This was our hero's earliest scrape; but whether
I shall proceed with his adventures is
Dependent on the public altogether:
We'll see, however, what they say to this.
[_Don Juan_.
We found Fenella in much trouble. That buoyant mind which the
vicissitudes of a changing and precarious profession could not sadden
or subdue, proved itself vulnerable to the weapons of ridicule.
"And so, my young deserter, you have come at last. Here have I been
grieving myself to death at the malice of Mc----, and you have felt no
sympathy in my trouble, or have been too indolent or indifferent to
give me one word of comfort. Shame on you! Is this your friendship?"
I made my excuses with the best grace I could assume, and assured her
I had just learned the cause of her uneasiness. She readily believed
me, for she was too sincere herself to doubt the sincerity of others.
"I do not know," said she, "but my annoyance at this affair may seem
overstrained. To those who call themselves philosophers, it may appear
childish in me to grieve at such an attempt to render me ridiculous.
But I am a mere woman, and no philosopher; besides, my case is a
peculiar one. On the stage we have so often, I might say so
habitually, to overstep what by other women are considered the bounds
of modesty, that she who preserves the essential principle of that
great charm of the sex, is most jealous in keeping her claim to it
inviolate. The world gives us credit for but little feminine
delicacy--and the world reasons correctly in doing so. But correct
reasoning does not always reach the facts of peculiar cases. It may be
thought strange, but I know it to be true, that a woman who in the
presence of hundreds suffers herself to be embraced, kissed, and
fondled by men of gross character and disgusting manners, and who
embraces and caresses them in turn, should revolt at the idea of
permitting such liberties in private. I know this to be so in my own
case. And even were all those women whose lot is unfortunately cast
upon the stage, as licentious as both the virtuous and the vicious are
pleased to suppose them, they must indeed be debased and degraded, to
yield themselves to that indiscriminate licentiousness which the
world's censure would imply. Few know how far the enthusiasm of an
artist, his aspirations after excellence, his love of abstract beauty,
may check and overcome every prurient thought, every low born
imagination. The sculptor, when he moulds the beings of his fancy into
forms of loveliness, is alive only to the spirit of his art; his mind
is filled with the beauty of his conceptions, and is purified by the
intenseness of his desire to attain the summit of excellence, from
every grovelling idea. He is not, surely, to be classed with those
who, looking upon his works with vulgar eyes, find in them food for
lascivious thoughts, and stimulants to unhallowed passions. So it is
with acting. The actress has placed before her a mark of excellence
which she is ambitious to attain, and in striving for its attainment,
all minor considerations are thrown aside. The exhibition of a passion
must not be shorn of its accessories; and whatever is necessary to its
full development she yields to, with as little thought of grossness or
indelicacy in caressing an individual who represents her husband or
her lover, as the artist indulges when painting Eve in the undress of
nature. It would be well for such as suppose that these exhibitions
indicate a want of modesty, to know how totally the mind is absorbed
in the desire to embody the conceptions of the poet, when an actress
in Belvidera or Monimia gives a loose rein to the passions, and
regardless of the being with whom she is associated, contributes, by
the very freedom which the over-virtuous delight to censure, in
producing the delusion of the scene. In playing her part, not one
thought is given to the man whom she embraces. No--she is for the time
a fictitious character--the character of the scene, insensible to any
other feeling but that which the poet has delineated. But how
differently do the work-a-day world argue this matter. They seldom, if
ever, separate the _actress_ from the _woman_--and every action is
judged of according to the gross ideas of the vulgar minded, or the
fastidious scruples of those who measure a dramatic representation by
the rules which prevail in private society. I know full well the
invidious position which, as an actress, I occupy in the opinion of
the public; and a consciousness that in my unfortunate profession,
every step towards the achievement of excellence must be gained by a
sacrifice of personal respect, often gives me melancholy sensations.
Do you then wonder at the pain I have suffered from this malignant
endeavor of Mc----'s to render me ridiculous?"
"But still," said Nichols, "the attack in itself is unworthy of
notice. The same talent might render the proudest woman in the city an
object of equal ridicule."
