Concerning a young Lady from London, who joins the Company, and an
elderly Admirer who follows in her Train; with an affecting Ceremony
consequent on their Arrival
The new piece being a decided hit, was announced for every evening of
performance until further notice, and the evenings when the theatre was
closed, were reduced from three in the week to two. Nor were these the
only tokens of extraordinary success; for, on the succeeding Saturday,
Nicholas received, by favour of the indefatigable Mrs. Grudden, no less a
sum than thirty shillings; besides which substantial reward, he enjoyed
considerable fame and honour: having a presentation copy of Mr. Curdle’s
pamphlet forwarded to the theatre, with that gentleman’s own autograph
(in itself an inestimable treasure) on the fly-leaf, accompanied with
a note, containing many expressions of approval, and an unsolicited
assurance that Mr. Curdle would be very happy to read Shakespeare to him
for three hours every morning before breakfast during his stay in the
town.
‘I’ve got another novelty, Johnson,’ said Mr. Crummles one morning in
great glee.
‘What’s that?’ rejoined Nicholas. ‘The pony?’
‘No, no, we never come to the pony till everything else has failed,’
said Mr. Crummles. ‘I don’t think we shall come to the pony at all, this
season. No, no, not the pony.’
‘A boy phenomenon, perhaps?’ suggested Nicholas.
‘There is only one phenomenon, sir,’ replied Mr. Crummles impressively,
‘and that’s a girl.’
‘Very true,’ said Nicholas. ‘I beg your pardon. Then I don’t know what
it is, I am sure.’
‘What should you say to a young lady from London?’ inquired Mr. Crummles.
‘Miss So-and-so, of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane?’
‘I should say she would look very well in the bills,’ said Nicholas.
‘You’re about right there,’ said Mr. Crummles; ‘and if you had said she
would look very well upon the stage too, you wouldn’t have been far out.
Look here; what do you think of this?’
With this inquiry Mr. Crummles unfolded a red poster, and a blue poster,
and a yellow poster, at the top of each of which public notification was
inscribed in enormous characters--‘First appearance of the unrivalled
Miss Petowker of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane!’
‘Dear me!’ said Nicholas, ‘I know that lady.’
‘Then you are acquainted with as much talent as was ever compressed into
one young person’s body,’ retorted Mr. Crummles, rolling up the bills
again; ‘that is, talent of a certain sort--of a certain sort. “The Blood
Drinker,”’ added Mr. Crummles with a prophetic sigh, ‘“The Blood Drinker”
will die with that girl; and she’s the only sylph I ever saw, who could
stand upon one leg, and play the tambourine on her other knee, LIKE a
sylph.’
‘When does she come down?’ asked Nicholas.
‘We expect her today,’ replied Mr. Crummles. ‘She is an old friend of Mrs
Crummles’s. Mrs. Crummles saw what she could do--always knew it from the
first. She taught her, indeed, nearly all she knows. Mrs. Crummles was
the original Blood Drinker.’
‘Was she, indeed?’
‘Yes. She was obliged to give it up though.’
‘Did it disagree with her?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Not so much with her, as with her audiences,’ replied Mr. Crummles.
‘Nobody could stand it. It was too tremendous. You don’t quite know what
Mrs. Crummles is yet.’
Nicholas ventured to insinuate that he thought he did.
‘No, no, you don’t,’ said Mr. Crummles; ‘you don’t, indeed. I don’t, and
that’s a fact. I don’t think her country will, till she is dead. Some
new proof of talent bursts from that astonishing woman every year of her
life. Look at her--mother of six children--three of ‘em alive, and all
upon the stage!’
‘Extraordinary!’ cried Nicholas.
‘Ah! extraordinary indeed,’ rejoined Mr. Crummles, taking a complacent
pinch of snuff, and shaking his head gravely. ‘I pledge you my
professional word I didn’t even know she could dance, till her last
benefit, and then she played Juliet, and Helen Macgregor, and did the
skipping-rope hornpipe between the pieces. The very first time I saw
that admirable woman, Johnson,’ said Mr. Crummles, drawing a little
nearer, and speaking in the tone of confidential friendship, ‘she
stood upon her head on the butt-end of a spear, surrounded with blazing
fireworks.’
