has, I think, appeared in an English dress, and will be known to
many. I need here refer but to a small portion of the plot. Baron
Wildenhain, a wealthy nobleman, destines the hand of his beautiful
and artless daughter, Amelia, to Count Von der Mulde, a Frenchified
German and empty coxcomb, but in other respects an advantageous
match. Unwilling, however, to bestow her hand upon one to whom she
may be unable to give her heart, he commissions Ehrmann, a clergyman,
who has been her tutor, to ascertain her feelings towards the count,
and to warn her against accepting him as a companion for life if
she is unable to love and esteem him. Ehrmann, who has long been
secretly attached to Amelia, but has scrupulously concealed his
passion, magnanimously accepts the difficult and delicate mission;
but whilst accomplishing it, and explaining to his former pupil
the indispensable conditions of conjugal happiness, he is at once
surprised, pained, and overjoyed by her _naive_ confession that
the sentiments of esteem and affection he tells her she ought
to entertain towards her future husband, are exactly those she
experiences for himself. This scene is skilfully managed, and a
happy _dénouement_ is brought about by the baron's preferring
his daughter's happiness to his own pride, and giving her to the
humbly-born but accomplished and virtuous minister.
By assiduous application during the whole of that day, I knew my part
pretty well when the hour of rehearsal came. On reaching the palace,
I was conducted to one of the wings, where a small but very complete
theatre was fitted up. The marshal of the household, who received
me with the most courteous attention, played Baron Wildenhain; his
lady was Wilhelmina Bottger; the humorous part of the butler was
worthily filled by my boar-hunting friend of the previous day. The
other male characters had all found very tolerable representatives,
with the exception of the important one of Count Von der Mulde, which
was taken by a young secretary who had scarcely set foot over the
boundary of the duchy, and who, strive as he might, was but a tame
and inefficient representative of the mincing Frenchified fop. The
morrow being the duke's birthday, there was time but for this one
rehearsal, which was therefore to be gone through in full dress. A
costume awaited me, and I flattered myself I made a most reverend and
imposing appearance in my priestly sables. My next concern was to
know who took the character of the baron's daughter, the sprightly
and innocent Amelia, with whom my own part was so closely linked. I
conjectured it would be the marshal's daughter, but did not choose
to ask. Great indeed was my surprise when, in the second act, the
Princess Theresa made her entrance in a morning dress of exquisite
elegance and freshness, and, in the character of Amelia, tripped and
prattled, with natural and enchanting grace, through the scene where
the baron sounds his daughter respecting Count Von der Mulde. With
lightning swiftness the tender scenes I should have to play with her
flashed across my memory, and drove every drop of blood to my heart.
It was fortunate I was not then required on the stage, for I should
have been unable to remember or utter a word. During that and the
following scene, however, I had time to recover my composure; and
when I at last went on for an interview with the father, I quickly
glided into the spirit of my part, and acquitted myself well enough.
Soon I found myself alone on the stage with Amelia, with the task
set me to expose and explain to her the joys and sorrows of wedlock,
and then her admirable acting and my feelings towards her converted
the dramatic fiction into gravest reality--so far, at least, as I
was concerned. When she so innocently and artlessly confessed her
love, when she placed her hand in mine to move me to an avowal of
affection, when I felt the pressure of her delicate fingers, it was
all I could do to adhere to the letter of my part, and not avow in
earnest the passion I was to appear to repress and conceal. With
what seductive simplicity did she deliver the passage, "Long have
I wondered what made my heart so full; but now I know; 'tis here!"
And as she spoke, her bosom rose and fell beneath its covering of
snow-white muslin. "Lady!" I exclaimed, and never were words more
heartfelt, "you have destroyed my peace of mind for ever!"
It was with feelings approaching to rapture that I observed how
completely the princess identified herself with her part. More than
once I saw tears of sensibility suffuse her eyes. Her admirable
performance elicited from the other actors applause too hearty and
cordial to be the mere tribute of courtly adulation. And the scene in
which Amelia, pretending to seek a needle beside her father's chair,
throws herself suddenly on his neck, and passionately implores his
consent, took the hearts of all present by storm. As for mine, it had
long since surrendered at discretion.
