THE MUSE OF TRAGEDY
I
Madam," said Mr. Daly, the manager, in his politest style, "no onecould regret the occurrence more than myself"--he pronounced the word"meself"--"especially as you say it has hurt your feelings. Do n'tI know what feelings are?"--he pronounced the word "failings," whichtended in some measure to alter the effect of the phrase, though hisfriends would have been inclined to assert that its accuracy was notthereby diminished.
"I have been grossly insulted, sir," said Mrs. Siddons.
"Grossly insulted," echoed Mr. Siddons. He played the part of echo tohis stately wife very well indeed.
"And it took place under your roof, sir," said the lady.
"Your roof," echoed the husband.
"And there's no one in the world sorrier than myself for it," said Mr.Daly. "But I do n't think that you should take a joke of the collegegentlemen so seriously."
"Joke?" cried Mrs. Siddons, with a passion that caused the manager,in the instinct of self-preservation to jump back. "Joke, sir!--a jokepassed upon Sarah Siddons! My husband, sir, whose honour I have everupheld as dearer to me than life itself, will tell you that I am notaccustomed to be made the subject of ribald jests."
"I do n't know the tragedy that that quotation is made from," remarkedMr. Daly, taking out his snuff-box and tapping it, affecting a coolnesswhich he certainly was far from possessing; "but if it's all writtenin that strain I'll bring it out at Smock Alley and give you an extrabenefit. You never spoke anything better than that phrase. Pray let ushave it again, madam--'my husband, sir,' and so forth."
Mrs. Siddons rose slowly and majestically. Her eyes flashed as shepointed a shapely forefinger to the door of the greenroom, saying in herdeepest tones:
"Sir! degrade the room no longer by your presence. You have yet to knowSarah Siddons."
"Sarah Siddons," murmured the husband very weakly. He would have likedto maintain the stand taken up by his wife, but he had his fears thatto do so would jeopardise the success of his appearance at the manager'streasury, and Mr. Siddons now and again gave people to understand thathe could not love his wife so well loved he not the treasury more.
Mr. Daly laughed.
"Faith, Mrs. Siddons," said he, "'t is a new thing for a man to beordered out of his own house by a guest. I happen to be the owner ofthis tenement in Smock Alley, in the city of Dublin, and you are myguest--my honoured guest, madam. How could I fail to honour a lady who,in spite of the fact of being the greatest actress in the world, isstill a pattern wife and mother?"
Mrs. Siddons was visibly softening under the balmy brogue of theIrishman.
"It is because I am sensible of my duties to my husband and my childrenthat I feel the insult the more, sir," she said, in a tone that wasstill tragic.
"Sure I know that that's what makes the sting of it so bitter," said Mr.Daly, shaking his head sadly. "It's only the truly virtuous, madam, thathave feelings"--again he pronounced the word "failings."
"Enough, madam," he continued, after he had flourished his handkerchiefand had wiped away an imaginary tear. "Enough! In the name of thecitizens of Dublin I offer you the humblest apology in my power forthe gross misconduct of that scoundrel in the pit who called out, 'Welldone, Sally, my jewel!' after your finest soliloquy; and I promise youthat if we can find the miscreant we shall have him brought to justice."
"If you believe that the citizens of Dublin are really conscious of thestigma which they shall bear for ages to come for having insulted onewhose virtue has, I rejoice to say, been ever beyond reproach, I willaccept your apology, sir," said Mrs. Siddons with dignity.
"I 'll undertake to swear that the citizens feel the matter quite asdeeply as I do, Mrs. Siddons," cried Mr. Daly, with both his handsclasped over his waistcoat. "I dare swear that they do not even now knowthe enormity of your virtue, madam. It will be my pleasing duty tomake them acquainted with it; and so, madam, I am your grateful, humbleservant."
With a low bow he made his escape from the green-room, leaving Mrs.Sid-dons seated on a high chair in precisely the attitude which sheassumed when she sat for the Tragic Muse of Reynolds.
"Thank heavens that 's over!" muttered the manager, as he hurried downSmock Alley to the tavern at the corner kept by an old actor namedBarney Rafferty, and much frequented by the Trinity College students,who in the year 1783 were quite as enthusiastic theatre-goers as theirsuccessors are in the present year.
"For the love of heaven, Barney, give us a jorum," cried Daly, as heentered the bar parlor. "A jorum of punch, Barney, for I 'm as dry asa lime kiln, making speeches in King Cambyses' vein to that Queen ofTragedy."
"It'll be at your hand in a minute, Mr. Daly, sir," said Barney,hurrying off.
In the parlour were assembled a number of the "college boys," as thestudents were always called in Dublin. They greeted the arrival of theirfriend Daly with acclamation, only they wanted to know what had occurredto detain him so long at the theatre.
"Delay and Daly have never been associated before now when there's ajorum of punch in view," remarked young Mr. Blenerhassett of Limerick,who was reported to have a very pretty wit.
"It's lucky you see me among you at all, boys," said the manager, wipinghis brow. "By the powers, I might have remained in the green-room allnight listening to homilies on the virtue of wives and the honour ofhusbands."
"And 't is yourself that would be nothing the worse for listening to ahomily or two on such topics," remarked young Blake of Connaught. "Andwho was the preacher of the evening, Daly?"
"None else than the great Sarah herself, my boy," replied the manager."Saint Malachi! what did you mean by shouting out what you did, afterthat scene?" he added.
"What did I shout?" asked Jimmy Blake. "I only ventured humbly to cry,'Well done, Sally, my jewel'--what offence is there in that?"
"Ay, by Saint Patrick, but there's much offence in 't," cried Daly."Mrs. Siddons sent for me to my dressing-room after the play, andthere I found her pacing the green-room like a lioness in her cage,her husband, poor man, standing by as tame as the keeper of the royalbeast."