‘You astonish me!’ said Nicholas.
‘SHE astonished ME!’ returned Mr. Crummles, with a very serious
countenance. ‘Such grace, coupled with such dignity! I adored her from
that moment!’
The arrival of the gifted subject of these remarks put an abrupt
termination to Mr. Crummles’s eulogium. Almost immediately afterwards,
Master Percy Crummles entered with a letter, which had arrived by the
General Post, and was directed to his gracious mother; at sight of
the superscription whereof, Mrs. Crummles exclaimed, ‘From Henrietta
Petowker, I do declare!’ and instantly became absorbed in the contents.
‘Is it--?’ inquired Mr. Crummles, hesitating.
‘Oh, yes, it’s all right,’ replied Mrs. Crummles, anticipating the
question. ‘What an excellent thing for her, to be sure!’
‘It’s the best thing altogether, that I ever heard of, I think,’ said Mr
Crummles; and then Mr. Crummles, Mrs. Crummles, and Master Percy Crummles,
all fell to laughing violently. Nicholas left them to enjoy their mirth
together, and walked to his lodgings; wondering very much what mystery
connected with Miss Petowker could provoke such merriment, and pondering
still more on the extreme surprise with which that lady would regard his
sudden enlistment in a profession of which she was such a distinguished
and brilliant ornament.
But, in this latter respect he was mistaken; for--whether Mr. Vincent
Crummles had paved the way, or Miss Petowker had some special reason for
treating him with even more than her usual amiability--their meeting at
the theatre next day was more like that of two dear friends who had been
inseparable from infancy, than a recognition passing between a lady
and gentleman who had only met some half-dozen times, and then by mere
chance. Nay, Miss Petowker even whispered that she had wholly dropped
the Kenwigses in her conversations with the manager’s family, and had
represented herself as having encountered Mr. Johnson in the very
first and most fashionable circles; and on Nicholas receiving this
intelligence with unfeigned surprise, she added, with a sweet glance,
that she had a claim on his good nature now, and might tax it before
long.
Nicholas had the honour of playing in a slight piece with Miss Petowker
that night, and could not but observe that the warmth of her reception
was mainly attributable to a most persevering umbrella in the upper
boxes; he saw, too, that the enchanting actress cast many sweet looks
towards the quarter whence these sounds proceeded; and that every time
she did so, the umbrella broke out afresh. Once, he thought that a
peculiarly shaped hat in the same corner was not wholly unknown to him;
but, being occupied with his share of the stage business, he bestowed no
great attention upon this circumstance, and it had quite vanished from
his memory by the time he reached home.
He had just sat down to supper with Smike, when one of the people of the
house came outside the door, and announced that a gentleman below stairs
wished to speak to Mr. Johnson.
‘Well, if he does, you must tell him to come up; that’s all I know,’
replied Nicholas. ‘One of our hungry brethren, I suppose, Smike.’
His fellow-lodger looked at the cold meat in silent calculation of the
quantity that would be left for dinner next day, and put back a slice he
had cut for himself, in order that the visitor’s encroachments might be
less formidable in their effects.
‘It is not anybody who has been here before,’ said Nicholas, ‘for he
is tumbling up every stair. Come in, come in. In the name of wonder! Mr
Lillyvick?’
It was, indeed, the collector of water-rates who, regarding Nicholas
with a fixed look and immovable countenance, shook hands with
most portentous solemnity, and sat himself down in a seat by the
chimney-corner.
‘Why, when did you come here?’ asked Nicholas.
‘This morning, sir,’ replied Mr. Lillyvick.
‘Oh! I see; then you were at the theatre tonight, and it was your umb--’
‘This umbrella,’ said Mr. Lillyvick, producing a fat green cotton one
with a battered ferrule. ‘What did you think of that performance?’
‘So far as I could judge, being on the stage,’ replied Nicholas, ‘I
thought it very agreeable.’
‘Agreeable!’ cried the collector. ‘I mean to say, sir, that it was
delicious.’