"Very true, but it would not find the public disposed to laugh with
the caricaturist. The general sentiment would be against him, for he
would have outraged what every man would be ready to defend--the
sanctity of female privacy, and the decencies of social life. But such
a case is strongly contrasted with mine, and it is that which renders
it to me so peculiarly painful. The actress lives in the full glare of
public observation, and the libeller who holds her up to contempt,
invades no sanctuary which all hold sacred; he only makes her
subservient to public amusement in a new character. If her pride be
wounded, if her delicacy be shocked--she has few to sympathise with
her, for few believe she possesses either pride or delicacy, and none
deem it their duty to defend her from the attacks of her enemy."
Fenella paused, and I saw the tears glisten upon her cheek; but she
turned away her face, and hastily brushed them off, as if ashamed that
her weakness should be observed.
"You do your friends injustice," said I. "You do indeed. There are a
few who do not think thus lightly of your feelings, and who are ready
to defend you from assaults of whatever kind."
"Doubtless there are a few," said she, "who feel for me. It would be
unjust in me to doubt it. But it is the want of that _general_ feeling
of sympathy which would be excited in favor of any other woman, that I
feel most keenly. To know that in proportion as my professional
exertions are admired, my private feelings are disregarded, gives
point to the malice of Mc----, and renders that a cause of pain and
mortification which ought to be the object of contempt. But we will
say no more upon the subject. Perhaps I have said too much, for I see
that you and Nichols are distressed by my complaints. I will not
repeat them; but endeavor to display more of what Nichols calls
philosophy."
The train of our conversation was broken off by the entrance of Selden
and Cleaveland. Fenella's spirits were soon restored, and she became
as gay and fascinating as usual. Various topics were discussed, and
much pleasant _badinage_ filled up the time until tea--which Fenella
particularly patronized, in spite of the fashion--made its appearance.
"Pray, Master Pertinax," said Fenella, "how have you employed your
time since I last saw you? You have lost a deal of green room scandal,
and missed seeing some of the finest of green room absurdities, by
your long estrangement from the Theatre."
"Well, saving your presence, I have been occupied with better
things--a hard student have I been--and although the merry bells of
the Driving Club sounded their peals under my windows twice during my
seclusion; although I saw their gorgeous train of _carioles_ piled
with buffalo robes, and flaunting in blue and crimson trimmings, glide
merrily by; and though among the furred and feathered _demoiselles_
who sat within them, I knew there was one whom it would have been
delightful to be near; nay more, although under a silver-grey
Chinchilla bonnet, there shone forth two lustrous black eyes--yet did
I resist the lure, and turn again to my studies. I have declined three
balls where I knew I should meet that 'Cynthia of the minute,' with
whom, at this particular time, I cannot but believe I am most
foolishly in love. I have resisted the temptation of skating, and a
special invitation from the Curling Club to witness an important
match. All these and many more allurements have failed to withdraw me
from my books."
"Bless me, what a Solomon you will become, if you persevere in your
labors! But your stoicism surprises me. Can it be possible that Marian
Lindsay's _load-stars_ failed in attraction?"
"Nonsense! I have said nothing of Marian Lindsay or her load-stars, as
you are pleased to call them. Her eyes are not _black_, nor are they
those I spoke of."
"What, a new attraction! Well, I see that I must relinquish the task
of keeping you steady. I had hopes, when I prudently endeavored to
prevent your falling in love with me, (which you cannot deny you had
more than half a mind to do,) by directing your amorous disposition
towards a proper object, that your fancy would endure at least a month
or two. Do you not now perceive what a folly I should have been guilty
of, had I suffered you to dangle, as you wished, at my apron string?"
"I do indeed. Still, I may say with honest Jack Falstaff, 'ere I knew
_thee_, I knew nothing.'"
"Yes," said she, "and I can finish the sentence with equal truth--'and
now art thou little better than one of the wicked.' But I deny your
declaration, for you have confessed to the truth of your intrigues
with the little Canadian milliner, and the blue eyed _Irlandaise_."
"I admit it; but those were unsophisticated flirtations."
"Unsophisticated! Mercy on us!"
"Oh yes," said Selden, "and he stoutly denies having ever sighed to
you, Fenella; and talks a deal of nonsense about friendship, as though
such a feeling ever existed between a lad of nineteen and a lady under
twenty-five."
"Upon that subject," replied Fenella, "we can at least keep our own
counsel."
"Come, Cleaveland," said I, "we are bound in the same direction. I
have a few words to say to you, and if you are at leisure we will
walk."
"I hope I have not driven you away," said Selden.
"Pshaw! I am not so easily driven."
