Of the Great Bespeak for Miss Snevellicci, and thefirst Appearance of Nicholas upon any Stage.
Nicholas was up betimes in the morning; but he hadscarcely begun to dress, notwithstanding, when he heardfootsteps ascending the stairs, and was presently salutedby the voices of Mr Folair the pantomimist, and Mr Lenville, thetragedian.
‘House, house, house!’ cried Mr Folair.
‘What, ho! within there” said Mr Lenville, in a deep voice.
‘Confound these fellows!’ thought Nicholas; ‘they have come tobreakfast, I suppose. I’ll open the door directly, if you’ll wait aninstant.’
The gentlemen entreated him not to hurry himself; and, tobeguile the interval, had a fencing bout with their walking-stickson the very small landing-place: to the unspeakable discomposureof all the other lodgers downstairs.
‘Here, come in,’ said Nicholas, when he had completed histoilet. ‘In the name of all that’s horrible, don’t make that noiseoutside.’
‘An uncommon snug little box this,’ said Mr Lenville, steppinginto the front room, and taking his hat off, before he could get in atall. ‘Pernicious snug.’
‘For a man at all particular in such matters, it might be a trifletoo snug,’ said Nicholas; ‘for, although it is, undoubtedly, a greatconvenience to be able to reach anything you want from the ceiling or the floor, or either side of the room, without having tomove from your chair, still these advantages can only be had in anapartment of the most limited size.’
‘It isn’t a bit too confined for a single man,’ returned MrLenville. ‘That reminds me,—my wife, Mr Johnson,—I hope she’llhave some good part in this piece of yours?’
‘I glanced at the French copy last night,’ said Nicholas. ‘It looksvery good, I think.’
‘What do you mean to do for me, old fellow?’ asked Mr Lenville,poking the struggling fire with his walking-stick, and afterwardswiping it on the skirt of his coat. ‘Anything in the gruff andgrumble way?’
‘You turn your wife and child out of doors,’ said Nicholas; ‘and,in a fit of rage and jealousy, stab your eldest son in the library.’
‘Do I though!’ exclaimed Mr Lenville. ‘That’s very goodbusiness.’
‘After which,’ said Nicholas, ‘you are troubled with remorse tillthe last act, and then you make up your mind to destroy yourself.
But, just as you are raising the pistol to your head, a clockstrikes—ten.’
‘I see,’ cried Mr Lenville. ‘Very good.’
‘You pause,’ said Nicholas; ‘you recollect to have heard a clockstrike ten in your infancy. The pistol falls from your hand—you areovercome—you burst into tears, and become a virtuous andexemplary character for ever afterwards.’
‘Capital!’ said Mr Lenville: ‘that’s a sure card, a sure card. Getthe curtain down with a touch of nature like that, and it’ll be atriumphant success.’
‘Is there anything good for me?’ inquired Mr Folair, anxiously.
‘Let me see,’ said Nicholas. ‘You play the faithful and attachedservant; you are turned out of doors with the wife and child.’
‘Always coupled with that infernal phenomenon,’ sighed MrFolair; ‘and we go into poor lodgings, where I won’t take anywages, and talk sentiment, I suppose?’
‘Why—yes,’ replied Nicholas: ‘that is the course of the piece.’
‘I must have a dance of some kind, you know,’ said Mr Folair.
‘You’ll have to introduce one for the phenomenon, so you’d bettermake a pas de deux, and save time.’
‘There’s nothing easier than that,’ said Mr Lenville, observingthe disturbed looks of the young dramatist.
‘Upon my word I don’t see how it’s to be done,’ rejoinedNicholas.
‘Why, isn’t it obvious?’ reasoned Mr Lenville. ‘Gadzooks, whocan help seeing the way to do it?—you astonish me! You get thedistressed lady, and the little child, and the attached servant, intothe poor lodgings, don’t you?—Well, look here. The distressed ladysinks into a chair, and buries her face in her pocket-handkerchief.
“What makes you weep, mama?” says the child. “Don’t weep,mama, or you’ll make me weep too!”—“And me!” says thefavourite servant, rubbing his eyes with his arm. “What can we doto raise your spirits, dear mama?” says the little child. “Ay, whatcan we do?” says the faithful servant. “Oh, Pierre!” says thedistressed lady; “would that I could shake off these painfulthoughts.”—“Try, ma’am, try,” says the faithful servant; “rouseyourself, ma’am; be amused.”—“I will,” says the lady, “I will learnto suffer with fortitude. Do you remember that dance, my honestfriend, which, in happier days, you practised with this sweetangel? It never failed to calm my spirits then. Oh! let me see it once again before I die!”—There it is—cue for the band, before Idie,—and off they go. that’s the regular thing; isn’t it, tommy?’