Mr. Lillyvick bent forward to pronounce the last word with greater
emphasis; and having done so, drew himself up, and frowned and nodded a
great many times.
‘I say, delicious,’ repeated Mr. Lillyvick. ‘Absorbing, fairy-like,
toomultuous,’ and again Mr. Lillyvick drew himself up, and again he
frowned and nodded.
‘Ah!’ said Nicholas, a little surprised at these symptoms of ecstatic
approbation. ‘Yes--she is a clever girl.’
‘She is a divinity,’ returned Mr. Lillyvick, giving a collector’s double
knock on the ground with the umbrella before-mentioned. ‘I have known
divine actresses before now, sir, I used to collect--at least I used
to CALL for--and very often call for--the water-rate at the house of
a divine actress, who lived in my beat for upwards of four year
but never--no, never, sir of all divine creatures, actresses or no
actresses, did I see a diviner one than is Henrietta Petowker.’
Nicholas had much ado to prevent himself from laughing; not trusting
himself to speak, he merely nodded in accordance with Mr. Lillyvick’s
nods, and remained silent.
‘Let me speak a word with you in private,’ said Mr. Lillyvick.
Nicholas looked good-humouredly at Smike, who, taking the hint,
disappeared.
‘A bachelor is a miserable wretch, sir,’ said Mr. Lillyvick.
‘Is he?’ asked Nicholas.
‘He is,’ rejoined the collector. ‘I have lived in the world for nigh
sixty year, and I ought to know what it is.’
‘You OUGHT to know, certainly,’ thought Nicholas; ‘but whether you do or
not, is another question.’
‘If a bachelor happens to have saved a little matter of money,’ said Mr
Lillyvick, ‘his sisters and brothers, and nephews and nieces, look TO
that money, and not to him; even if, by being a public character, he is
the head of the family, or, as it may be, the main from which all the
other little branches are turned on, they still wish him dead all the
while, and get low-spirited every time they see him looking in good
health, because they want to come into his little property. You see
that?’
‘Oh yes,’ replied Nicholas: ‘it’s very true, no doubt.’
‘The great reason for not being married,’ resumed Mr. Lillyvick, ‘is the
expense; that’s what’s kept me off, or else--Lord!’ said Mr. Lillyvick,
snapping his fingers, ‘I might have had fifty women.’
‘Fine women?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Fine women, sir!’ replied the collector; ‘ay! not so fine as Henrietta
Petowker, for she is an uncommon specimen, but such women as don’t
fall into every man’s way, I can tell you. Now suppose a man can get a
fortune IN a wife instead of with her--eh?’
‘Why, then, he’s a lucky fellow,’ replied Nicholas.
‘That’s what I say,’ retorted the collector, patting him benignantly
on the side of the head with his umbrella; ‘just what I say. Henrietta
Petowker, the talented Henrietta Petowker has a fortune in herself, and
I am going to--’
‘To make her Mrs. Lillyvick?’ suggested Nicholas.
‘No, sir, not to make her Mrs. Lillyvick,’ replied the collector.
‘Actresses, sir, always keep their maiden names--that’s the regular
thing--but I’m going to marry her; and the day after tomorrow, too.’
‘I congratulate you, sir,’ said Nicholas.
‘Thank you, sir,’ replied the collector, buttoning his waistcoat. ‘I
shall draw her salary, of course, and I hope after all that it’s nearly
as cheap to keep two as it is to keep one; that’s a consolation.’
‘Surely you don’t want any consolation at such a moment?’ observed
Nicholas.
‘No,’ replied Mr. Lillyvick, shaking his head nervously: ‘no--of course
not.’
‘But how come you both here, if you’re going to be married, Mr
Lillyvick?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Why, that’s what I came to explain to you,’ replied the collector of
water-rate. ‘The fact is, we have thought it best to keep it secret from
the family.’
‘Family!’ said Nicholas. ‘What family?’
‘The Kenwigses of course,’ rejoined Mr. Lillyvick. ‘If my niece and the
children had known a word about it before I came away, they’d have gone
into fits at my feet, and never have come out of ‘em till I took an oath
not to marry anybody--or they’d have got out a commission of lunacy, or
some dreadful thing,’ said the collector, quite trembling as he spoke.
