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FRANK LESLIE’S NEW: YORK JOURNAL. 201
‘May thy charitable heart and mind,’ whispered
Blanchard, prompting her, “love one another!”
The laugh was general—even Munden joined in
it. Actors were merry creatures in those days,
, when quips and quirks passed harmless. .
' , To the young painter all this was delightful. “Wha
an admirable picture it would make!” he thought—
| and the thought was not destined to remain barren.
- It was not till the close of the rehearsal that Mrs.
Watkins found occasion to solicit’ the manager that
he would give Fanny a trial in the part of Prince
Arthur—the request was an ambitious one. .
.*Sheis my pupil!’ added the pleader.
“John Kemble “‘hum’d and ha’d,” and referred her
: to Mrs. Siddons, who very graciously consented to
| hear the child rehearse the part in her own dressing-
| room, her brothers and Barry forming the audience.
»“ Don’t be alarmed, my love,” said the old actress,
encouragingly ; we are all friends!» Now begin the
first speech!" : :
- Her protegé commenced a
i“ Heaven shall forgive you Caur de Lion's death.”
“Hand to heaven,” whispered her instructress.
“ The rather that you gave his offspring life—
of Shadowing their. rights under your wing of war.”
“ Arms extended.” » ot _
~“ Igive you welcome with a powerless hand——”
« Hold it out!” . toad het °
“ But with a heart full of wnstained love.”
“ Hand to heart !? -° wos eid Sb ae
~*: Welcome before the gates of Anjou's duke.”?»*-~
« Shake hands with Austria.” 90. 63 Ls
This was the last interruption poor Fanny was
subjected to by her benevolent, friend—who looked
» upon:the rules of the ricoco school of.acting, in
which she had been a:professor, as upon the laws
of the Medes and. Persians—things ‘which altered
te ibe Meee bee eg Taree wt 2
. ‘Don’t confuse her,’? whispered Charles Kemble,
' good-naturedly ; “you can correct her action by-
” wad beta
| The rest of the’scene was rehearsed to the satis-
faction both of the manager and—what. was of still
' greater importance--of his’ sister—who expressed
herself perfectly willing to accept Fanny as the Ar-
thur of the play. .:. Peg su
. The point was gained, and the triumph of the
: benevolent old lady complete. ‘ Her pupil was en-
gaged at the nightly salary of. five shillings during
| the run of the piece. i esis Dos Ses ’
\ On leaving the theatre, fortunately it rained: we
' say: fortunateiy, for it. gave Barry an. excuse for
» sendiug for. a hackney-coach, and so avoiding the
| yidicule ef once more parading. through the streets
with lus venerable but eccentric-looking friend.- »
During » the rehearsals, which lasted a month
| —they did not produce a play of Shakspeare’s in'a
week in those days—it was with the utmost diffi-
- culty that Mrs. Watkins could be prevented from
accompanying Fanny every day’ to the theatre.
| Under the plea that her health would suffer. from
' the exertion, Sally and: her lover at last persuaded
her to intrust her pupil to their care. . The future
actress and the painter alike profited by it. It re-
' leased the child from the restraint which the whis-
' pered instructions of Mrs. Watkins would have im-
: posed, and enabled the latter to complete his studies
\ for the picture, the. first idea, of, which had been
| suggested by his visit to the green-room. .
' +The night—the important: night—at last arrived:
| King John, with new dresses, scenery, and decora-
tions, was to be given to the public. ; Barry, it was
' arranged, should escort his landlady—who had the
| entrée as a matter of right, after so many years’
. services, to the boxes. .Meg and Madame Weitzer |*
| were to go to the pit; as for the old musician, he
ositively refused to be present ; his indignation at
Nis pupil—as he persisted in calling Fanny—being
sacrificed *to . Shabspeare—as . he invariably : pro-
| nounced the name of the immortal bard—was too
ar Nein Got—mein Got py he exclaimed ; ,‘f mit
| such vine voice for de opera.” 0. Fo oe
' ot is not to be supposed that the talents of a
: child, however great, could obtain much notice, con-
| trasted with the genius of such masters of their art
| as John Kemble and his sister ; still in the earlier
) parts of the play there were murmurs of applause,
: which became more - energetic in. the scene with
| Hubert. 2p fey ed pa git
Mrs. Watkins was in ecstacies... "0 60 os
“‘I taught. her!” she frequently observed to her
: companion, jealous lest her share in the triumph of
« her pupil should be forgotten.) 22.0. ss Loos
| An the fourth act, where ‘Arthur leaps from the
' tower and is killed, the audience were excited to the
‘ highest pitch by what they supposed the extraor-
; dinary acting of Fanny. No sooner had she raised
i .
