Accordingly they journeyed to Portsmouth, together with Mr. Crummles and
the master Crummleses, and accompanied the manager through the town on
his way to the theatre.
They passed a great many bills pasted against the wall, and displayed
in windows, wherein the names of Mr. Vincent Crummles, Mrs. Vincent
Crummles, Master Crummles, Master Peter Crummles, and Miss Crummles,
were printed in large letters, and everything else in very small
letters; and turning at length into an entry in which was a strong smell
of orange-peel and lamp-oil, with an under-current of saw-dust, groping
their way through a dark passage, and descending a step or two, emerged
upon the stage of the Portsmouth theatre.
It was not very light, and as Nicholas looked about him, ceiling, pit,
boxes, gallery, orchestra, fittings, and decorations of every kind,--all
looked coarse, cold, gloomy and wretched.
"Is this a theatre?" whispered Smike, in amazement; "I thought it was a
blaze of light and finery."
"Why, so it is," replied Nicholas, hardly less surprised; "But not by
day, Smike,--not by day."
At this moment the manager's voice was heard, introducing the
new-comers, under the stage names of Johnson and Digby, to Mrs.
Crummles, a portly lady in a tarnished silk cloak, with her bonnet
dangling by the strings, and with a quantity of hair braided in a large
festoon over each temple; who greeted them with great cordiality.
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