‘To be sure,’ said Nicholas. ‘Yes; they would have been jealous, no
doubt.’
‘To prevent which,’ said Mr. Lillyvick, ‘Henrietta Petowker (it
was settled between us) should come down here to her friends, the
Crummleses, under pretence of this engagement, and I should go down to
Guildford the day before, and join her on the coach there, which I did,
and we came down from Guildford yesterday together. Now, for fear you
should be writing to Mr. Noggs, and might say anything about us, we have
thought it best to let you into the secret. We shall be married from the
Crummleses’ lodgings, and shall be delighted to see you--either before
church or at breakfast-time, which you like. It won’t be expensive,
you know,’ said the collector, highly anxious to prevent any
misunderstanding on this point; ‘just muffins and coffee, with perhaps a
shrimp or something of that sort for a relish, you know.’
‘Yes, yes, I understand,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Oh, I shall be most
happy to come; it will give me the greatest pleasure. Where’s the lady
stopping--with Mrs. Crummles?’
‘Why, no,’ said the collector; ‘they couldn’t very well dispose of
her at night, and so she is staying with an acquaintance of hers, and
another young lady; they both belong to the theatre.’
‘Miss Snevellicci, I suppose?’ said Nicholas.
‘Yes, that’s the name.’
‘And they’ll be bridesmaids, I presume?’ said Nicholas.
‘Why,’ said the collector, with a rueful face, ‘they WILL have four
bridesmaids; I’m afraid they’ll make it rather theatrical.’
‘Oh no, not at all,’ replied Nicholas, with an awkward attempt to
convert a laugh into a cough. ‘Who may the four be? Miss Snevellicci of
course--Miss Ledrook--’
‘The--the phenomenon,’ groaned the collector.
‘Ha, ha!’ cried Nicholas. ‘I beg your pardon, I don’t know what I’m
laughing at--yes, that’ll be very pretty--the phenomenon--who else?’
‘Some young woman or other,’ replied the collector, rising; ‘some other
friend of Henrietta Petowker’s. Well, you’ll be careful not to say
anything about it, will you?’
‘You may safely depend upon me,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Won’t you take
anything to eat or drink?’
‘No,’ said the collector; ‘I haven’t any appetite. I should think it was
a very pleasant life, the married one, eh?’
‘I have not the least doubt of it,’ rejoined Nicholas.
‘Yes,’ said the collector; ‘certainly. Oh yes. No doubt. Good night.’
With these words, Mr. Lillyvick, whose manner had exhibited through the
whole of this interview a most extraordinary compound of precipitation,
hesitation, confidence and doubt, fondness, misgiving, meanness, and
self-importance, turned his back upon the room, and left Nicholas to
enjoy a laugh by himself if he felt so disposed.
Without stopping to inquire whether the intervening day appeared to
Nicholas to consist of the usual number of hours of the ordinary length,
it may be remarked that, to the parties more directly interested in the
forthcoming ceremony, it passed with great rapidity, insomuch that when
Miss Petowker awoke on the succeeding morning in the chamber of Miss
Snevellicci, she declared that nothing should ever persuade her that
that really was the day which was to behold a change in her condition.
‘I never will believe it,’ said Miss Petowker; ‘I cannot really. It’s
of no use talking, I never can make up my mind to go through with such a
trial!’
On hearing this, Miss Snevellicci and Miss Ledrook, who knew perfectly
well that their fair friend’s mind had been made up for three or four
years, at any period of which time she would have cheerfully undergone
the desperate trial now approaching if she could have found any
eligible gentleman disposed for the venture, began to preach comfort and
firmness, and to say how very proud she ought to feel that it was in her
power to confer lasting bliss on a deserving object, and how necessary
it was for the happiness of mankind in general that women should possess
fortitude and resignation on such occasions; and that although for their
parts they held true happiness to consist in a single life, which
they would not willingly exchange--no, not for any worldly
consideration--still (thank God), if ever the time SHOULD come, they
hoped they knew their duty too well to repine, but would the rather
submit with meekness and humility of spirit to a fate for which
Providence had clearly designed them with a view to the contentment and
reward of their fellow-creatures.
