She is virtuous, though bred behind the scenes: and, whatever pleasure
she may feel in seeing herself applauded on the stage, she would much
rather pass for a modest girl, than for a good actress. GIL BLAS.
"My father," said Eugenia, "was at the head of this company of strolling
players; my mother was a young lady of respectable family, at a
boarding-school. She took a fancy to my father in the character of
Rolla; and being, of course, deservedly forsaken by her friends, became
a prima donna. I was the only fruits of this connection, and the only
solace of my mother in her affliction, for she bitterly repented the
rash step she had taken.
"At five years old, my father proposed that I should take the character
of Cupid, in the opera of `Telemaque.' To this my mother strongly
objected, declaring that I never should go upon the stage; and this
created a disunion which was daily embittered by my father's unkind
treatment, both of my mother and myself. I never left her side for fear
of a kick, which I was sure to receive when I had not her protection.
She employed all her spare time in my instruction, and, notwithstanding
the folly she had been guilty of, she was fully competent to the task.
"When I was seven years old, a relation of my mother died, and
bequeathed fifteen thousand pounds, to be equally divided between her
and her two sisters, securing my mother's portion in such a manner as to
prevent my father having any control over it. As soon as my mother
obtained this information, she quitted my father, who was too prudent to
spend either his time or his money in pursuit of her. Had he been aware
of her sudden change of fortune, he might have acted differently.
"We arrived in London, took possession of the property, which was all in
the funds; and then, fearing my father might gain information of her
wealth, my mother set off for France, taking me with her. There I
passed the happiest days of my life; my mother spared no pains, and went
to considerable expense in my education. The best masters were provided
for me in singing, dancing, and music; and so much did I profit by their
instruction, that I was very soon considered a pretty specimen of my
countrywomen, and much noticed accordingly.
"From France we went to Italy, where we remained two years, and where my
vocal education was completed. My poor mother lived all this time on
the principal of her fortune, concluding it would last for ever. At
last she was taken ill of a fever, and died. This was about a year ago,
when I was only sixteen. Delirious many days before her death, she
could give me no instructions as to my future conduct, or where to apply
for resources. I happened, however, to know her banker in London, and
wrote to him immediately; in answer, he informed me that a balance of
forty pounds was all that remained in his hands.
"I believe he cheated me, but I could not help it. My spirits were not
depressed at this news; I sold all the furniture; paid the little debts
to the tradespeople, and, with nine pounds in my pocket, took my place
in the diligence, and set off for London, where I arrived without
accident. I read in the newspaper, at the inn, that a provincial
company was in want of a young actress for genteel comedy. My mother's
original passion for the stage never left her; and, during our stay in
France, we amused ourselves with _la petite comedie_, in which I always
took a part.
"Without resources, I thought a precarious mode of obtaining a
livelihood was better than a vicious one, and determined to try my
fortune on the stage: so I ordered a hack, and drove to the office
indicated. I felt a degree of comfort when I discovered that my father
was the advertising manager, although I was certain he would never
recognise me. I was engaged by the agent, the bargain was approved of,
and in a day or two after, was ordered to a country town some miles from
the metropolis.
"I arrived; my father did not know me, nor did I wish that he should, as
I did not intend to remain long in the company. In short, I aspired to
the London boards; but aware that I wanted practice, without which it
would have been useless to have offered myself, I accepted this
situation without delay, and applied with great assiduity to the study
of my profession. My father, I found, had married again; and my joining
the company added nothing to his domestic harmony, my stepmother
becoming immoderately jealous of me; but I took good care to keep my own
secret, and never exposed myself for one moment to any suspicion of my
character, which hitherto, thank Heaven, has been pure, though I am
exposed to a thousand temptations, and beset by the actors to become the
wife of one, or the mistress of another.
"Among those who proposed the latter was my honoured father, to whom, on
that account, I was one day on the point of revealing the secret of my
birth, as the only means of saving myself from his importunities. He
was at last taken ill, and died only three months ago, not before I had
completed my engagements, and obtained an increased salary of one guinea
and a half per week. It is my intention to quit the company at the
expiration of my present term, which will take place in two months, for
I am miserable here, although I am quite at a loss to know what will be
my future destination."