‘That’s it,’ replied Mr Folair. ‘The distressed lady, overpoweredby old recollections, faints at the end of the dance, and you close inwith a picture.’
Profiting by these and other lessons, which were the result ofthe personal experience of the two actors, Nicholas willingly gavethem the best breakfast he could, and, when he at length got rid ofthem, applied himself to his task: by no means displeased to findthat it was so much easier than he had at first supposed. Heworked very hard all day, and did not leave his room until theevening, when he went down to the theatre, whither Smike hadrepaired before him to go on with another gentleman as a generalrebellion.
Here all the people were so much changed, that he scarcelyknew them. False hair, false colour, false calves, false muscles—they had become different beings. Mr Lenville was a bloomingwarrior of most exquisite proportions; Mr Crummles, his largeface shaded by a profusion of black hair, a Highland outlaw ofmost majestic bearing; one of the old gentlemen a jailer, and theother a venerable patriarch; the comic countryman, a fighting-man of great valour, relieved by a touch of humour; each of theMaster Crummleses a prince in his own right; and the low-spiritedlover, a desponding captive. There was a gorgeous banquet readyspread for the third act, consisting of two pasteboard vases, oneplate of biscuits, a black bottle, and a vinegar cruet; and, in short,everything was on a scale of the utmost splendour andpreparation.
Nicholas was standing with his back to the curtain, now contemplating the first scene, which was a Gothic archway, abouttwo feet shorter than Mr Crummles, through which thatgentleman was to make his first entrance, and now listening to acouple of people who were cracking nuts in the gallery, wonderingwhether they made the whole audience, when the managerhimself walked familiarly up and accosted him.
‘Been in front tonight?’ said Mr Crummles.
‘No,’ replied Nicholas, ‘not yet. I am going to see the play.’
‘We’ve had a pretty good Let,’ said Mr Crummles. ‘Four frontplaces in the centre, and the whole of the stage-box.’
‘Oh, indeed!’ said Nicholas; ‘a family, I suppose?’
‘Yes,’ replied Mr Crummles, ‘yes. It’s an affecting thing. Thereare six children, and they never come unless the phenomenonplays.’
It would have been difficult for any party, family, or otherwise,to have visited the theatre on a night when the phenomenon didnot play, inasmuch as she always sustained one, and notuncommonly two or three, characters, every night; but Nicholas,sympathising with the feelings of a father, refrained from hintingat this trifling circumstance, and Mr Crummles continued to talk,uninterrupted by him.
‘Six,’ said that gentleman; ‘pa and ma eight, aunt nine,governess ten, grandfather and grandmother twelve. Then, there’sthe footman, who stands outside, with a bag of oranges and a jugof toast-and-water, and sees the play for nothing through the littlepane of glass in the box-door—it’s cheap at a guinea; they gain bytaking a box.’
‘I wonder you allow so many,’ observed Nicholas.
‘There’s no help for it,’ replied Mr Crummles; ‘it’s always expected in the country. If there are six children, six people cometo hold them in their laps. A family-box carries double always.
Ring in the orchestra, Grudden!’
That useful lady did as she was requested, and shortlyafterwards the tuning of three fiddles was heard. Which processhaving been protracted as long as it was supposed that thepatience of the audience could possibly bear it, was put a stop toby another jerk of the bell, which, being the signal to begin inearnest, set the orchestra playing a variety of popular airs, withinvoluntary variations.