‘I might feel it was a great blow,’ said Miss Snevellicci, ‘to break
up old associations and what-do-you-callems of that kind, but I would
submit, my dear, I would indeed.’
‘So would I,’ said Miss Ledrook; ‘I would rather court the yoke than
shun it. I have broken hearts before now, and I’m very sorry for it: for
it’s a terrible thing to reflect upon.’
‘It is indeed,’ said Miss Snevellicci. ‘Now Led, my dear, we must
positively get her ready, or we shall be too late, we shall indeed.’
This pious reasoning, and perhaps the fear of being too late, supported
the bride through the ceremony of robing, after which, strong tea and
brandy were administered in alternate doses as a means of strengthening
her feeble limbs and causing her to walk steadier.
‘How do you feel now, my love?’ inquired Miss Snevellicci.
‘Oh Lillyvick!’ cried the bride. ‘If you knew what I am undergoing for
you!’
‘Of course he knows it, love, and will never forget it,’ said Miss
Ledrook.
‘Do you think he won’t?’ cried Miss Petowker, really showing great
capability for the stage. ‘Oh, do you think he won’t? Do you think
Lillyvick will always remember it--always, always, always?’
There is no knowing in what this burst of feeling might have ended, if
Miss Snevellicci had not at that moment proclaimed the arrival of the
fly, which so astounded the bride that she shook off divers alarming
symptoms which were coming on very strong, and running to the glass
adjusted her dress, and calmly declared that she was ready for the
sacrifice.
She was accordingly supported into the coach, and there ‘kept up’ (as
Miss Snevellicci said) with perpetual sniffs of SAL VOLATILE and sips
of brandy and other gentle stimulants, until they reached the manager’s
door, which was already opened by the two Master Crummleses, who
wore white cockades, and were decorated with the choicest and most
resplendent waistcoats in the theatrical wardrobe. By the combined
exertions of these young gentlemen and the bridesmaids, assisted by the
coachman, Miss Petowker was at length supported in a condition of much
exhaustion to the first floor, where she no sooner encountered the
youthful bridegroom than she fainted with great decorum.
‘Henrietta Petowker!’ said the collector; ‘cheer up, my lovely one.’
Miss Petowker grasped the collector’s hand, but emotion choked her
utterance.
‘Is the sight of me so dreadful, Henrietta Petowker?’ said the
collector.
‘Oh no, no, no,’ rejoined the bride; ‘but all the friends--the darling
friends--of my youthful days--to leave them all--it is such a shock!’
With such expressions of sorrow, Miss Petowker went on to enumerate the
dear friends of her youthful days one by one, and to call upon such of
them as were present to come and embrace her. This done, she remembered
that Mrs. Crummles had been more than a mother to her, and after that,
that Mr. Crummles had been more than a father to her, and after that,
that the Master Crummleses and Miss Ninetta Crummles had been more
than brothers and sisters to her. These various remembrances being each
accompanied with a series of hugs, occupied a long time, and they were
obliged to drive to church very fast, for fear they should be too late.
The procession consisted of two flys; in the first of which were Miss
Bravassa (the fourth bridesmaid), Mrs. Crummles, the collector, and Mr
Folair, who had been chosen as his second on the occasion. In the other
were the bride, Mr. Crummles, Miss Snevellicci, Miss Ledrook, and the
phenomenon. The costumes were beautiful. The bridesmaids were quite
covered with artificial flowers, and the phenomenon, in particular,
was rendered almost invisible by the portable arbour in which she was
enshrined. Miss Ledrook, who was of a romantic turn, wore in her breast
the miniature of some field-officer unknown, which she had purchased, a
great bargain, not very long before; the other ladies displayed several
dazzling articles of imitative jewellery, almost equal to real, and Mrs
Crummles came out in a stern and gloomy majesty, which attracted the
admiration of all beholders.