In return for her confidence I imparted as much of my history as I
thought it necessary for her to know. I became deeply fascinated,--I
forgot Miss Somerville, and answered my father's letter respectfully and
kindly. He informed me that, he had procured my name to be entered on
the books of the guard-ship at Spithead; but that I might gain time to
loiter by the side of Eugenia, I begged his permission to join my ship
without returning home, alleging, as a reason, that delay would soften
down any asperity of feeling occasioned by the late fracas. This, in
his answer, he agreed to, enclosing a handsome remittance; and the same
post brought a pressing invitation from Mr Somerville to come to
--- Hall.
My little actress informed me that the company would set out in two days
for the neighbourhood of Portsmouth; and, as I found that they would be
more than a fortnight in travelling, I determined to accept the
invitation, and quit her for the present. I had been more than a week
in her society. At parting, I professed my admiration and love.
Silence, and a starting tear, were her only acknowledgement. I saw that
she was not displeased; and I left her with joyful anticipations.
But what did I anticipate, as I rolled heedlessly along in the chaise to
--- Hall? Sensual gratification at the expense of a poor defenceless
orphan, whose future life would be clouded with misery. I could see my
wickedness, and moralise upon it; but the devil was triumphant within
me, and I consoled myself with the vulgar adage, "Needs must when the
devil drives." Then I dismissed the subject to think of Emily, whose
residence was now in sight.
I arrived at --- Hall, was kindly received and welcomed by both father
and mother: but on this visit I must not dwell. When I reflect on it, I
hate myself and human nature! Could I be trusted? yet I inspired
unbounded confidence. Was I not as vicious as one of my age could be?
Yet I made them believe I was almost perfection. Did I deserve to be
happy? Yet I was so, and more so than I had ever been before, or have
been since. I was like the serpent in Eden, though without his vile
intentions. Beauty and virtue united to keep my passions in subjection.
When they had nothing to feed on, they concealed themselves in the
inmost recesses of my bosom.
Had I remained always with Emily, I should have been reclaimed; but when
I quitted her I lost all my good feelings and good resolutions; not,
however, before the bright image of virtue had lighted up in my bosom a
holy flame, which has never been entirely extinguished. Occasionally
dimmed, it has afterwards burnt up with renewed brightness; and, as a
beacon-light, has often guided me through perils, that might have
overwhelmed me.
Compelled at last to quit this earthly paradise, I told her, at parting,
that I loved her, adored her; and to prove that I was in earnest, and
that she believed me, I obtained a lock of her hair. When I left
--- Hall, it was my intention to have joined my ship, as I had agreed
with my father; but the temptation to follow up my success with the fair
and unfortunate Eugenia, was too strong to be resisted; at least I
thought so, and therefore hardly made an effort to conquer it. True I
did, pro forma, make appearance on board the guard-ship, had my name
entered on the books, that I might not lose my time of servitude, and
that I might also deceive my father. All this being duly accomplished,
I obtained leave of absence from my first lieutenant, an old
acquaintance, who, in a ship crowded with supernumerary midshipmen, was
but too happy in getting rid of me and my chest.
I hastened to the rendezvous, and found the company in full activity.
Eugenia, when we parted, expressed a wish that our acquaintance might
not be renewed. She feared for her own character as well as mine, and
very sensibly and feelingly observed that my professional prospects
might be blasted; but, having made up my mind, I had an answer to all
objections. I presented myself to the manager, and requested to be
admitted into the company.
Having taken this step, Eugenia saw that my attachment was not to be
overcome; that I was willing to make any sacrifice for her. I was
accepted; my salary was fixed at one guinea per week, with seven
shillings extra for playing the flute. I was indebted for my ready
admission into this society to my voice: the manager wanted a first
singer. My talent in this science was much admired. I signed my
agreement the same evening for two months; and being presented in due
form to my brethren of the buskin, joined the supper-table, where there
was more of abundance than of delicacies. I sat by Eugenia, whose
decided preference for me excited the jealousy of my new associates. I
measured them all with my eye, and calculated that, with fair play, I
was the best man among them.
The play-bills announced the tragedy of "Romeo and Juliet." I was to be
the hero, and four days were allowed me to prepare myself. The whole of
that time was passed in the company of Eugenia, who, while she gave me
unequivocal proofs of attachment, admitted of no freedom. The day of
rehearsal arrived, I was found perfect, and loudly applauded by the
company. Six o'clock came, the curtain rose, and sixteen tallow candles
displayed my person to an audience of about one hundred people.