The better to adapt it to the means and circumstances of a private
theatre, the play had been a good deal cut and altered. The scene
in which the fortunate Ehrmann obtains the hand of Amelia had been
somewhat toned down, in consideration for the rank of the actress;
and the embrace and kiss had been struck out. But, as it often
happens that one involuntarily does the very thing that should be
avoided, so, when Baron Wildenhain said, "I am indeed deeply in your
debt: Milly, will you pay him for me?" she adhered to the uncurtailed
version, let herself fall upon my arm, and exclaimed, with tender
emotion, as my lips pressed her cheek, "Ah, what joy is this!" That
thrill of felicity could not be surpassed. Immense was the happiness
concentrated in that one brief moment. How incredulously should I
have listened had I been told, twenty-four hours previously, that I
so soon was to press that angel to my breast, and feel upon my arm
the quick throbbings of her heart!
The rehearsal over, I was divesting myself of my clerical robe, when
the princess passed near me, accompanied by the marshal's lady.
"Dear Mr Ehrmann!" she said, "surely we soon shall see you doff
another disguise?"
"Gracious princess," I was forced to reply, "unhappily I am and must
ever remain what I now appear."
With a half-incredulous, half-mournful look she passed on, and left
the theatre.
On returning to the hotel, I found there had been an arrival during
my absence. A gentleman, mounted on a fine horse, and attended by a
servant, had alighted about an hour previously at the Fleckenberger
Arms, and was now seated in the coffee-room at supper. The stranger,
a young man of agreeable exterior and remarkably well-bred air,
had already heard of the private theatricals in preparation at the
palace, and doubtless the loquacious Damfnudel had also informed him
I was one of the performers; for scarcely had we exchanged a few of
those commonplace remarks with which travellers at an hotel usually
commence acquaintance, when, with an air of lively interest, he
began to question me on the subject. I told him what the play was,
described the arrangement of the theatre and the distribution of
the parts, and added some remarks on the comparative merits of the
performers, the least effective of whom, I observed, was the young
secretary, who took the prominent and difficult character of Count
Von der Mulde. There was something so encouraging to confidence
in the frank and pleasing manner of the stranger, that before we
retired to bed, after a pretty long sitting over our cigars, I
narrated to him the curious chain of trifling circumstances that
had led to my sharing in the projected performance, and did not
even conceal that the inmates of the palace evidently took me for
some great personage travelling incognito. I said little about the
Princess Theresa, and nothing at all of the romantic passion with
which she had inspired me. The stranger was vastly diverted at the
whole affair; and declared me perfectly justified in yielding to
the gentle violence done me, and profiting for my amusement by the
harmless misapprehension. He then told me that he himself was a great
lover of theatricals, and that he should like exceedingly to share
in the performance at the palace; and, if possible, to take the part
of Count Von der Mulde, in which he had frequently been applauded in
his own country. He was a Livonian baron, who had been much at Paris;
and I made no doubt that he really would perform the Gallomaniac fop
extremely well, the more so that he himself was a little Frenchified
in his manner. And I felt sure the general effect of the performance
would be greatly heightened if a practised actor replaced the present
unskilled representative of Von der Mulde. It was out of the question
for me to think of proposing or presenting him, when my own footing
was so precarious; but I informed him that the whole management was
vested in the marshal of the duke's household--an affable and amiable
person, by whom, if he could obtain the slightest introduction, I
thought his aid would gladly be accepted. My Livonian friend mused a
little; thought it possible he might get presented to the marshal;
fancied he had formerly known a cousin of his at Paris; would think
over it, and see in the morning what could be done. Thereupon we
parted for the night.
I passed the whole of the next morning studying my part, and it
was afternoon before I again met the accomplished stranger. With
a pleasant smile, and easy, self-satisfied air, he told me he had
settled everything, and should have the honour of appearing that
evening as my unsuccessful rival for the hand of the fair Amelia
Wildenhain. He had procured an introduction to the marshal, (he did
not say through whom,) and that nobleman, delighted to recruit an
efficient actor in lieu of a stop-gap, had proposed calling a morning
rehearsal; but this the new representative of Von der Mulde declared
to be quite unnecessary. He was perfectly familiar with the part, and
undertook not to miss a word.
The hour of performance came. The little theatre was thronged with
Klein-Fleckenbergers, noble and gentle, from country and town.
