And no name more lovely for inaugurating such a
change, no memory with which I could more willingly connect any
reformation, than thine, dear, noble Antigone! Accordingly, because a
certain man (whose name is down in my pocket-book for no good) had told me
that the doors of the theatre opened at half-past six, whereas, in fact,
they opened at seven, there was I, if you please, freezing in the little
colonnade of the theatre precisely as it wanted six-and-a-half minutes to
seven,--six-and-a-half minutes observe too soon. Upon which this son of
absurdity coolly remarked, that, if he had not set me half-an-hour
forward, by my own showing, I should have been twenty-three-and-a-half
minutes too late. What sophistry! But thus it happened (namely, through
the wickedness of this man), that, upon entering the theatre, I found
myself like Alexander Selkirk, in a frightful solitude, or like a single
family of Arabs gathering at sunset about a solitary coffee-pot in the
boundless desert. Was there an echo raised? it was from my own steps. Did
any body cough? it was too evidently myself. I was the audience; I was the
public. And, if any accident happened to the theatre, such as being burned
down, Mr. Murray would certainly lay the blame upon me. My business
meantime, as a critic, was--to find out the most malicious seat,
_i.e._ the seat from which all things would take the most unfavorable
aspect.
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