No one who has not been in the situation can form any idea of the
nervous feeling of a _debutant_ on such an occasion. The troupe, with
the exception of Eugenia, was of a description of persons whom I
despise, and the audience mostly clodhoppers, who could scarcely read or
write; yet I was abashed, and acquitted myself badly, until the balcony
scene, when I became enlivened and invigorated by the presence and
smiles of my mistress. In the art of love-making I was at home,
particularly with the Juliet of that night. I entered at once into the
spirit of the great dramatist, and the curtain dropped amidst thunders
of applause. My name was announced for a repetition of the play, and I
was dragged forward before the curtain, to thank the grocers,
tallow-chandlers, cheesemongers, and plough-men for the great honour
they had done me. Heavens! how I felt the degradation; but it was too
late.
The natural result of this constant intercourse with Eugenia, may easily
be anticipated. I do not attempt to extenuate my fault--it was
inexcusable, and has brought its punishment; but for poor, forlorn
Eugenia I plead; her virtue fell before my _importunity_ and my personal
appearance. She fell a victim to those unhappy circumstances of which I
basely took the advantage. Two months I had lived with her, as man and
wife; I forgot my family, profession, and even Emily. I was now upon
the ship's books: and though no one knew anything of me, my father was
ignorant of my absence from my ship--everything was sacrificed to
Eugenia. I acted with her, strolled the fields, and vowed volumes of
stuff about constancy. When we played, we filled the house; and some of
the more respectable townspeople offered to introduce us to the London
boards, but this we both declined. We cared for nothing but the society
of each other.
And now that time has cooled the youthful ardour that carried me away,
let me do justice to this unfortunate girl. She was the most natural,
unaffected and gifted person I ever met with. Boundless wit, enchanting
liveliness, a strong mind, and self-devotion towards me, the first and,
I firmly believe, the only object she ever loved; and her love for me
ceased only with her life. Her faults, though not to be defended, may
be palliated and deplored, because they were the defects of education.
Her infant days were passed in scenes of domestic strife, profligacy,
and penury; her maturer years, under the guidance of a weak mother, were
employed in polishing, not strengthening, the edifice of her
understanding, and the external ornaments only served to accelerate the
fall of the fabric, and to increase the calamity.
Bred up in France, and almost in the fervour of the Revolution, she had
imbibed some of its libertine opinions; among others, that marriage was
a civil contract, and if entered into at all, might be broken at the
pleasure of either party. This idea was strengthened and confirmed in
her by the instances she had seen of matrimonial discord, particularly
in her own family. When two people, who fancied they loved, had bound
themselves by an indissoluble knot, they felt from that time the
irksomeness of restraint, which they would never have felt if they had
possessed the power of separation; and would have lived happily together
if they had not been compelled to do it. "How long you, my dear Frank,"
said Eugenia to me one day, "may continue to love me, I know not; but
the moment you cease to love me, it were better that we parted."
These were certainly the sentiments of an enthusiast; but Eugenia lived
long enough to acknowledge her error, and to bewail its fatal effects on
her peace of mind. I was awoke from this dream of happiness by a
curious incident. I thought it disastrous at the time, but am now
convinced that it was fraught with good, since it brought me back to my
profession, recalled me to a sense of duty, and showed me the full
extent of my disgraceful situation. My father, it appears, was still
ignorant of my absence from my ship, and had come down, without my
knowledge, on a visit to a friend in the neighbourhood. Hearing of the
"interesting young man" who had acquired so much credit in the character
of Apollo, as well as of Romeo, he was persuaded to see the performance.
I was in the act of singing "Pray Goody," when my eyes suddenly met
those of my papa, who was staring like the head of Gorgon; and though
his gaze did not turn me to stone, it turned me sick. I was stupified,
forgot my part, ran off, and left the manager and the music to make the
best of it. My father, who could hardly believe his eyes, was convinced
when he saw my confusion. I ran into the dressing-room, where, before I
had time to divest myself of Apollo's crown and petticoat, I was
accosted by my enraged parent, and it is quite impossible for me to
describe (taking my costume into consideration) how very much like a
fool I looked.
My father sternly demanded how long I had been thus honourably employed.
This was a question which I had anticipated, and, therefore, very
readily replied, "Only two or three days;" that I had left Portsmouth
for what we called "a lark," and I thought it very amusing.