The duke and duchess made their appearance, and were greeted by a
flourish of trumpets, whilst the audience rose in a body to welcome
them. Count Von der Mulde dressed at the hotel, and did not appear in
the greenroom till towards the close of that portion of the play in
which he had nothing to do. In the fifth scene of the second act he
made his entrance, and almost embarrassed Wildenhain and Amelia by
the great spirit and naturalness of his acting. Kotzebue himself can
hardly have conceived the part more vividly and characteristically
than the stranger rendered it.
"I have scarcely recovered myself yet, dear Mr Ehrmann," said the
Princess Theresa to me, between the acts. "The count quite frightened
me. I could not help fancying it was the real Von der Mulde."
The completeness of the illusion was undeniable. The jests of the
portly boar-hunter, in the part of the butler, passed unperceived,
amidst the admiration excited by the count, who bewailed the
pomatum-pot, forgotten by his servant, as though it were his best
friend he had been compelled to leave behind, and whose eyes actually
glistened with tears as he whined forth his apprehensions that
unsavoury German mice would devour the most delicate perfume France
had ever produced. The question passed round, amongst actors and
audience, who this admirable performer was, and the duke himself sent
behind the scenes to make the inquiry. "A Livonian gentleman," was
the reply, "who would shortly have the honour to pay his respects to
his highness."
The play proceeded, and if the rehearsal had had circumstances
peculiarly gratifying to me as an individual, as an amateur of
art I could not withhold my warmest approbation from this day's
performance. The admirable tact and delicacy of the princess's
acting, combined with the utter absence of stage-trick and
conventionality, gave an unusual and extraordinary charm to her
personation of a part that is by no means easy. The honours of the
evening were for her and the count, and with justice, for few of
the many German theatres I had visited could boast of such able
and tasteful actors. Between the acts, the marshal's lady took
her jestingly to task, and asked her whether, if the play were
reality, she should not be disposed, without disparagement to me,
to admit that the count was no despicable or unlikely wooer? "To
her thinking," the princess replied, "our merits in real life might
very well bear about the same relative proportion as those of the
characters we assumed, and, for her part, she preferred her amiable
and gentle tutor." Then perceiving, as she finished speaking, that I
was within hearing, she turned away with a blush and a smile, that
seemed to me like an opening of the gates of Elysium. Upon this
occasion, however, the embracing scene was gone through according to
the corrected version--that is to say, with the embrace omitted--but
my vanity consoled me by attaching so much the greater price to the
deviation that had been made in my favour upon the preceding evening.
In short, I gave myself up to the enchantment of the hour: I was,
or fancied myself, desperately in love; visions of felicity flitted
through my brain to the exclusion of matter-of-fact reflections; I
had dreamed myself into an impossible Paradise, whence it would take
no slight shock to expel me. One awaited me, sufficiently violent to
dissipate in a second the whole air-built fabric.
The performance was drawing to a close, when a sudden commotion arose
behind the scenes, and cries of alarm were uttered. The flaring
of a lamp, fixed in one of the narrow wings, had set fire to the
elaborate frills and floating frippery that decorated the coxcombical
costume of Count Von der Mulde. His servant, a simple fellow, who
had attended him to the theatre, was ludicrously terrified at seeing
his master in a blaze. "Water!" he shouted, at the top of his lungs.
"Water! water! the Prince of Schnapselzerhausen is on fire!"
And, snatching up a crystal jug of water that stood at hand, he
dashed it over his master, successfully quenching the burning
muslin, but, at the same time, drenching him from head to foot. His
exclamation had attracted universal attention.
"The Prince of Schnapselzerhausen!" repeated fifty voices.
"Blockhead!" exclaimed the stranger.
"Count Von der Mulde, I mean!" cried the bewildered servant. "Well,"
he added, seeing that none heeded his correction, "the murder is out;
but it was better to tell his name than let him burn."
The murder was out, indeed. With much ado the scene was played to an
end, and the curtain fell. Every one crowded round the singed and
dripping Von der Mulde. The princess, instead of greeting in him
the son of the reigning Prince of Schnapselzerhausen, her destined
bridegroom, seemed bewildered and almost shocked at the discovery,
and was carried fainting from the theatre. The prince was hurried
away by his future father-in-law, whilst I, with my brain in a whirl,
betook myself to my inn.