If Nicholas had been astonished at the alteration for the betterwhich the gentlemen displayed, the transformation of the ladieswas still more extraordinary. When, from a snug corner of themanager’s box, he beheld Miss Snevellicci in all the glories ofwhite muslin with a golden hem, and Mrs Crummles in all thedignity of the outlaw’s wife, and Miss Bravassa in all the sweetnessof Miss Snevellicci’s confidential friend, and Miss Belvawney inthe white silks of a page doing duty everywhere and swearing tolive and die in the service of everybody, he could scarcely containhis admiration, which testified itself in great applause, and theclosest possible attention to the business of the scene. The plotwas most interesting. It belonged to no particular age, people, orcountry, and was perhaps the more delightful on that account, asnobody’s previous information could afford the remotestglimmering of what would ever come of it. An outlaw had beenvery successful in doing something somewhere, and came home,in triumph, to the sound of shouts and fiddles, to greet his wife—alady of masculine mind, who talked a good deal about her father’sbones, which it seemed were unburied, though whether from a peculiar taste on the part of the old gentleman himself, or thereprehensible neglect of his relations, did not appear. Thisoutlaw’s wife was, somehow or other, mixed up with a patriarch,living in a castle a long way off, and this patriarch was the father ofseveral of the characters, but he didn’t exactly know which, andwas uncertain whether he had brought up the right ones in hiscastle, or the wrong ones; he rather inclined to the latter opinion,and, being uneasy, relieved his mind with a banquet, during whichsolemnity somebody in a cloak said ‘Beware!’ which somebodywas known by nobody (except the audience) to be the outlawhimself, who had come there, for reasons unexplained, butpossibly with an eye to the spoons. There was an agreeable littlesurprise in the way of certain love passages between thedesponding captive and Miss Snevellicci, and the comic fighting-man and Miss Bravassa; besides which, Mr Lenville had severalvery tragic scenes in the dark, while on throat-cutting expeditions,which were all baffled by the skill and bravery of the comicfighting-man (who overheard whatever was said all through thepiece) and the intrepidity of Miss Snevellicci, who adopted tights,and therein repaired to the prison of her captive lover, with asmall basket of refreshments and a dark lantern. At last, it cameout that the patriarch was the man who had treated the bones ofthe outlaw’s father-in-law with so much disrespect, for whichcause and reason the outlaw’s wife repaired to his castle to killhim, and so got into a dark room, where, after a good deal ofgroping in the dark, everybody got hold of everybody else, andtook them for somebody besides, which occasioned a vast quantityof confusion, with some pistolling, loss of life, and torchlight; afterwhich, the patriarch came forward, and observing, with a knowing look, that he knew all about his children now, and would tell themwhen they got inside, said that there could not be a moreappropriate occasion for marrying the young people than that; andtherefore he joined their hands, with the full consent of theindefatigable page, who (being the only other person surviving)pointed with his cap into the clouds, and his right hand to theground; thereby invoking a blessing and giving the cue for thecurtain to come down, which it did, amidst general applause.
‘What did you think of that?’ asked Mr Crummles, whenNicholas went round to the stage again. Mr Crummles was veryred and hot, for your outlaws are desperate fellows to shout.
‘I think it was very capital indeed,’ replied Nicholas; ‘MissSnevellicci in particular was uncommonly good.’
‘She’s a genius,’ said Mr Crummles; ‘quite a genius, that girl.
By-the-bye, I’ve been thinking of bringing out that piece of yourson her bespeak night.’
‘When?’ asked Nicholas.
‘The night of her bespeak. Her benefit night, when her friendsand patrons bespeak the play,’ said Mr Crummles.
‘Oh! I understand,’ replied Nicholas.
‘You see,’ said Mr. Crummles, ‘it’s sure to go, on such anoccasion, and even if it should not work up quite as well as weexpect, why it will be her risk, you know, and not ours.’
‘Yours, you mean,’ said Nicholas.
‘I said mine, didn’t I?’ returned Mr Crummles. ‘Next Mondayweek. What do you say? You’ll have done it, and are sure to be upin the lover’s part, long before that time.’
‘I don’t know about “long before,”’ replied Nicholas; ‘but by thattime I think I can undertake to be ready.’
‘Very good,’ pursued Mr Crummles, ‘then we’ll call that settled.
Now, I want to ask you something else. There’s a little—what shallI call it?—a little canvassing takes place on these occasions.’
‘Among the patrons, I suppose?’ said Nicholas.
‘Among the patrons; and the fact is, that Snevellicci has had somany bespeaks in this place, that she wants an attraction. She hada bespeak when her mother-in-law died, and a bespeak when heruncle died; and Mrs Crummles and myself have had bespeaks onthe anniversary of the phenomenon’s birthday, and our wedding-day, and occasions of that description, so that, in fact, there’s somedifficulty in getting a good one. Now, won’t you help this poor girl,Mr Johnson?’ said Crummles, sitting himself down on a drum, andtaking a great pinch of snuff, as he looked him steadily in the face.