Tea was over, and Cleaveland and I rose to depart. Fenella accompanied
us to the door, and said to me in a monitory tone: "Now, Pertinax, be
careful what you do in relation to the caricature. Keep out of
difficulty with Mc----. You cannot be of any service to me in that
affair, and may injure yourself by your interference. I know your
disposition to serve me; but I also know that your impetuosity is more
likely to involve you in difficulty than to bring me out of it. Be
cautious, I beseech you."
"Do not be alarmed," said I, somewhat piqued, "my _indifference_ will
be my protection."
"I do not believe that, nor do I believe that you are indifferent to
my feelings; and the caution I now give you is a proof that I do not
think so."
A pressure of the hand was my only reply to this conciliatory speech;
and we left the house.
It was early in the evening, and quite dark, as we mounted the ice in
the middle of the street, preferring the risk of being run down by
_traineaus_ or _carioles_, on that narrow pass, to stumbling against
steps, cellar doors, and other obstructions on the _trottoir_ of an
avenue, feebly lighted by here and there a dim and solitary lamp. We
pursued our way down St. Paul's street, and in passing the shop where
"Timothy Crop, Fashionable Hair Dresser and Perruquier," shone in gilt
letters, illuminated by a lamp, a glance shewed us two copies of
Fenella's effigy, displayed with most provoking prominence in a
bow-window, which was brilliantly lighted.
"Curses on that fellow," said I. "Is there no way in which this
nuisance can be prevented? You are fertile in schemes, Cleaveland;
cannot you contrive some plan, if not to stop the issue of these
libels, to revenge the insult offered to our friend?"
"Not I indeed, unless we hire _Felix Sans Pitié_[1] to thump the
artist, or get _Piquet_,[2] the retired bully, to break his right
arm."
[Footnote 1: There was a family of _Sans Pitiés_, belong to a
neighboring seignory, celebrated for their muscular frames and
pugilistic powers. They were _Voyageurs_ in the service of the North
West, or Hudson's Bay Companies, at the time when those associations
were at deadly feud, out of which grew the massacre at Red River. In
the spring, previous to the setting out of the North West expeditions,
the _voyageurs_ of these companies had their rendezvous in Montreal
for a day or two, during which they were generally intoxicated, and
scarcely an hour passed that was not distinguished by a pugilistic
combat in the old market place, which was their peculiar haunt. The
_Sans Pitiés_ when present were the champions, and challenged all
comers with nearly uniform success. I have never seen more magnificent
forms than these brothers displayed, when stripped for a fight. Their
chests and shoulders would have been fine models for a Hercules, so
muscular were they, and devoid of superfluous flesh. Their style of
hitting was peculiar, and differed entirely from the English system,
being far more rapid and eccentric. In general an English pugilist was
more than a match for the best Canadian bully; but in one instance the
youthful gladiator referred to in the text, was triumphant over a
skilful pupil of Crib. It is worthy of remark, that the English bully,
when completely _sewed up_, (to use a phrase of the prize ring)
declared in a faint voice, that he had been beaten contrary to all
rule, and that _Sans Pitié_ knew no more about boxing than a horse.
But the Canadian champion was once well beaten by an antagonist as
little skilled as himself in the arts and mysteries of the Five's
Court. I was witness to this conflict between him and an English
sailor, not half his weight. The Jack-tar completely overcame his
Herculean opponent, when it seemed to me that had his frame been made
of any material softer than iron, he must have been demolished by
_Sans Pitié's_ blows.]
[Footnote 2: Monsieur _Piquet_ was about this time a member of the
Provincial Parliament. How he got there I do not exactly know: the
station seemed rather inconsistent with the situation occupied by him
in early life. He was a man of uncommon muscular vigor; and had in his
youth been employed by the North West Company, as the _bully_ of their
expeditions. His duty was to punish any refractory subordinate by the
application of the fist. The _voyageurs_ were an ignorant and lawless
set of men, engaged by the company to navigate their _batteaux_, and
to carry the merchandize which constituted their freight, across the
portages. The goods were arranged in sacks containing about ninety
pounds each and were transported (or perhaps _toted_ would be a more
proper word in our latitude) by the _voyageurs_ where the navigation
failed. Their labors were consequently very severe; and it may readily
be believed that few but the most reckless and unworthy characters
enlisted in these expeditions. They were generally accompanied and
conducted by one or two clerks or partners, who required some strong
executive power to keep their followers in due submission. Some trusty
individual of uncommon strength and hardihood was selected to perform
this duty--and such was the situation held by _Piquet_. He was
successful in his enterprizes, and as I was told amassed considerable
wealth. At any rate, I knew him as a legislator. I was once in company
with this man, when he related some of his early adventures;
particularly one, in which, being necessitated to quell the turbulent
spirit of a refractory _voyageur_, he broke the arm of the brawler
with one blow of his fist--an achievement of which Monsieur _Piquet_
seemed not a little proud.]