But, perhaps the appearance of Mr. Crummles was more striking and
appropriate than that of any member of the party. This gentleman, who
personated the bride’s father, had, in pursuance of a happy and original
conception, ‘made up’ for the part by arraying himself in a theatrical
wig, of a style and pattern commonly known as a brown George, and
moreover assuming a snuff-coloured suit, of the previous century, with
grey silk stockings, and buckles to his shoes. The better to support
his assumed character he had determined to be greatly overcome, and,
consequently, when they entered the church, the sobs of the affectionate
parent were so heart-rending that the pew-opener suggested the propriety
of his retiring to the vestry, and comforting himself with a glass of
water before the ceremony began.
The procession up the aisle was beautiful. The bride, with the four
bridesmaids, forming a group previously arranged and rehearsed; the
collector, followed by his second, imitating his walk and gestures to
the indescribable amusement of some theatrical friends in the gallery;
Mr. Crummles, with an infirm and feeble gait; Mrs. Crummles advancing with
that stage walk, which consists of a stride and a stop alternately--it
was the completest thing ever witnessed. The ceremony was very quickly
disposed of, and all parties present having signed the register (for
which purpose, when it came to his turn, Mr. Crummles carefully wiped and
put on an immense pair of spectacles), they went back to breakfast in
high spirits. And here they found Nicholas awaiting their arrival.
‘Now then,’ said Crummles, who had been assisting Mrs. Grudden in the
preparations, which were on a more extensive scale than was quite
agreeable to the collector. ‘Breakfast, breakfast.’
No second invitation was required. The company crowded and squeezed
themselves at the table as well as they could, and fell to, immediately:
Miss Petowker blushing very much when anybody was looking, and eating
very much when anybody was NOT looking; and Mr. Lillyvick going to work
as though with the cool resolve, that since the good things must be paid
for by him, he would leave as little as possible for the Crummleses to
eat up afterwards.
‘It’s very soon done, sir, isn’t it?’ inquired Mr. Folair of the
collector, leaning over the table to address him.
‘What is soon done, sir?’ returned Mr. Lillyvick.
‘The tying up--the fixing oneself with a wife,’ replied Mr. Folair. ‘It
don’t take long, does it?’
‘No, sir,’ replied Mr. Lillyvick, colouring. ‘It does not take long. And
what then, sir?’
‘Oh! nothing,’ said the actor. ‘It don’t take a man long to hang
himself, either, eh? ha, ha!’
Mr. Lillyvick laid down his knife and fork, and looked round the table
with indignant astonishment.
‘To hang himself!’ repeated Mr. Lillyvick.
A profound silence came upon all, for Mr. Lillyvick was dignified beyond
expression.
‘To hang himself!’ cried Mr. Lillyvick again. ‘Is any parallel attempted
to be drawn in this company between matrimony and hanging?’
‘The noose, you know,’ said Mr. Folair, a little crest-fallen.
‘The noose, sir?’ retorted Mr. Lillyvick. ‘Does any man dare to speak to
me of a noose, and Henrietta Pe--’
‘Lillyvick,’ suggested Mr. Crummles.
‘--And Henrietta Lillyvick in the same breath?’ said the collector. ‘In
this house, in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Crummles, who have brought
up a talented and virtuous family, to be blessings and phenomenons, and
what not, are we to hear talk of nooses?’
‘Folair,’ said Mr. Crummles, deeming it a matter of decency to be
affected by this allusion to himself and partner, ‘I’m astonished at
you.’
‘What are you going on in this way at me for?’ urged the unfortunate
actor. ‘What have I done?’
‘Done, sir!’ cried Mr. Lillyvick, ‘aimed a blow at the whole framework of
society--’
‘And the best and tenderest feelings,’ added Crummles, relapsing into
the old man.
‘And the highest and most estimable of social ties,’ said the collector.
‘Noose! As if one was caught, trapped into the married state, pinned by
the leg, instead of going into it of one’s own accord and glorying in
the act!’
‘I didn’t mean to make it out, that you were caught and trapped, and
pinned by the leg,’ replied the actor. ‘I’m sorry for it; I can’t say
any more.’
‘So you ought to be, sir,’ returned Mr. Lillyvick; ‘and I am glad to hear
that you have enough of feeling left to be so.’