‘How do you mean?’ rejoined Nicholas.
‘Don’t you think you could spare half an hour tomorrowmorning, to call with her at the houses of one or two of theprincipal people?’ murmured the manager in a persuasive tone.
‘Oh dear me,’ said Nicholas, with an air of very strong objection,‘I shouldn’t like to do that.’
‘The infant will accompany her,’ said Mr Crummles. ‘Themoment it was suggested to me, I gave permission for the infant togo. There will not be the smallest impropriety—Miss Snevellicci,sir, is the very soul of honour. It would be of material service—thegentleman from London—author of the new piece—actor in thenew piece—first appearance on any boards—it would lead to agreat bespeak, Mr Johnson.’
‘I am very sorry to throw a damp upon the prospects ofanybody, and more especially a lady,’ replied Nicholas; ‘but reallyI must decidedly object to making one of the canvassing party.’
‘What does Mr Johnson say, Vincent?’ inquired a voice close tohis ear; and, looking round, he found Mrs Crummles and MissSnevellicci herself standing behind him.
‘He has some objection, my dear,’ replied Mr Crummles,looking at Nicholas.
‘Objection!’ exclaimed Mrs Crummles. ‘Can it be possible?’
‘Oh, I hope not!’ cried Miss Snevellicci. ‘You surely are not socruel—oh, dear me!—Well, I—to think of that now, after all one’slooking forward to it!’
‘Mr Johnson will not persist, my dear,’ said Mrs Crummles.
‘Think better of him than to suppose it. Gallantry, humanity, allthe best feelings of his nature, must be enlisted in this interestingcause.’
‘Which moves even a manager,’ said Mr Crummles, smiling.
‘And a manager’s wife,’ added Mrs Crummles, in heraccustomed tragedy tones. ‘Come, come, you will relent, I knowyou will.’
‘It is not in my nature,’ said Nicholas, moved by these appeals,‘to resist any entreaty, unless it is to do something positivelywrong; and, beyond a feeling of pride, I know nothing whichshould prevent my doing this. I know nobody here, and nobodyknows me. So be it then. I yield.’
Miss Snevellicci was at once overwhelmed with blushes andexpressions of gratitude, of which latter commodity neither Mr norMrs Crummles was by any means sparing. It was arranged thatNicholas should call upon her, at her lodgings, at eleven nextmorning, and soon after they parted: he to return home to hisauthorship: Miss Snevellicci to dress for the after-piece: and thedisinterested manager and his wife to discuss the probable gains of the forthcoming bespeak, of which they were to have two-thirdsof the profits by solemn treaty of agreement.
At the stipulated hour next morning, Nicholas repaired to thelodgings of Miss Snevellicci, which were in a place called LombardStreet, at the house of a tailor. A strong smell of ironing pervadedthe little passage; and the tailor’s daughter, who opened the door,appeared in that flutter of spirits which is so often attendant uponthe periodical getting up of a family’s linen.
‘Miss Snevellicci lives here, I believe?’ said Nicholas, when thedoor was opened.
The tailor’s daughter replied in the affirmative.
‘Will you have the goodness to let her know that Mr Johnson ishere?’ said Nicholas.
‘Oh, if you please, you’re to come upstairs,’ replied the tailor’sdaughter, with a smile.
Nicholas followed the young lady, and was shown into a smallapartment on the first floor, communicating with a back-room; inwhich, as he judged from a certain half-subdued clinking sound, asof cups and saucers, Miss Snevellicci was then taking herbreakfast in bed.
‘You’re to wait, if you please,’ said the tailor’s daughter, after ashort period of absence, during which the clinking in the back-room had ceased, and been succeeded by whispering—‘She won’tbe long.’
As she spoke, she pulled up the window-blind, and having bythis means (as she thought) diverted Mr Johnson’s attention fromthe room to the street, caught up some articles which were airingon the fender, and had very much the appearance of stockings,and darted off.
As there were not many objects of interest outside the window,Nicholas looked about the room with more curiosity than he mightotherwise have bestowed upon it. On the sofa lay an old guitar,several thumbed pieces of music, and a scattered litter of curl-papers; together with a confused heap of play-bills, and a pair ofsoiled white satin shoes with large blue rosettes. Hanging over theback of a chair was a half-finished muslin apron with little pocketsornamented with red ribbons, such as waiting-women wear on thestage, and (by consequence) are never seen with anywhere else. Inone corner stood the diminutive pair of top-boots in which MissSnevellicci was accustomed to enact the little jockey, and, foldedon a chair hard by, was a small parcel, which bore a verysuspicious resemblance to the companion smalls.
