Ringo and St. Charlia stand at the entrance to Square Street. The name comes from the Shoreditch Square built here in 1596 AD. James Burbage's "Curtain Theater" once built a stage here for open-air performances.
, once became a lively place for citizens to hang out after meals, and was accused of "people from the market gathering and making noise".
This may mean that early forms of art are often inseparable from violence, noise, shouting and riots, and these elements have been inherited by this city for nearly three hundred years. Ringer is now witnessing them with his own eyes,
Instead of just feeling it from the words in the book.
Walk 300 meters to the left and you can enter Drury Lane. The White Bird Theater is hidden behind two bronze lion statues. In the mid-17th century, when "The Peter Getter Papers" was performed here, the citizens who bought tickets were temporarily dissatisfied with the price.
The exterior wall of the theater was knocked down due to a half-penny increase. Nowadays, colorful panels stand in front of the renovated grand porch. People can take a look at tonight's plays and ticket prices as they pass by. Perhaps this move is considered to be a sign of the good news.
A certain lesson from history.
Across the street from Martin Street is the Dorset Garden Theatre. The "townies" riot that took place here in 1801 is the most recent theater riot in the modern era. The script lines of "The Renwettings" triggered the audience
Due to their dissatisfaction, before the play was even halfway through, there was a "full house protest", accompanied by "waving fists and yelling". Finally, the audience removed the seats and decorative statues and smashed the theater to pieces. A citizen who participated in the matter
Proudly claiming: This is to safeguard the purity of art and the honor of our city.
Furthermore, the temperament of the city has been more distinctly integrated in these dramatic historical events: it is natural and man-made; it is real and artistic; it is gentle, so nature is also violent. So when you see a poet beside a fountain reciting his own poem while feeding the pigeons - it may be someone else's poem; or you see a painter who is painting a portrait casually break off a twig from the flower bed next to it and use it as a paintbrush;
Don't be surprised if you see a juggler blowing his trumpet in front of the theater and startling the squirrels and sparrows in the trees.
Because this city has always been like this.
……
"It's always so lively."
Saint Xalia stood in front of the hustle and bustle of the street, listening to the arias of the city, murmuring to herself: "Since a century ago, there has never been a moment of hustle and bustle."
Lin Ge glanced at the beautiful girl and was a bit noncommittal about the nostalgia revealed in her tone: "Are you familiar with its history?"
"Perhaps I have been here before." Saint Shalia paused and then said: "I mean, before I fell asleep."
Because of her words, Ringer suddenly realized that the girl in front of him was actually the descendant of the goddess. If what she said was true, then she had already begun to overlook the world as early as the birth of civilization. Her long journey
Age is closely connected with this world, and it is an exaggerated number that is unimaginable. Perhaps in her eyes, the city of Rosting is just a young descendant.
Not to mention all the newly born humans on this street.
He looked away and said, "Let's go."
The line is still extending forward, passing through the bustling and noisy streets, passing between the gray feathers of pigeons flying down, the old-fashioned pipe organ played by wandering musicians, the painter and his smiling model... Ringo and Saint Xalia are also following.
Afterwards, it blended into the beauty and art of the city. The young lamb raised its head curiously, surveying the surrounding scene, and finally saw a statue of an angel holding a holy pot standing in the center of the fountain pool.
Ten minutes later, the line turned a corner in a remote alley, away from the crowds of people on the main road. Linge noticed that the street was deserted, and hesitated at first, but Saint Xalia had already stepped forward.
The white and clean bare feet walked past him, and the lamb bleated at him twice, as if urging him.
Young people have no choice but to keep up.
There are old-style houses on both sides, elegant and solemn in style but slightly gloomy. Different from the neat white-walled and red-brick houses in other neighborhoods, Square Street stubbornly retains the appearance of the last century, so the traces of the past era, including those heavy and dark
The moisture still lingers between their bricks and columns, growing together with moss, which sometimes makes people feel depressed.
Before walking too far, a figure in a gray robe suddenly appeared in front of him. He looked tall and strong, with long black hair tied into braids, and decorated with copper rings and other decorations, which made him look like some high mountains.
An ancient nation whose bronze skin also exudes a dusty atmosphere, half-kneeling in the middle of the road, facing a building on the side of the street, closing his eyes in silence, as if praying. In front of him is a brick
A simple shrine made of blocks and soil.
The golden thread happened to go around the man and turned into the building facing him. It seemed to be a theater. Starting from James Burbage's "Curtain Theater Company", theater has always been on Plaza Street.
An enduring pastime.
Saint Xalia was about to continue walking forward, but was stopped by Ringer's hand. The girl stopped obediently and did not rush in. She just tilted her head slightly, and there was a little doubt in her big golden and translucent eyes. "He is praying." The young man lowered his voice and explained: "At this time, it is best not to disturb him easily."
Lin Ge, who was once a pastor, knows best the weight of religious rituals in the hearts of believers. What's more, the other party can tell at a glance that he is very pious, at least more pious than him, because he is still unable to pray to his god on the street. p>
Saint Xalia nodded slightly, and a clear reply came from her lips and teeth: "Okay."
The two stopped where they were, quietly waiting for the believer to finish his prayer. The other person was still half-kneeling in front of the simple shrine, motionless, as if he was not aware of the arrival of the outsider. His praying posture was very unique.
One hand gently presses the center of the eyebrow, while the other hand is close to the ground under the feet, as if building a bridge of communication, and the side face is full of seriousness and solemn expression.
Ringer vaguely felt that this kind of prayer posture was familiar, but after all, he didn't know enough about other religions, so it was just familiar. Besides, which religion would pray to the theater? Could it be that they believe in the "god of drama"?
"God of Art" or "God of Inspiration"?
The two waited in silence for a period of time, without interrupting or talking to each other. The already remote streets and alleys suddenly became even quieter. There was not even a bird chirping, only the lamb held by Saint Xalia.
The hooves will make a rustling sound when turning over the bricks in the corner. In addition, it seems that pedestrians will not pass by and forget its existence.
After a few minutes, the man finally finished his prayer, slowly withdrew his hands from his eyebrows and the ground, then stood up, turned around and faced the direction of Linger and Saint Xalia, allowing them to see his face clearly. He has a face that has been polished by wind and frost, with square and straight facial features, and an air of calmness and authority. In the deeply sunken eye sockets, the brown eyes seem to store boundless silence and suppressed power, and they look directly at people.
, will make the other party feel a sense of oppression from the heart.
He was dressed rather ruggedly. Except for the tattered gray robe, the other clothes seemed to be made of animal skins. He also wore necklaces and bracelets made of beast teeth around his neck and wrists, which are the characteristics of plateau people.
Traditional, but compared to the brave and fierce plateau people, the man in front of him is more calm, like a mountain, standing there solidly, giving people an insurmountable feeling.
His eyes were fixed on Ringer from a distance, and his eyes were inexplicably deep.
"Now," Saint Xalia asked softly next to her, "can we go there?"
Before Ringer could answer, he heard the man in front of the theater speak and announce his home. His voice was as deep and calm as his appearance: "Fertile Land Sect, Traveler, Rochelle."
"Thank you for your understanding, strange friends."