The quarrel appearing to terminate with this reply, Mrs. Lillyvick
considered that the fittest occasion (the attention of the company being
no longer distracted) to burst into tears, and require the assistance of
all four bridesmaids, which was immediately rendered, though not without
some confusion, for the room being small and the table-cloth long, a
whole detachment of plates were swept off the board at the very first
move. Regardless of this circumstance, however, Mrs. Lillyvick refused
to be comforted until the belligerents had passed their words that the
dispute should be carried no further, which, after a sufficient show of
reluctance, they did, and from that time Mr. Folair sat in moody silence,
contenting himself with pinching Nicholas’s leg when anything was said,
and so expressing his contempt both for the speaker and the sentiments
to which he gave utterance.
There were a great number of speeches made; some by Nicholas, and some
by Crummles, and some by the collector; two by the Master Crummleses in
returning thanks for themselves, and one by the phenomenon on behalf
of the bridesmaids, at which Mrs. Crummles shed tears. There was some
singing, too, from Miss Ledrook and Miss Bravassa, and very likely there
might have been more, if the fly-driver, who stopped to drive the happy
pair to the spot where they proposed to take steamboat to Ryde, had
not sent in a peremptory message intimating, that if they didn’t come
directly he should infallibly demand eighteen-pence over and above his
agreement.
This desperate threat effectually broke up the party. After a most
pathetic leave-taking, Mr. Lillyvick and his bride departed for Ryde,
where they were to spend the next two days in profound retirement, and
whither they were accompanied by the infant, who had been appointed
travelling bridesmaid on Mr. Lillyvick’s express stipulation: as the
steamboat people, deceived by her size, would (he had previously
ascertained) transport her at half-price.
As there was no performance that night, Mr. Crummles declared his
intention of keeping it up till everything to drink was disposed of; but
Nicholas having to play Romeo for the first time on the ensuing evening,
contrived to slip away in the midst of a temporary confusion, occasioned
by the unexpected development of strong symptoms of inebriety in the
conduct of Mrs. Grudden.
To this act of desertion he was led, not only by his own inclinations,
but by his anxiety on account of Smike, who, having to sustain the
character of the Apothecary, had been as yet wholly unable to get any
more of the part into his head than the general idea that he was very
hungry, which--perhaps from old recollections--he had acquired with
great aptitude.
‘I don’t know what’s to be done, Smike,’ said Nicholas, laying down the
book. ‘I am afraid you can’t learn it, my poor fellow.’
‘I am afraid not,’ said Smike, shaking his head. ‘I think if you--but
that would give you so much trouble.’
‘What?’ inquired Nicholas. ‘Never mind me.’
‘I think,’ said Smike, ‘if you were to keep saying it to me in little
bits, over and over again, I should be able to recollect it from hearing
you.’
‘Do you think so?’ exclaimed Nicholas. ‘Well said. Let us see who tires
first. Not I, Smike, trust me. Now then. Who calls so loud?’
‘“Who calls so loud?”’ said Smike.
‘“Who calls so loud?”’ repeated Nicholas.
‘“Who calls so loud?”’ cried Smike.
Thus they continued to ask each other who called so loud, over and
over again; and when Smike had that by heart Nicholas went to another
sentence, and then to two at a time, and then to three, and so on, until
at midnight poor Smike found to his unspeakable joy that he really began
to remember something about the text.
Early in the morning they went to it again, and Smike, rendered more
confident by the progress he had already made, got on faster and with
better heart. As soon as he began to acquire the words pretty freely,
Nicholas showed him how he must come in with both hands spread out upon
his stomach, and how he must occasionally rub it, in compliance with the
established form by which people on the stage always denote that they
want something to eat. After the morning’s rehearsal they went to work
again, nor did they stop, except for a hasty dinner, until it was time
to repair to the theatre at night.
Never had master a more anxious, humble, docile pupil. Never had pupil a
more patient, unwearying, considerate, kindhearted master.
As soon as they were dressed, and at every interval when he was not upon
the stage, Nicholas renewed his instructions. They prospered well. The
Romeo was received with hearty plaudits and unbounded favour, and Smike
was pronounced unanimously, alike by audience and actors, the very
prince and prodigy of Apothecaries.