But the most interesting object of all was, perhaps, the openscrapbook, displayed in the midst of some theatrical duodecimosthat were strewn upon the table; and pasted into which scrapbookwere various critical notices of Miss Snevellicci’s acting, extractedfrom different provincial journals, together with one poeticaddress in her honour, commencing—Sing, God of Love, and tell me in what dearthThrice-gifted Snevellicci came on earth,To thrill us with her smile, her tear, her eye,Sing, God of Love, and tell me quickly why.
Besides this effusion, there were innumerable complimentaryallusions, also extracted from newspapers, such as—‘We observefrom an advertisement in another part of our paper of today, thatthe charming and highly-talented Miss Snevellicci takes her benefit on Wednesday, for which occasion she has put forth a billof fare that might kindle exhilaration in the breast of amisanthrope. In the confidence that our fellow-townsmen have notlost that high appreciation of public utility and private worth, forwhich they have long been so pre-eminently distinguished, wepredict that this charming actress will be greeted with a bumper.’
‘To Correspondents.—J.S. is misinformed when he supposes thatthe highly-gifted and beautiful Miss Snevellicci, nightlycaptivating all hearts at our pretty and commodious little theatre,is not the same lady to whom the young gentleman of immensefortune, residing within a hundred miles of the good city of York,lately made honourable proposals. We have reason to know thatMiss Snevellicci is the lady who was implicated in that mysteriousand romantic affair, and whose conduct on that occasion did noless honour to her head and heart, than do her histrionic triumphsto her brilliant genius.’ A copious assortment of such paragraphsas these, with long bills of benefits all ending with ‘Come Early’, inlarge capitals, formed the principal contents of Miss Snevellicci’sscrapbook.
Nicholas had read a great many of these scraps, and wasabsorbed in a circumstantial and melancholy account of the trainof events which had led to Miss Snevellicci’s spraining her ankleby slipping on a piece of orange-peel flung by a monster in humanform, (so the paper said,) upon the stage at Winchester,—whenthat young lady herself, attired in the coal-scuttle bonnet andwalking-dress complete, tripped into the room, with a thousandapologies for having detained him so long after the appointedtime.
‘But really,’ said Miss Snevellicci, ‘my darling Led, who lives with me here, was taken so very ill in the night that I thought shewould have expired in my arms.’
‘Such a fate is almost to be envied,’ returned Nicholas, ‘but I amvery sorry to hear it nevertheless.’
‘What a creature you are to flatter!’ said Miss Snevellicci,buttoning her glove in much confusion.
‘If it be flattery to admire your charms and accomplishments,’
rejoined Nicholas, laying his hand upon the scrapbook, ‘you havebetter specimens of it here.’
‘Oh you cruel creature, to read such things as those! I’m almostashamed to look you in the face afterwards, positively I am,’ saidMiss Snevellicci, seizing the book and putting it away in a closet.
‘How careless of Led! How could she be so naughty!’
‘I thought you had kindly left it here, on purpose for me toread,’ said Nicholas. And really it did seem possible.
‘I wouldn’t have had you see it for the world!’ rejoined MissSnevellicci. ‘I never was so vexed—never! But she is such acareless thing, there’s no trusting her.’
The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of thephenomenon, who had discreetly remained in the bedroom up tothis moment, and now presented herself, with much grace andlightness, bearing in her hand a very little green parasol with abroad fringe border, and no handle. After a few words of course,they sallied into the street.
The phenomenon was rather a troublesome companion, forfirst the right sandal came down, and then the left, and thesemischances being repaired, one leg of the little white trousers wasdiscovered to be longer than the other; besides these accidents,the green parasol was dropped down an iron grating, and only fished up again with great difficulty and by dint of much exertion.
However, it was impossible to scold her, as she was the manager’sdaughter, so Nicholas took it all in perfect good humour, andwalked on, with Miss Snevellicci, arm-in-arm on one side, and theoffending infant on the other.