"Not bad ideas, but impracticable. Felix is at Red River, or
thereabouts--and Piquet is in Parliament, which should argue that his
powers of maiming are fully employed upon the laws of the province."
We had paused involuntarily before the window. The shop was thronged
with customers, and we saw the barber take down one of the caricatures
and exhibit it to an individual, who laughed immoderately as he
examined it. My blood boiled as I witnessed this scene. I had been
deeply impressed by Fenella's description of her defenceless
condition, and the absence of that general feeling of resentment in
her case, which would have existed had any other woman been the object
of such ridicule. The hearty laugh of the examiner of the picture--the
gusto with which he enjoyed the ludicrous figure before him, inspired
me with most unchristian feelings, and I could, with the greatest good
will, have tweaked his nose with the hot curling irons which the man
of hair was applying to his head.
As we moved away, I vowed that I would be revenged on the malicious
barber--that he at least should not escape. A few moments brought us
to my lodgings in the _Vieux Marché_. We sat down by a hot stove, and
after having listened to Cleaveland's description of the last party at
Madame Feronnier's, without hearing one word, I broke silence.
"Cleaveland," said I, "will you join me in a scheme which I have been
revolving since we left that infernal barber's?"
"I shall be better prepared to give you an answer, when you tell me
what you propose."
"Then you will not enlist until you know my plan."
"Not I. It is my luck to engage in so many hairbrained scrapes of my
own, that I will be led blindfold into none of your planning."
"But you must not fail me. I have set my heart on your assistance. If
I had asked it of Selden, he would have stifled me with prudent
advice. Nichols has not hardihood enough for any wicked act; and
Marryatt is so completely bewitched with his brunette beauty in the
Recolet Suburbs, that he cannot find time for any other roguery. Now
for a stirring adventure you are just the lad--first, because you like
it, and secondly, because you have the spirit to go through with it."
"Really you speak of your enterprize in the Hotspur vein, for like him
it seems you are about to
----'read me matter deep and dangerous,
As full of peril and adventurous spirit,
As to o'erwalk a current roaring loud,
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.'
But be it what it may, propose to me any reasonable mischief, and _je
suis à vous_."
"It is nothing very dangerous in the performance, and the consequences
must take care of themselves. I only intend to smash, and that
shortly, the bow-window of our friend the barber--to scatter his
perfumes about his own head, and give his next door neighbor, the
glazier, a job?"
"Is that all? Bless me, how reasonable! Selden himself could not have
advised a more rational and moral mode of punishing this impudent
barber.--Why, Pertinax, I did not think you capable of a conception so
brilliant. As to breaking the window and scattering the perfumery, 'we
may do it as secure as sleep'--and for the consequences, I have
nothing to say on that subject, because they come _afterwards_; and as
Father De Rocher used to tell us, questions must be considered in
their proper order: besides, all the wise ones say that _fore_-thought
is better than _after_-thought. But independent of these
considerations, it would be inconsistent in me, who never yet gave a
thought to consequences, to do so now; and some political proser in
the _Spectateur_, said the other day that consistency was a jewel."
"Then you enlist in the service."
"Yes, my Hotspur; 'it is a good plot as ever was laid--an excellent
plot. My Lord of York commends the plot, and the general course of the
action.' So here is my hand. We will take some pains to do that which
will cost Timothy Crop many panes to remedy; and if we escape the
pains and penalties therefor, all will be well."
"We must rely upon our heels for that. Give me six yards the start,
and I defy any barber in the Canadas to overtake me. We must show
Master Timothy that we have not played at cricket, or run foot races
on the wind-mill common for nothing."
"But what missiles shall we use?--have you thought of that, _Mon
Général_?"
"What can be better than these?" said I, taking up a couple of billets
of oak from the stove-pan.
"Admirable! And when shall we proceed to business?"
"Now--this very hour--we cannot wish a darker night; and the sooner we
carry our design into effect the better."
"Very true, for Shakspeare says, that
'Between the acting of a dreadful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream.'