIN ROLAND (greatly disgusted).--”Conde write such stuff!--I don't believe it.”
PISISTRATUS.--”I do, and accept the quotations; you and Roland shall be joint fathers to my child as well as myself.
”'Tel enfant en a jusqu'a trois.'”
MR. CAXTON (solemnly).--”I refuse the proffered paternity; but so far as administering a little wholesome castigation now and then, I have no objection to join in the discharge of a father's duty.”
PISISTRATUS.--”Agreed. Have you anything to say against the infant hitherto?”
MR. CAXTON.--”He is in long clothes at present; let us wait till he can walk.”
BLANCHE.--”But pray whom do you mean for a hero? And is Miss Jemima your heroine?”
CAPTAIN ROLAND.--”There is some mystery about the--”
PISISTRATUS (hastily).-”Hush, Uncle: no letting the cat out of the bag yet. Listen, all of you! I left Frank Hazeldean on his way to the Casino.”
CHAPTER II.
”It is a sweet pretty place,” thought Frank, as he opened the gate which led across the fields to the Casino, that smiled down upon him with its plaster pilasters. ”I wonder, though, that my father, who is so particular in general, suffers the carriage-road to be so full of holes and weeds. Mounseer does not receive many visits, I take it.”
But when Frank got into the ground immediately before the house, he saw no cause of complaint as to want of order and repair. Nothing could be kept more neatly. Frank was ashamed of the dint made by the pony's hoofs on the smooth gravel: he dismounted, tied the animal to the wicket, and went on foot towards the gla.s.s door in front.
He rang the bell once, twice, but n.o.body came, for the old woman-servant, who was hard of hearing, was far away in the yard, searching for any eggs which the hen might have scandalously hidden for culinary purposes; and Jackeymo was fis.h.i.+ng for the sticklebacks and minnows which were, when caught, to a.s.sist the eggs, when found, in keeping together the bodies and souls of himself and his master. The old woman had been lately put upon board wages. Lucky old woman! Frank rang a third time, and with the impetuosity of his age. A face peeped from the belvidere on the terrace. ”Diavolo!” said Dr. Riccabocca to himself.