t
*|which time'old Meg frequently observed a sus-
‘|remembered the man in the court, and could: not
herself on one arm, after the fall, than her features
became violently agitated; her eves rolled with an
expression of intense agony. With apparent diffi-
culty—such as might be expected in the death
struggle of the martyred child—she ‘uttered the
lines :
Ab, me! my uncle’s spirit’s in these stones!
Heaven take my soul and England keep my bones.
Her gaze suddenly fell, and she sank upon the
stage so naturally that a round of applause fol-
lowed. « ih
“ Beautiful!’’ muttered Barry.
The old: actress made no reply.’ She had not
taught her that—it-was against all her ideas of,
acting. : uO
But was it acting? No! Fanny had recognised
in the first row of the pit the eyes of her old eneiny, |
Miles, glaring like those of a famished wolf ready to
seize its prey, fixed upon her; hence her look of
agony, her broken voice, and the real, not affected, ;
insensibility that followed. :
en'the actor who at the conclusion of the
scene had to raise her in his arms and bear her off,
lifted her from the ground, he found to his surprise
that she was cold and senseless.’ A surgeon had to
be sent for. o .
“How fortunate,” thought the prompter, “that
she had finished her part!”
A nervous fever ensued ; it was weeks before the
little sufferer was pronounced out of danger, during
picious, rough-looking fellow lingering in the court.
Once he ventured to ask her if any one was ill, and
tried to draw her into conversation—but Meg had
no time to waste, and repelled his advances with
more than her usual gruffness. .
“ Shabspeare shall not have her!’ exclaimed the
German musician, with a chuckle, the first time he
heard the sound of her voice after her recovery ; “I
vill make her great singer yet!”-
~ During Fanny’s ‘illness, the curiosity of those
who watched over her: was greatly excited by her
ravings. Frequently, in the most piteous accents,
she implored them not to let Miles come near her;
at other times she would hold her arms out as if
they were tied, and ask only to be permitted to say
her prayers.
Neither, Mrs.’ Watkins, Sally, Barry; nor Meg
could make it out. |
The latter, who happened to be present when the
sufferer was sufficiently strong to relate her fearful
recollections of the scene when the harlequin res-
cued her from her intended murderer, suddenly
avoid exclaiming, as she clenched ‘her’ not very
delicate fist : a : :
“Only let me catch him again!” .
“Again!” repeated Fanny, turning white with
terror; ‘have you, too, seen him?” ‘ ‘
Barry made the old woman a sign to be cautious.
“Didn't you.say he was’ inthe pit!” replied
Meg, with great presence of mind; “on the front
row—near to me and the German up stairs? We
both saw him, with his ugly eyes fixed upon you as
if.-he could devour you! ‘But don’t be afraid, dar-
ling!” she added; “if ever I see him again, I
promise you faithfully I’ll strangle him!”
All present smiled at the quiet energy with which
Meg: expressed her not very. feminine ‘resolution.
In reality it was no laughing matter—for, with her
extraordinary strength and devotion to those whom
she loved, she was as likely as not to keep her
word. . bas i Bot dia Gt
‘The young painter resolved to question her yet
more closely upon ‘the, subject: in private, lor
several: weeks after hearing her description of the
man, he kept a close look-out. ' But Miles, if it was
Miles, no longer ventured into the court, { “:°->*
tat
° CHAPTER. XXVIII, ,
Let them anatomise her—sce what breeds about her heart.
Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts.
pegi HAKSPEARE,
Marta Quin—or rather Miss Mendez—for the
royal license had been obtained authorising her to
assume the name. of her mother’s family—unlike
most persons suddenly enriched, did not sit down
contented to enjoy the good things of this world, |:
and leave her mind uncultivated... On the contrary,
she determined to repair the culpable neglect of her
grandfather, and educate herself.. With this view,
she requested Mr. Foster to procure her some lady-
like, accomplished ,person, who could act in .the
double capacity of governess and companion; for}. 2 .
the hours at times hung heavily upon the hands of tired to her chamber, she murmured to herself; |! “~~
her own sad thoughts and the bitter recollections of
the past.
