Ars Recte Vivendi | Page 7

personally to the public, nothing is so fatal as indifference.
In the original Wallack's Theatre, many years ago, the Easy Chair was

one of a party in a stage-box during a fine performance of one of the
plays in which the acting of the manager was most effective. It was a
gay party, and with the carelessness of youth it made merry while the
play went on. As the box was directly upon the stage, the merriment
was a gross discourtesy, although unintentional, both to the actors and
to the audience; and at last the old Wallack, still gayly playing his part,
moved towards the box, and without turning his head, in a voice
audible to the offenders but not to the rest of the audience, politely
reminded the thoughtless group that they were seriously disturbing the
play. There was some indignation in the box, but the rebuke was
courteous and richly deserved. Nothing is more unpardonable than such
disturbance.
During this winter a gentleman at one of the theatres commented
severely upon the loud talking of a party of ladies, which prevented his
enjoyment of the play, and when the gentleman attending the ladies
retorted warmly, the disturbed gentleman resorted to the wild justice of
a blow. There was an altercation, a publication in the newspapers, and
finally an apology and a reconciliation. But it is to be hoped that there
was some good result from the incident. A waggish clergyman once
saw a pompous clerical brother march quite to the head of the aisle of a
crowded church to find a seat, with an air of expectation that all
pew-doors would fly open at his approach. But as every seat was full,
and nobody stirred, the crestfallen brother was obliged to retrace his
steps. As he retreated by the pew, far down the aisle, where the clerical
wag was sitting, that pleasant man leaned over the door, and greeted his
comrade with the sententious whisper, "May it be sanctified to you,
dear brother!" Every right-minded man will wish the same blessing to
the rebuke of the loud-talking maids and youths in theatres and
concert-halls, whose conversation, however lively, is not the
entertainment which their neighbors have come to hear.
Two or three winters ago the Easy Chair applauded the conduct of Mr.
Thomas, who, at the head of his orchestra, was interrupted in the midst
of a concert in Washington by the entry of a party, which advanced
towards the front of the hall with much chattering and rustling, and
seated themselves and continued the disturbance. The orchestra was in
full career, but Thomas rapped sharply upon his stand, and brought the
performance to an abrupt pause. Then, turning to the audience, he

said--and doubtless with evident and natural feeling: "I am afraid that
the music interrupts the conversation." The remark was greeted with
warm and general applause; and, waiting until entire silence was
restored, the conductor raised his baton again, and the performance
ended without further interruption.
The Easy Chair improved the occasion to preach a short sermon upon
bad manners in public places. But to its great surprise it was severely
rebuked some time afterward by Cleopatra herself, who said, with some
feeling, that she had two reasons for complaint. The first was, that her
ancient friend the Easy Chair should place her in the pillory of its
public animadversion; and the other was, that the Easy Chair should
gravely defend such conduct as that of Mr. Thomas. No remonstrance
could be more surprising and nothing more unexpected than that
Cleopatra should differ in opinion upon such a point. To the personal
aspect of the matter the Easy Chair could say only that it had never
heard who the offenders were, and that it declined to believe that
Cleopatra herself could ever be guilty of such conduct. Her Majesty
then explained that she was not guilty. She was not of the party. But it
was composed of friends of hers who seated themselves near her, and
when the words of Mr. Thomas concentrated the gaze of the audience
upon the disturbers of the peace, her Majesty, known to everybody, was
supposed to be the ringleader of the _émeute_. The story at once flew
abroad, upon the wings of those swift birds of prey--as she called
them--the Washington correspondents, and she was mentioned by name
as the chief offender.
It was not difficult to persuade the most placable of queens that the
Easy Chair could not have intended a personal censure. But the Chair
could not agree that Thomas's conduct was unjustifiable. Cleopatra
urged that the conductor of an orchestra at a concert is not responsible
for the behavior of the audience. An audience, she said, can take care of
itself, and it is an unwarrantable impertinence for a