After a feverish and sleepless night, I fell at daybreak into a
slumber, which lasted till late in the day. On getting out of bed,
with the sun high in the sky, and before I was well awake, I began,
almost unconsciously, to pack my portmanteau. The instinct was a true
one; evidently I had now nothing to stay for in Klein-Fleckenberg.
I rang for the waiter, and bade him secure me a place in that day's
_eilwagen_. I was not yet dressed, when a servant brought me a letter
and a small packet. I opened the former first. It was from the
Countess Von P----, the wife of the marshal of the household. Its
contents were as follows:--
"Rev. Mr Ehrmann--I thus address you because it is in that character
we shall longest remember you. You are entitled to an explanation
of certain circumstances and overtures concerning whose origin the
appearance of his highness the Prince of Schnapselzerhausen will
already have partly enlightened you.
"The description given us of the prince in the last letter of our
confidential correspondent at his father's court--in which letter his
musical skill and love of dramatic performances were particularly
referred to--coincided, as did also the probable time of his arrival
here, so closely with your appearance, that, when the real prince
presented himself, under the assumed name of a Livonian gentleman, we
were far from suspecting who he really was.
"I am commissioned to thank you, in the joint names of the
Princess Theresa and her illustrious parents, for your excellent
performance in yesterday's play. The princess, who is suffering
from indisposition, brought on by the alarm of fire and subsequent
surprise, requests your acceptance of the accompanying trinket as a
slight token of her esteem."
The trinket was a gold ring, with the initial T. in brilliants. I
pressed it to my lips, and I know not why I should be ashamed to
confess that my eyes grew dim as I gazed upon it. I had had a vain
but happy dream, and the moment of awakening was painful. An hour
later I crossed for the last time the frontier of the pleasant little
duchy.
The _Gotha Almanack_ supplies the date of the marriage of the
Princess Theresa of Klein-Fleckenberg with the son of the reigning
Prince of Schnapselzerhausen. It also records a series of subsequent
events which would induce many to believe in the conjugal felicity
of the illustrious pair;--the birth, namely, of half a dozen little
Schnapselzerhausens. That the second-born is christened Charles, may
be ascribed by the world to caprice, accident, or a god-father: my
vanity explains it otherwise.
THE QUAKER'S LAMENT.
[The subject of the following poem will best be gathered from the
entry in the notice-sheet of the House of Commons of 7th May last.
We do not disguise our delight at finding that Mr Bright is about
to take up the cause of protection in any portion of Her Majesty's
dominions; and although his sympathies seem to have been awakened at
a considerable distance from the metropolis, we are not without hope
that the tide will set in, decidedly and strongly, towards the point
where it is most especially needed. It is, at all events, refreshing
to know that the Ryots of India have secured the services of so
powerful and determined a champion, who has now ample leisure, owing
to the general dulness of trade, to do every justice to their cause.
"MR BRIGHT,--That an humble Address be presented to her Majesty,
praying her Majesty to appoint a commission to proceed to India,
to inquire into the obstacles which prevent an increased growth of
cotton in that country, and to report upon any circumstances which
may injuriously affect the economical and industrial condition of
the native population, being cultivators of the soil within the
presidencies of Bombay and Madras. _Tuesday 14th May._"]
I.
All the mills were closed in Rochdale,
Shut the heavy factory door;
Old and young had leave to wander,
There was work for them no more.
In the long deserted chambers
Idly stood the luckless loom,
Silent rose the ghastly chimney
Guiltless of its former fume.
II.
Near a brook that leaped rejoicing,
Freed once more from filthy dye,
Dancing in the smokeless sunlight,
Babbling as it wandered bye--
Walked a middle-aged Free-trader,
Forwards, backwards, like a crab:
And his brow was clothed with sorrow,
And his nether-man with drab.
III.
Chewing cud of bitter fancies,
Dreaming of the by-gone time,
Sauntered there the downcast Quaker
Till he heard the curfew chime.
Then a hollow laugh escaped him:
"Let the fellows have their will--
With a dwindling crop of cotton,
They may ask a Five-hours Bill!
IV.
"Side by side I've stood with Cobden,
Roared with him for many a year,
And our only theme was cheapness,
And we swore that bread was dear;
And we made a proclamation
Touching larger pots of beer,
Till the people hoarsely answered
With a wild approving cheer.
