and the growls of dogs under the feet of people who stamped on them.  The cries came from far and near, from top to bottom, from the upper boxes to the pit.  The whole was an uproar, the detail was a cry.  Ursus clapped his hands, stamped his feet, threw his voice to the end of the court, and then made it come from underground.  It was both stormy and familiar.  It passed from a murmur to a noise, from a noise to a tumult, from a tumult to a tempest.  He was himself, any, every one else.  Alone, and polyglot.  As there are optical illusions, there are also auricular illusions.  That which Proteus did to sight Ursus did to hearing.  Nothing could be more marvellous than his facsimile of multitude.  From time to time he opened the door of the women’s apartment and looked at Dea.  Dea was listening.  On his part the boy exerted himself to the utmost.  Vinos and Fibi trumpeted conscientiously, and took turns with the tambourine.  Master Nicless, the only spectator, quietly made himself the same explanation as they did—­that Ursus was gone mad; which was, for that matter, but another sad item added to his misery.  The good tavern-keeper growled out, “What insanity!” And he was serious as a man might well be who has the fear of the law before him.

Govicum, delighted at being able to help in making a noise, exerted himself almost as much as Ursus.  It amused him, and, moreover, it earned him pence.

Homo was pensive.

In the midst of the tumult Ursus now and then uttered such words as these:—­“Just as usual, Gwynplaine.  There is a cabal against us.  Our rivals are undermining our success.  Tumult is the seasoning of triumph.  Besides, there are too many people.  They are uncomfortable.  The angles of their neighbours’ elbows do not dispose them to good-nature.  I hope the benches will not give way.  We shall be the victims of an incensed population.  Oh, if our friend Tom-Jim-Jack were only here! but he never comes now.  Look at those heads rising one above the other.  Those who are forced to stand don’t look very well pleased, though the great Galen pronounced it to be strengthening.  We will shorten the entertainment; as only ‘Chaos Vanquished’ was announced in the playbill, we will not play ‘Ursus Rursus.’  There will be something gained in that.  What an uproar!  O blind turbulence of the masses.  They will do us some damage.  However, they can’t go on like this.  We should not be able to play.  No one can catch a word of the piece.  I am going to address them.  Gwynplaine, draw the curtain a little aside.—­Gentlemen.”  Here Ursus addressed himself with a shrill and feeble voice,—­

“Down with that old fool!”

Then he answered in his own voice,—­

“It seems that the mob insult me.  Cicero is right:  plebs fex urbis.  Never mind; we will admonish the mob, though I shall have a great deal of trouble to make myself heard.  I will speak, notwithstanding.  Man, do your duty.  Gwynplaine, look at that scold grinding her teeth down there.”