The first house to which they bent their steps, was situated in aterrace of respectable appearance. Miss Snevellicci’s modestdouble-knock was answered by a foot-boy, who, in reply to herinquiry whether Mrs Curdle was at home, opened his eyes verywide, grinned very much, and said he didn’t know, but he’dinquire. With this he showed them into a parlour where he keptthem waiting, until the two women-servants had repaired thither,under false pretences, to see the play-actors; and having comparednotes with them in the passage, and joined in a vast quantity ofwhispering and giggling, he at length went upstairs with MissSnevellicci’s name.
Now, Mrs Curdle was supposed, by those who were bestinformed on such points, to possess quite the London taste inmatters relating to literature and the drama; and as to Mr Curdle,he had written a pamphlet of sixty-four pages, post octavo, on thecharacter of the Nurse’s deceased husband in Romeo and Juliet,with an inquiry whether he really had been a ‘merry man’ in hislifetime, or whether it was merely his widow’s affectionatepartiality that induced her so to report him. He had likewiseproved, that by altering the received mode of punctuation, any oneof Shakespeare’s plays could be made quite different, and thesense completely changed; it is needless to say, therefore, that hewas a great critic, and a very profound and most original thinker.
‘Well, Miss Snevellicci,’ said Mrs Curdle, entering the parlour, ‘and how do you do?’
Miss Snevellicci made a graceful obeisance, and hoped MrsCurdle was well, as also Mr Curdle, who at the same timeappeared. Mrs Curdle was dressed in a morning wrapper, with alittle cap stuck upon the top of her head. Mr Curdle wore a looserobe on his back, and his right forefinger on his forehead after theportraits of Sterne, to whom somebody or other had once said hebore a striking resemblance.
‘I venture to call, for the purpose of asking whether you wouldput your name to my bespeak, ma’am,’ said Miss Snevellicci,producing documents.
‘Oh! I really don’t know what to say,’ replied Mrs Curdle. ‘It’snot as if the theatre was in its high and palmy days—you needn’tstand, Miss Snevellicci—the drama is gone, perfectly gone.’
‘As an exquisite embodiment of the poet’s visions, and arealisation of human intellectuality, gilding with refulgent lightour dreamy moments, and laying open a new and magic worldbefore the mental eye, the drama is gone, perfectly gone,’ said MrCurdle.
‘What man is there, now living, who can present before us allthose changing and prismatic colours with which the character ofHamlet is invested?’ exclaimed Mrs Curdle.
‘What man indeed—upon the stage,’ said Mr Curdle, with asmall reservation in favour of himself. ‘Hamlet! Pooh! ridiculous!
Hamlet is gone, perfectly gone.’
Quite overcome by these dismal reflections, Mr and Mrs Curdlesighed, and sat for some short time without speaking. At length,the lady, turning to Miss Snevellicci, inquired what play sheproposed to have.
‘Quite a new one,’ said Miss Snevellicci, ‘of which thisgentleman is the author, and in which he plays; being his firstappearance on any stage. Mr Johnson is the gentleman’s name.’
‘I hope you have preserved the unities, sir?’ said Mr Curdle.
‘The original piece is a French one,’ said Nicholas. ‘There isabundance of incident, sprightly dialogue, strongly-markedcharacters—’
‘—All unavailing without a strict observance of the unities, sir,’
returned Mr Curdle. ‘The unities of the drama, before everything.’
‘Might I ask you,’ said Nicholas, hesitating between the respecthe ought to assume, and his love of the whimsical, ‘might I ask youwhat the unities are?’
Mr Curdle coughed and considered. ‘The unities, sir,’ he said,‘are a completeness—a kind of universal dovetailedness withregard to place and time—a sort of a general oneness, if I may beallowed to use so strong an expression. I take those to be thedramatic unities, so far as I have been enabled to bestow attentionupon them, and I have read much upon the subject, and thoughtmuch. I find, running through the performances of this child,’ saidMr Curdle, turning to the phenomenon, ‘a unity of feeling, abreadth, a light and shade, a warmth of colouring, a tone, aharmony, a glow, an artistical development of originalconceptions, which I look for, in vain, among older performers—Idon’t know whether I make myself understood?’
‘Perfectly,’ replied Nicholas.
‘Just so,’ said Mr Curdle, pulling up his neckcloth. ‘That is mydefinition of the unities of the drama.’
Mrs Curdle had sat listening to this lucid explanation with greatcomplacency. It being finished, she inquired what Mr Curdle thought, about putting down their names.