The person’ whom’ Mr. Foster selected for this
delicate task was the orphan daughter of a barrister,
whom he had known and esteemed, but whose pro-
fessional success had but ill responded to his varied
learning and merits. He had died poor, leaving his
only child to the protection—we might almost add,
to the charity—of his friend. *’
Harriet Wyndham had a mind gifted like her
father’s, with a singular aptitude for study.. Al-
though only eighteen’ years of age,’ she was.an
accomplished linguist,a profound musician,’ and
possessed more than a superficial knowledge of the
natural sciences—to say nothing of those lighter
branches of female education which adorn the saloon
and the boudoir.’ Had her heart but responded to
her intellect, she would have been one of creation’s
fairest master-pieces.
Although not regularly beautiful, her | features
were expressive and pleasing—her figure graceful
and commanding.
In selecting her’ for the instructress and com-
panion of his client, Mr: Foster had been influenced
by two considerations First, the necessity of his
protegé doing something to release her from the
alling chain of depéndence ; secondly,’ the desire
of placing near to Martha a person of her own sex
whom she might love and confide in. He was a
philosopher as well as a lawyer, and he quickly
perceived that the morbid feelings of the heiress,
er solitary life, and disappointment were preying
upon her health.» :
In explaining to Harriet Wyndham his views, the
kind-hearted man unintentionally pointed out to her
a field for the exercise ‘of her speculative talents—
to worm herself into the affection and confidence of ‘
a being whom the world had deprived of all natural
ties and affections, and then, as if in mockery, sud-
denly made rich. » Rich! ‘Fine recompense—a pall
of cluth of gold thrown over ’a pauper’s coffin-—an
artificial flower placed in a vase of water. .
“You will find her reserved at first-!” said Mr.
Foster; “perhaps cold—but) not ‘unkind! | Her
strangeness of manner does not arise from pride,
but ignorance of the world!” .
The young lady eagerly noted every word he
uttered 1 oe oe
“Perhaps she has greatly suffered?” she ob-
served. : 3 “ty . ,
“She has suffered!” replied the lawyer, with a
smile—for he saw that the speaker aimed at a con-
fidence it was not in his power to give; ‘ but even
I am ignorant of the cause—or at least but partially
acquainted with it!” “
«I soon shall be no stranger to them!” mentally
exclaimed the future companion of Martha. —
“She is kind,” continued the speaker, ‘and
naturally shrewd — but uninformed! -Time only,”
he added, “‘ wili win her confidence !-'* °'" -
In giving her these instructions; Mr. Foster had’
not thy slightest idea that he was doing more than *
indicating to her the line of conduct it was advisable
for her. to pursue, to perform her duties conscien- '
tiously and honorably. "Little did he suspect that ~
the very speculative young lady had already settled *
in her own mind two important points. ~ .
The first. was, to obtain the secret- of Martha, if
she had one. ot te
The second was to beher heiress. > “-
Wealth! In nine cases out of ten there is a curse
accompanies it;. more’ especially when its | unfor-
tunate possessors have been deprived by accident of
those natural ties and‘ affections which warm and
sustain the heart. There is something dreadful in
seeing those whom they might love, calculate every
word and look—to read ‘interest—self-interest—in *
évery expression ‘of kindness—to feel at last the '
miserable conviction: furced upon them, that they
are objects of speculation—not affection. -
trong minds revolt, and disappoint the sordid
expectations of the human leeches who would prey
upon them; weak ones. yield .to influences they
despise, but have not the courage to resist. - * .
On arriving at Brierly Grange, Harriet Wynd-°
ham felt quite confident of succeeding 'in the task ‘
she had undertaken>~ She had not been an inmate °
of her new residence more than a week before her
self-reliance was somewhat shaken. Boo ed
Miss Mendez was not exactly the kind of person
she expected to: find her—her reserve appeared im- |
penetrable. A week!:and she had not yet discov-»
ered one weak point in her character—or, what was
of far more eonsequence, made ‘the least approach |
to her confidence, 05 3: Batik ge bas ites
Still she did not despair: each night, as she re-*'
the desolate heiress, with no other occupation than |» | «The task is more worthy of me than I thought!”
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