"Very amusing, indeed, sir," said my father; "and, pray, may I venture
to inquire, without the fear of having a lie told me, how long this
`lark,' as you call it, is to continue?"
"Oh, to-morrow," said I, "my leave expires, and then I must return to my
ship."
"Allow me the honour of keeping your company," said my father; "and I
shall beg your captain to impose some little restraint as to time and
distance on your future excursions."
Then, rising in his tone, he added, "I am ashamed of you, sir, the son
of a gentleman is not likely to reap any advantage from the society of
strolling vagabonds and prostitutes. I had reason to think, by your
last letters from Portsmouth, that you were very differently employed."
To this very sensible and parental reproof I answered with a demure and
innocent countenance (for I soon regained my presence of mind) that I
did not think there had been any harm in doing that which most of the
officers of the navy did at one time or another (an assertion,
by-the-by, much too general); that we often got up plays on board of
ship, and that I wanted to practise.
"Practise then with your equals," said my father, "not in company with
rogues and street-walkers."
I felt that the latter name was meant for Eugenia, and was very
indignant; but fortunately kept all my anger within board, and, knowing
I was "all in the wrong," allowed my father to fire away without
returning a shot. He concluded his lecture by commanding me to call
upon him the next morning, at ten o'clock, and left me to change my
dress, and to regain my good humour. I need not add that I did not
return to the stage that night, but left the manager to make his peace
with the audience in any way he thought proper.
When I informed Eugenia of the evening's adventure, she was
inconsolable: to comfort her, I offered to give up my family and my
profession, and live with her. At these words Eugenia suddenly
recollected herself. "Frank," said she, "all that has happened is
right. We are both wrong. I felt that I was too happy, and shut my
eyes to the danger I dared not face. Your father is a man of sense; his
object is to reclaim you from inevitable ruin. As for me, if he knew of
our connection, he could only despise me. He sees his son living with
strolling players; and it is his duty to cut the chain, no matter by
what means. You have an honourable and distinguished career marked out
for you; I will never be an obstacle to your father's just ambition or
your prosperity. I did hope for a happier destiny; but love blinded my
eyes: I am now undeceived. If your father cannot respect me, he shall
at least admire the resolution of the unhappy Eugenia. I have tenderly
loved you, my dearest Frank, and never have loved any other, nor ever
shall; but part we must, Heaven only knows for how long a time. I am
ready to make every sacrifice to your fame and character--the only proof
I can give of my unbounded love for you."
I embraced her as she uttered these words; and we spent a great part of
the night in making preparations for my departure, arrangements for our
future correspondence, and, if possible, for our future meetings. I
left her early on the following morning; and with a heavy, I had almost
said, a broken heart, appeared before my father. He was, no doubt,
aware of my attachment and the violence of my passions, and prudently
endeavoured to soothe them. He received me affectionately, did not
renew the subject of the preceding night, and we became very good
friends.
In tearing myself away from Eugenia, I found the truth of the French
adage, "_Ce n'est que la premiere pas qui coute_;" my heart grew lighter
as I increased my distance from her. My father, to detach my mind still
more from the unfortunate subject, spoke much of family affairs, of my
brother and sisters, and lastly named Mr Somerville and Emily: here he
touched on the right chord. The remembrance of Emily revived the
expiring embers of virtue, and the recollection of the pure and perfect
mistress of --- Hall for a time dismissed the unhappy Eugenia from my
mind. I told my father that I would engage never to disgrace him or
myself any more, if he would promise not to name my late folly to Mr
Somerville or his daughter.
"That," said my father, "I promise most readily; and with the greater
pleasure, since I see, in your request, the strongest proof of the sense
of your error."
This conversation passed on our road to Portsmouth, where we had no
sooner arrived than my father, who was acquainted with the port-admiral,
left me at the "George," while he crossed the street to call on him.
The result of this interview was, that I should be sent out immediately
in some sea-going ship with a "tight captain."
There was one of this description just about to sail for Basque Roads;
and, at the admiral's particular request, I was received on board as a
supernumerary, there being no vacancies in the ship. My father, who by
this time was wide awake to all my wiles, saw me on board; and then
flattering himself that I was in safe custody, took his leave and
returned to the shore. I very soon found that I was under an embargo,
and was not on any account to be allowed leave of absence. This was
pretty nearly what I expected; but I had my own resources. I had now
learned to laugh at trifles, and I cared little about this decided step
which his prudence induced him to take.