‘I don’t know, my dear; upon my word I don’t know,’ said MrCurdle. ‘If we do, it must be distinctly understood that we do notpledge ourselves to the quality of the performances. Let it go forthto the world, that we do not give them the sanction of our names,but that we confer the distinction merely upon Miss Snevellicci.
That being clearly stated, I take it to be, as it were, a duty, that weshould extend our patronage to a degraded stage, even for thesake of the associations with which it is entwined. Have you gottwo-and-sixpence for half-a-crown, Miss Snevellicci?’ said MrCurdle, turning over four of those pieces of money.
Miss Snevellicci felt in all the corners of the pink reticule, butthere was nothing in any of them. Nicholas murmured a jest abouthis being an author, and thought it best not to go through the formof feeling in his own pockets at all.
‘Let me see,’ said Mr Curdle; ‘twice four’s eight—four shillingsa-piece to the boxes, Miss Snevellicci, is exceedingly dear in thepresent state of the drama—three half-crowns is seven-and-six; weshall not differ about sixpence, I suppose? Sixpence will not partus, Miss Snevellicci?’
Poor Miss Snevellicci took the three half-crowns, with manysmiles and bends, and Mrs Curdle, adding several supplementarydirections relative to keeping the places for them, and dusting theseat, and sending two clean bills as soon as they came out, rangthe bell, as a signal for breaking up the conference.
‘Odd people those,’ said Nicholas, when they got clear of thehouse.
‘I assure you,’ said Miss Snevellicci, taking his arm, ‘that I thinkmyself very lucky they did not owe all the money instead of being sixpence short. Now, if you were to succeed, they would givepeople to understand that they had always patronised you; and ifyou were to fail, they would have been quite certain of that fromthe very beginning.’
At the next house they visited, they were in great glory; for,there, resided the six children who were so enraptured with thepublic actions of the phenomenon, and who, being called downfrom the nursery to be treated with a private view of that younglady, proceeded to poke their fingers into her eyes, and tread uponher toes, and show her many other little attentions peculiar totheir time of life.
‘I shall certainly persuade Mr Borum to take a private box,’ saidthe lady of the house, after a most gracious reception. ‘I shall onlytake two of the children, and will make up the rest of the party, ofgentlemen—your admirers, Miss Snevellicci. Augustus, younaughty boy, leave the little girl alone.’
This was addressed to a young gentleman who was pinchingthe phenomenon behind, apparently with a view of ascertainingwhether she was real.
‘I am sure you must be very tired,’ said the mama, turning toMiss Snevellicci. ‘I cannot think of allowing you to go, without firsttaking a glass of wine. Fie, Charlotte, I am ashamed of you! MissLane, my dear, pray see to the children.’
Miss Lane was the governess, and this entreaty was renderednecessary by the abrupt behaviour of the youngest Miss Borum,who, having filched the phenomenon’s little green parasol, wasnow carrying it bodily off, while the distracted infant lookedhelplessly on.
‘I am sure, where you ever learnt to act as you do,’ said good- natured Mrs Borum, turning again to Miss Snevellicci, ‘I cannotunderstand (Emma, don’t stare so); laughing in one piece, andcrying in the next, and so natural in all—oh, dear!’
‘I am very happy to hear you express so favourable an opinion,’
said Miss Snevellicci. ‘It’s quite delightful to think you like it.’
‘Like it!’ cried Mrs Borum. ‘Who can help liking it? I would goto the play, twice a week if I could: I dote upon it—only you’re tooaffecting sometimes. You do put me in such a state—into such fitsof crying! Goodness gracious me, Miss Lane, how can you let themtorment that poor child so!’
The phenomenon was really in a fair way of being torn limbfrom limb; for two strong little boys, one holding on by each of herhands, were dragging her in different directions as a trial ofstrength. However, Miss Lane (who had herself been too muchoccupied in contemplating the grown-up actors, to pay thenecessary attention to these proceedings) rescued the unhappyinfant at this juncture, who, being recruited with a glass of wine,was shortly afterwards taken away by her friends, after sustainingno more serious damage than a flattening of the pink gauzebonnet, and a rather extensive creasing of the white frock andtrousers.
