I forget just what great
historic or mythic personage Mr. Barrett was to represent, but I know
that the earlier scenes of the play resounded with rumours of him--
accounts of the great deeds he had done, and of the yet greater deeds
that were expected of him. And at length there was a procession:
white-bearded priests bearing wands; maidens playing upon the sackbut;
guards in full armour; a pell-mell of unofficial citizens ever
prancing along the edge of the pageant, huzza-ing and hosanna-ing,
mostly looking back over their shoulders and shading their eyes;
maidens strewing rose-leaves; and at last the orchestra crashing to a
climax in the nick of which my neighbour turned to me and, with an
assumption of innocent enthusiasm, whispered, I shouldn't wonder if
this were Barrett.' I suppose (Mr. Barrett at that instant amply
appearing) I gave way to laughter; but this didn't matter; the
applause would have drowned a thunderstorm, and lasted for several
minutes.
My very eminent reader begins to look uncomfortable. Let him take
heart. I do not want him to tamper with the simplicity of his
household arrangements. Not even the one bright-faced parlourmaid need
precede him with strewn petals. All the necessary preparation will
have been done by the bare fact that this is his room, and that he
will presently appear.
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