Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
In the grotesque and colossal sculptures, and the
mountainous architectural piles of the East we seem to behold the products of
an imagination struggling with conceptions too vast for its compass, and hence
endeavouring to make some approximation to the reality by heaping up the
irregular and huge invisible forms; and thus did the tortured and embarrassed
mind of this poor girl, unacquainted with the precise nature of the sentiment
it cherished, maintain a conflict with the feelings which oppressed it and
offer up an idolatry of its own invention to the object of its unbounded
veneration.
Mr. Gregory could not but perceive this change in his
daughter's behaviour, and he was more or less at a loss to conceive the cause.
He had entertained for a few days previously a faint
suspicion that Mary-Anne had peradventure formed an attachment, which would
thus account for her altered demeanour; for since her call upon Markham, had
her manners changed. But the good-hearted father was still loth to believe that
his daughter's young heart had been smitten - and for the simple reason because
he did not wish it to be so.
Although he respected Markham, he was like all parents who,
possessing fortunes themselves, are anxious that the suitors for their
daughters' hands should also be enabled to produces modicum of this world's
lucre.
He was therefore unwilling to admit in his own mind the
conviction that his suspicion was well-founded: he fancied that change of scene
or amusement would probably operate favourably upon his daughter's mind, and
bring her spirits back to their proper tone; and in this resolution was he
confirmed, when in the course of that Sunday evening,~ he saw the confirmation
of his suspicion. He could; no longer doubt :-a thousand little incidents
proved? to him, the attachment of his daughter to Richard Markham; and his
quick glance convinced him - that she was not loved by her tutor in return.
That night Mr. Gregory lay awake, pondering upon the best
course to pursue. At one moment he thought of communicating to Markham the
state of his daughter's heart (for he could not suppose that Richard was aware
of the passion of which he was' the object), and permitting the young couple to
look upon each other as destined to be one day united: - at another moment, he
imagined that it would be better to allow things to take their chance for a
short time and thereby ascertain
whether the attachment gained ground on the part of his daughter, and whether
it would become mutual (for he was entirely ignorant of Markham's love for
another); and at length he resolved upon dispensing with the services of
Richard, and trusting to time to eradicate the seeds of the unfortunate passion
from the heart of Mary-Anne.
This plan Mr. Gregory put into execution in the course of a
few days - indeed, the very next time that Richard called at his house.
"Mr. Markham," said the father, "I deeply
regret that certain circumstances, which it is not necessary for me to explain
to you, compel me to dispense with your farther attendance upon my
children."
"I hope," said Markham, "that I have given
you no cause —"
"Not at all - not in the least," interrupted Mr.
Gregory, shaking Richard cordially by the hand: then, in a serious tone, he
added, "my daughter's health requires rest - repose - and quiet. I shall
see no visitors for some time."
Markham was satisfied. Mr. Gregory had heard nothing
prejudicial to his character; but he had evidently penetrated into the state of
Mary-Anne's feelings. Richard was delighted to be thus dismissed from a house
where his presence was only calculated to destroy the more profoundly the peace
of one of its inmates :- indeed, he himself had already entertained serious
ideas of severing his connexion with that family.
"If I can at any time be of service to you, Mr.
Markham, in any way, you may command me," said Mr. Gregory, when the
former rose to depart; "and do not think that I am merely uttering a cold
ceremonial phrase, when I desire you to make use of me as a friend, should you
ever require one."
Richard thanked Mr. Gregory for his kindness, and took leave
of him, he also bade adieu to Gustavus and Lionel, both of whom were deeply
affected at the idea of losing the visits of their tutor:- but Mary-Anne had
been purposely sent to pass a few days with some friends in the country.
THE TRAGEDY
AT length the evening, upon which the tragedy was to be
represented for the first time, arrived.