It was a trying morning; for there were a great many calls tomake, and everybody wanted a different thing. Some wantedtragedies, and others comedies; some objected to dancing; somewanted scarcely anything else. Some thought the comic singerdecidedly low, and others hoped he would have more to do thanhe usually had. Some people wouldn’t promise to go, becauseother people wouldn’t promise to go; and other people wouldn’t goat all, because other people went. At length, and by little and little, omitting something in this place, and adding something in that,Miss Snevellicci pledged herself to a bill of fare which wascomprehensive enough, if it had no other merit (it included amongother trifles, four pieces, divers songs, a few combats, and severaldances); and they returned home, pretty well exhausted with thebusiness of the day.
Nicholas worked away at the piece, which was speedily put intorehearsal, and then worked away at his own part, which hestudied with great perseverance and acted—as the whole companysaid—to perfection. And at length the great day arrived. The crierwas sent round, in the morning, to proclaim the entertainmentswith the sound of bell in all the thoroughfares; and extra bills ofthree feet long by nine inches wide, were dispersed in alldirections, flung down all the areas, thrust under all the knockers,and developed in all the shops. They were placarded on all thewalls too, though not with complete success, for an illiterateperson having undertaken this office during the indisposition ofthe regular bill-sticker, a part were posted sideways, and theremainder upside down.
At half-past five, there was a rush of four people to the gallery-door; at a quarter before six, there were at least a dozen; at sixo’clock the kicks were terrific; and when the elder MasterCrummles opened the door, he was obliged to run behind it for hislife. Fifteen shillings were taken by Mrs Grudden in the first tenminutes.
Behind the scenes, the same unwonted excitement prevailed.
Miss Snevellicci was in such a perspiration that the paint wouldscarcely stay on her face. Mrs Crummles was so nervous that shecould hardly remember her part. Miss Bravassa’s ringlets came out of curl with the heat and anxiety; even Mr Crummles himselfkept peeping through the hole in the curtain, and running back,every now and then, to announce that another man had come intothe pit.
At last, the orchestra left off, and the curtain rose upon the newpiece. The first scene, in which there was nobody particular,passed off calmly enough, but when Miss Snevellicci went on inthe second, accompanied by the phenomenon as child, what a roarof applause broke out! The people in the Borum box rose as oneman, waving their hats and handkerchiefs, and uttering shouts of‘Bravo!’ Mrs Borum and the governess cast wreaths upon thestage, of which, some fluttered into the lamps, and one crownedthe temples of a fat gentleman in the pit, who, looking eagerlytowards the scene, remained unconscious of the honour; the tailorand his family kicked at the panels of the upper boxes till theythreatened to come out altogether; the very ginger-beer boyremained transfixed in the centre of the house; a young officer,supposed to entertain a passion for Miss Snevellicci, stuck hisglass in his eye as though to hide a tear. Again and again MissSnevellicci curtseyed lower and lower, and again and again theapplause came down, louder and louder. At length, when thephenomenon picked up one of the smoking wreaths and put it on,sideways, over Miss Snevellicci’s eye, it reached its climax, and theplay proceeded.
But when Nicholas came on for his crack scene with MrsCrummles, what a clapping of hands there was! When MrsCrummles (who was his unworthy mother), sneered, and calledhim ‘presumptuous boy,’ and he defied her, what a tumult ofapplause came on! When he quarrelled with the other gentleman about the young lady, and producing a case of pistols, said, that ifhe was a gentleman, he would fight him in that drawing-room,until the furniture was sprinkled with the blood of one, if not oftwo—how boxes, pit, and gallery, joined in one most vigorouscheer! When he called his mother names, because she wouldn’tgive up the young lady’s property, and she relenting, caused himto relent likewise, and fall down on one knee and ask her blessing,how the ladies in the audience sobbed! When he was hid behindthe curtain in the dark, and the wicked relation poked a sharpsword in every direction, save where his legs were plainly visible,what a thrill of anxious fear ran through the house! His air, hisfigure, his walk, his look, everything he said or did, was the subjectof commendation. There was a round of applause every time hespoke. And when, at last, in the pump-and-tub scene, MrsGrudden lighted the blue fire, and all the unemployed members ofthe company came in, and tumbled down in various directions—not because that had anything to do with the plot, but in order tofinish off with a tableau—the audience (who had by this timeincreased considerably) gave vent to such a shout of enthusiasm ashad not been heard in those walls for many and many a day.
In short, the success both of new piece and new actor wascomplete, and when Miss Snevellicci was called for at the end ofthe play, Nicholas led her on, and divided the applause.
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