V.
"Did we not denounce the landlords
As a ravening locust crew?
Did we not revile the yeomen,
And the rough-shod peasants too?
Clodpoles, louts, and beasts of burden,
Asses, dolts, and senseless swine--
These were our familiar phrases
In the days of auld-langsyne.
VI.
"And at length we gained the battle:
Oh, how proudly did I feel,
When the praise was all accorded
To my brother chief by Peel!
But I did not feel so proudly
At the settling of the fee--
Cobden got some sixty thousand--
Not a stiver came to me!
VII.
"Well, they _might_ have halved the money--
Yet I know not--and who cares?
After all, the free disposal
Of the gather'd fund was theirs:
And it is some consolation
In this posture of affairs,
To reflect that 'twas invested
In the shape of railway shares!
VIII.
"O, away, ye pangs of envy!
Wherefore dwell on such a theme,
Since a second grand subscription
Is, I know, a baseless dream?
Haunt me not with flimsy fancies--
Soul, that should be great and free!
Yet--they gave him sixty thousand,
Not a pennypiece to me!
IX.
"But I threw my spirit forwards,
As an eagle cleaves the sky,
Glaring at the far horizon
With a clear unflinching eye.
Visions of transcendant brightness
Rose before my fancy still,
And the comely earth seemed girdled
With a zone from Rochdale Mill.
X.
"And I saw the ports all opened,
Every harbour free from toll:
Countless myriads craving shirtings
From the Indies to the pole.
Lapland's hordes inspecting cotton,
With a spermaceti smile,
And Timbuctoo's tribes demanding
Bright's 'domestics' by the mile!
XI.
"O the bliss, the joy Elysian!
O the glory! O the gain!
Never, sure, did such a vision
Burst upon the poet's brain!
Angel voices were proclaiming
That the course of trade was free,
And the merchants of the Indies
Bowed their stately heads to me!
XII.
"Out, alas! my calculation
Was, I know, too quickly made;
Even sunlight casts a shadow,
There is gloom in briskest trade.
I forgot one little item--
Though the fact of course I knew,
For I never had considered
Where it was that cotton grew.
XIII.
"Wherefore in this northern valley,
Where the ploughshare tears the sod,
Spring not up spontaneous bushes
Laden with the precious pod?
What an Eden were this island,
If beside the chimney-stalk
Raw material might be gathered,
Freely of an evening walk!
XIV.
"But alas, we cannot do it.
And the Yankee--fiends confound him!--
Grins upon us, o'er the ocean,
With his bursting groves around him.
And these good-for-nothing Negroes
Are so very slow at hoeing,
That their last supply of cotton
Will not keep our mills a-going.
XV.
"Also, spite of Cobden's speeches
Made in every foreign land,
Which, 'tis true, the beastly natives
Did not wholly understand,
Hostile tariffs still are rising,
Duties laid on twist and twine;
And the wild pragmatic Germans
Hail with shouts their Zollverein.
XVI.
"They, like madmen, seem to fancy
That a nation, to be great,
Should as surely shield the workman
As the highest in the state:
And they'd rather raise their taxes
From the fruits of foreign labour,
Than permit, as nature dictates,
Each man to devour his neighbour.
XVII.
"So my golden dreams have vanished,
All my hopes of gain are lost;
Fresh accounts of glutted markets
Come with each successive post.
And I hear the clodpoles mutter
As they pass me in the street,
That they can't afford to purchase,
At the present rate of wheat.
XVIII.
"Well, I care not--'tis no matter!
My machines won't eat me up;
And the people on the poor-rates
Have my perfect leave to sup.
Let the land provide subsistence
For the children of the soil,
I am forced to feed my engines
With a daily cruise of oil.
XIX.
"Ha! a bright idea strikes me!
'Tis the very thing, huzzay!
I have somewhere heard that cotton
May be cultured in Bombay.
Zooks! it is a splendid notion!
Dicky Cobden is an ass.
Wherefore should we pay the Yankees
Whilst Great Britain holds Madras?
XX.
"Cotton would again be cultured
If, with a benignant hand,
Fair protection were afforded
To the tillers of the land.
'Tis a sin and shame, we know not
Where our real riches lie;
Yes! they _shall_ have just protection,
Else I'll know the reason why.
XXI.