Markham in the mean time had been little of the manager, and
had not attended a single rehearsal, his presence for that purpose not having
been required. Moreover, true to his original intentions, he had not acquainted
a soul with his secret relative to the drama. The manager still knew him only
as Edward Preston; and the advertisements in the newspapers had announced the
"forth-coming tragedy" as one that had "emanated from the pen of
a young author of considerable promise, but who had determined to maintain a
strict incognito until the public verdict should have been pronounced upon his
piece."
A short time before the doors opened, Richard proceeded to
the theatre, and called upon the manager, who received him in his own private
apartment.
"Well, Mr. Preston," said the theatrical monarch,
"this evening will decide the fate of the tragedy. A few hours, and we
shall know more. "
"I hope you still think well of it," returned
Markham.
" My candid opinion is that the success will be
triumphant," said the manager. " I have spared no expense to get up
the piece well; and I am very sanguine. Besides, I have another element of
success."
"What is that?" inquired Richard.
"My principal ballet-dancer, who is a beautiful
creature and a general favourite - Miss Selina Fitzherbert —"
"I have heard of her fame," said Markham, "
but have never seen her. Strange as it may appear, I never visit theatres - I
have not done so for years."
"You will visit them often enough if your productions
succeed," observed the manager with a smile. " But, as I was saying,
Miss Fitzherbert has lately manifested a passionate desire to shine in tragedy;
and she will make her
debut
in that sphere tonight, in your
piece. She will play the
Baron's Daughter
."
"Which character does not appear until the commencement
of the third act," said Markham.
"Precisely," observed the manager. " But time
is now drawing on. Where will you remain during the performance?"
"I shall proceed into the body of the house,"
returned Markham, "and take my seat in one of the central boxes - I mean
those precisely fronting the stage. I shall be able to judge of the effect
better in that part of the house than elsewhere."
"As you please," said the manager. "But mind
and let me see you after the performance."
Richard promised compliance with this request and then
proceeded into the house, where he took a seat in the centre of the amphitheater.
The doors had been opened a few minutes previously, and the
house was filling fast. By half-past six it was crowded from pit to roof. The
boxes were filled with elegantly-dressed ladies and fashionable gentlemen:
there was not room to thrust another spectator into any one point at the moment
when the curtain drew up.
The overture commenced. How long it appeared to Markham,
passionately fond of music though he was!
At length it ceased; and the First Act commenced.
For some time a profound silence pervaded the audience :-
not a voice, not a murmur, not a sigh, gave the slightest demonstration of
either approbation or dislike.
But, at length, at the conclusion of a most impressive
soliloquy, which was delivered by the hero of the piece, one universal burst of
applause broke forth; and the theatre rang with the sounds of human tongues and
the clapping of hands. When the First Act ended, the opinion of the audience
was decisive in favour of the piece; and the manager felt persuaded that
"it was a hit."
This was one of the happiest moments of Markham's existence
- that existence which had latterly presented so few green spots to please the
mental eye of the wanderer in the world's desert. His veins seemed to run with
liquid fire! - a delirium of joy seized upon him - he was inebriated with
excess of bliss.
Around him the spectators were expressing their opinions of
the first act, little suspecting that the author of the piece was so near. All
those sentiments were unequivocally in favour of the tragedy.
The Second Act began - progressed - terminated.
No pen can describe the enthusiasm with which
the audience received the
development of the drama, nor the interest which it seemed to excite.
Inspired by the applause that greeted them, the performers
exerted all their efforts; and the excellence of the tragedy, united with the
talent of the actors and the beauty of the scenery, achieved a triumph not
often witnessed within the walls of that or any other theatre.
The Third Act commenced. Selina Fitzherbert appeared upon
the stage; and her presence was welcomed with rapturous applause.
She came forward, and acknowledged the kindness of the
audience with a graceful curtsey.
Markham surveyed her with interest, in consequence of the
manner in which her name had been mentioned to him by the manager ;- but that
interest grew more profound, and was gradually associated with feelings of
extreme surprise, suspense, and uncertainty, for he fancied that if ever he saw
Ellen Monroe in his life, there was she - or else her living counterpart -
before him - an actress playing apart in his own drama!
