| 691 | 692 | 693 | 694 | 695 |
| 1 | 236 | 472 | 708 | 944 |
|
nose violently as a ventriloquist ought. Having returned his
handkerchief to his pocket, he drew the pegs out of the pulleys, which
creaked as usual as the platform was let down.
"
Gwynplaine, do not draw the curtain until the performance begins. We
are not alone.--You two come on in front. Music, ladies! turn, turn,
turn.--A pretty audience we have! the dregs of the people. Good
heavens!"
The two gipsies, stupidly obedient, placed themselves in their usual
corners of the platform. Then Ursus became wonderful. It was no longer a
man, but a crowd. Obliged to make abundance out of emptiness, he called
to aid his prodigious powers of ventriloquism. The whole orchestra of
human and animal voices which was within him he called into tumult at
once.
He was legion. Any one with his eyes closed would have imagined that he
was in a public place on some day of rejoicing, or in some sudden
popular riot. A whirlwind of clamour proceeded from Ursus: he sang, he
shouted, he talked, he coughed, he spat, he sneezed, took snuff, talked
and responded, put questions and gave answers, all at once. The
half-uttered syllables ran one into another. In the court, untenanted by
a single spectator, were heard men, women, and children. It was a clear
confusion of tumult. Strange laughter wound, vapour-like, through the
noise, the chirping of birds, the swearing of cats, the wailings of
children at the breast. The indistinct tones of drunken men were to be
heard, and the growls of dogs under the feet of people who stamped on
693
Page
Quick Jump
|