He was stupefied ;- he strained his eyes - he leant forward
- he borrowed the opera-glass of a gentleman seated next to him ;- and the more
he gazed, the more he felt convinced that he beheld Ellen Monroe in the person
of Selina Fitzherbert.
At length the actress spoke: wonder upon wonder - it was
Ellen's voice - her intonation - her accent - her style of speaking.
Markham was amazed - confounded.
He inquired of his neighbour whether Selina Fitzherbert was
the young lady's real name, or an assumed one.
The gentleman to whom he spoke did not know.
"How long has she been upon the stage?"
"Between two and three months; and, strange to say, it
is rumoured that she only took two months to render herself so proficient a
dancer as she is. But she now appears to be equally fine in tragedy.
Listen!"
Markham could ask no more questions; for his neighbour
became all attention towards the piece.
Richard reviewed in a moment, in his mind, all the principal
appearances and characteristics of Ellen's life during the last few months,-
the lateness of her hours - the constancy of her employment - and a variety of
circumstances, which only now struck him, but which tended to ratify his
suspicion that she was indeed Selina Fitzherbert.
His attention was withdrawn from his own piece; and be
determined to convince himself at once upon this head.
Taking advantage of the termination of the first scene in
the third act, he left the box, and proceeded behind the scenes of the theatre.
But while he was on his way thither, it struck him that if his suspicions were
correct, and if he appeared too suddenly in the presence of Ellen, he would
perhaps so disconcert her as to render her unfit to proceed with the part
entrusted to her. He accordingly concealed himself in a dark corner, behind
some scene-boards, and whence he could see plainly, but where he himself could
not be very readily discovered.
He did not wait long ere his doubts were cleared up in a few
minutes after he had taken his post in the obscure nook, Ellen passed close by
him. She was conversing with another actress.
"Have you seen the author? " said the latter.
"No - not yet," replied Ellen. "But the
manager has promised us that pleasure when the curtain falls."
"He has made a brilliant hit."
"Yes," said Ellen. "He need not have been so
bashful if he had known his own powers, or foreseen this success. The greatest
mystery has been preserved about him: he never once came to rehearsal and the
prompter who copied out my part for me from the original manuscript, tells me
that he is convinced the author is quite a novice in dramatic composition, by
the way in which the piece was written - I mean, there were not in the
manuscript any of those hints and suggestions which an experienced writer would
have introduced."
"I really quite long to see him," said Ellen's
companion: "he must be quite —"
The two ladies passed on; and Richard heard no more.
His doubts were, however, cleared up :- Ellen Monroe was a
figurante and an actress!
He was not so annoyed at this discovery as Ellen had
imagined he would have been when she took such precautions to conceal the fact
from the knowledge of him and her father. Richard could not help admiring the
independent spirit which had induced her to seek the means of earning her own
livelihood, and which he now fully comprehended :- at the same time, he was
sorry that she had withheld the truth, and that she had embraced the stage in
preference to any other avocation. Alas! he little suspected what scenes that
poor girl had passed through :- he knew nothing of her connexion with the
statuary, the artist, the sculptor, the photographer, Greenwood, and the
mesmerist!
Having satisfied himself that Selina Fitzherbert and Ellen
Monroe were one and the same person, and still amazed and bewildered by the
discovery, Markham returned to the body of the theatre; but, instead of
proceeding to his former seat, he repaired to the "author's box,"
which he found unoccupied, and which, being close to the stage, commanded a
full view of the scene.
The tragedy proceeded with unabated success: the performance
of Ellen was alone sufficient to give it an extraordinary
éclat
. Her beautiful countenance - the
noble and dignified manner in which she carried her classic head - her elegant
form - the natural grace and suavity of her manners - her musical voice - and
the correct appreciation she evinced of the character in which she appeared, -
these were the elements of an irresistible appeal to the public heart. The
tragedy would have been eminently successful by reason of its own intrinsic
merits, and
without
Ellen :- but
with
her, that success was brilliant -
triumphant - unparalleled in the annals of the modern stage!
The entire audience was enraptured with the charming woman
who shone in two ways so essentially distinct, -who had first captivated
the sense as a dancer, and who now came forth a great tragic actress. Her
lovely person and her talents united, formed a passport to favour which not a
dissentient voice could question ;- and when the curtain fell at the close of
the fifth act, the approbation of the spectators was expressed with clapping of
hands, waving of handkerchiefs, and shouts of applause - all prolonged to an
unusual length of time, and frequently renewed with additional enthusiasm.
The moment the curtain fell Markham hastened behind the
scenes, and encountered Ellen in one of the slips.
Hastily grasping her by the hand, he said in a low but
hurried tone "Do not be alarmed - I know all - I am here to thank you -
not to blame you."
"Thank
me
, Richard!" exclaimed the
young actress, partially recovering from the almost overwhelming state of alarm
into which the sudden apparition of Markham had thrown her: "why should
you thank
me?
"
"Thank you, Ellen - Oh! how can I do otherwise than
thank you?" said Markham. "You have carried my tragedy through the
ordeal —"
"
Your
tragedy, Richard!" cried
Miss Monroe, more and more bewildered.
"Yes, my tragedy, Ellen - it is mine! But, ah! there is
a call for you —"
A moment's silence had succeeded the flattering expression
of public opinion which arose at the termination of the performance; and then
arose a loud cry for Selina Fitzherbert.
This was followed by a call for the author, and then a
thousand voices ejaculated - Selina Fitzherbert and the Author! Let them come
together!
The manager now hastened up to the place where Ellen and
Richard were standing, and where the above hurried words had been exchanged
between them.
" You must go forward, Miss Fitzherbert - and you too,
Mr. Preston —"
Ellen glanced with an arch smile towards Richard, am much as
to say, "You also have taken an assumed name."
Markham begged and implored the manager not to force him
upon the stage ;- but the call for " Selina Fitzberbert and the
Author" was peremptory; and the "gods" were growing clamorous.
Popular will is never more arbitrary than in a theatre.
Markham accordingly took Ellen's hand :- the curtain rose,
and he led her forward.
The appearance of that handsome couple - a fine dark-eyed
and genteel young man leading by the hand a lovely woman, - a successful
author, and a favourite actress, - this was the signal for a fresh burst of
applause.
Richard was dazzled with the glare of light, and for some
time could see nothing distinctly.
Myriad. of human countenances, heaped together, danced
before him; and yet the aspect and features of none were accurately delineated
to his eyes. He could not have selected from amongst those countenances, even
that of his long-lost brother, or that of his dearly beloved Isabella, had they
been both or either of them prominent in that multitude of faces.
And Isabella wee there, with her parents - impelled by the
curiosity which had taken so many thither that evening.
Her surprise, and that of her father and mother, may
therefore well be conceived, when, in the author of one of the most successful
and beautiful dramatic compositions of modern times, they recognised Richard
Markham!
The applause continued for three or four minutes -
uninterrupted and enthusiastic - as if some mighty conqueror, who had just
released his country from the thraldom of a foreign foe, was the object of
adulation.
At length this expression of approbation ceased; and the
spectators awaited in suspense, and with curiosity depicted upon their
countenances, the acknowledgment of the honours showered upon the author.
At that moment the manager stepped forward, and said,
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honour to inform you. that Mr. Edward
Preston is the author of the successful tragedy upon which you have been
pleased to bestow your approval. I consider it to be my duty to mention a name
which the author's own modesty - modesty which you will agree with me in
pronouncing to be unnecessary under such circumstances - would not probably
have allowed him to reveal to you."
The manager bowed and retired.
Fresh applause welcomed the announcement of the tragic
author's name; and a thousand voices exclaimed, "Bravo, Edward
Preston!"
By this time Markham had recovered his presence of mind and
self-possession: and his joy was extreme when he suddenly recognised Isabella
in a box close by the stage.
Oh! that was a glorious moment for him :