A series of interested exclamations passed round the room, and thecircle of heads about the table became narrower. "Mother o' Moses! Sheobjected to my civil words of encouragement?" said Mr. Blake.
"She declared that not only had she been insulted, but her husband'shonour had been dragged in the mire, and her innocent children's nameshad been sullied."
"Faith, that was a Sally for you, Mr. Daly," said young Home, the Dublinpainter to whom Mrs. Siddons had refused to sit, assuring him that shecould only pay such a compliment to Sir Joshua Reynolds.
"Boys, may this be my poison if I ever put in a worse half hour," criedDaly, as he raised a tumbler of punch and swallowed half the contents.
"I 'd give fifty pounds to have been there," said Home. "Think what apicture it would make!--the indignant Sarah, the ever courteous managerDaly, and the humble husband in the corner. What would not posterity payfor such a picture!"
"A guinea in hand is worth a purse in the future," said one of thecollege boys. "I wish I could draw a bill on posterity for the paymentof the silversmith who made my buckles."
"Daly," said Blake, "you're after playing a joke on us. Sally never tookyou to task for what I shouted from the Pit."
Mr. Daly became dignified--he had finished the tumbler of punch. He drewhimself up, and, with one hand thrust into his waistcoat, he said:"Sir, I conceive that I understand as well as any gentleman presentwhat constitutes the elements of a jest. I have just conveyed to youa statement of facts, sir. If you had seen Sarah Siddons as I lefther--egad, she is a very fine woman--you would n't hint that there wasmuch jest in the matter. Oh, lord, boys"--another jug of punch had justbeen brought in, and the manager was becoming genial once more--"Oh,lord, you should have heard the way she talked about the honour of herhusband, as if there never had been a virtuous woman on the boards untilSarah Siddons arose!"
"And was there one, Daly?" asked young Murphy, a gent
leman from whomgreat things were expected by his college and his creditors.
"There was surely, my boy," said Daly, "but I've forgot her name. Thename's not to the point. I tell you, then, the Siddons stormed in thestateliest blank verse and periods, about how she had elevated thestage--how she had checked Brereton for clasping her as she thought tooardently--how she had family prayers every day, and looked forward tothe day when she could afford a private chaplain."
"Stop there," shouted Blake. "You'll begin to exaggerate if you gobeyond the chaplain, Daly."
"It's the truth I've told so far, at any rate, barring the chaplain,"said Daly.
"And all because I saw she was a bit nervous and did my best toencourage her and give her confidence by shouting, 'Well done, Sally!'"said Blake. "Boys, it's not Sarah Siddons that has been insulted, it'sTrinity College--it's the city of Dublin! by my soul, it's the Irishnation that she has insulted by supposing them capable of insulting awoman."
"Faith, there 's something in that, Jimmy," said half a dozen voices.
"Who is this Sarah Siddons, will ye tell me, for I 'd like to know?"resumed Blake, casting a look of almost painful enquiry round the room.
"Ay, that 's the question," said Daly, in a tone that he invariablyreserved for the soliloquy which flourished on the stage a century ago.
"We 're all gentlemen here," resumed Mr. Blake.
"And that 's more than she is," said young Blenerhassett of Limerick.
"Gentlemen," said the manager, "I beg that you'll not forget thatMrs. Siddons and myself belong to the same profession. I cannot sufferanything derogatory"--the word gave him some trouble, but he masteredit after a few false starts--"to the stage to be uttered in thisapartment."
"You adorn the profession, sir," said Blake. "But can the same be saidof Mrs. Siddons? What could Garrick make of her, gentlemen?"
"Ahem! we know what he failed to make of her," said Digges, the actor,who sat in the corner, and was supposed to have more Drury Lane scandalon his fingers' ends than Daly himself.
"Pooh!" sneered Daly. "Davy Garrick never made love to her, Digges. Itwas her vanity that tried to make out that he did."
"He did not make her a London success--that's certain," said Blake."And though Dublin, with the assistance of the College, can pronounce abetter judgment on an actor or actress than London, still we must admitthat London is improving, and if there had been any merit in SarahSiddons she would not have been forced to keep to the provinces as shedoes now. Gentlemen, she has insulted us and it's our duty to teach hera lesson."
"And we're the boys to do it," said one Moriarty.
"Gentlemen, I 'll take my leave of you," said the manager, rising with alittle assistance and bowing to the company. "It's not for me to dictateany course for you to pursue. I do n't presume to ask to be let into anyof your secrets; I only beg that you will remember that Mrs. Siddonshas three more nights to appear in my theatre, and she grasps so largea share of the receipts that, unless the house continues to be crowded,it's a loser I'll be at the end of the engagement. You'll not doanything that will jeopardise the pit or the gallery--the boxes aresure--for the rest of the week."
"Trust to us, sir, trust to us," said Jimmy Blake, as the managerwithdrew. "Now, boys," he continued in a low voice, bending over thetable, "I've hit upon a way of convincing this fine lady that has takenthe drama under her wing, so to speak, that she can't play any of herhigh tragedy tricks here, whatever she may do at Bath. She does n'tunderstand us, boys; well, we'll teach her to."
"Bravo, Jimmy!"
"The Blake's Country and the sky over it!"
"Give us your notions," came several voices from around the table.
"She bragged of her respectability; of her armour of virtue, Daly toldus. Well, suppose we put a decent coat on Dionysius Hogan and send himto propose an elopement to her to-morrow; how would that do for a jokewhen it gets around the town?"
"By the powers, boys, whether or not Dionysius gets kicked down thestairs, she'll be the laughing-stock of the town. It's a genius"--hepronounced it "jan-yus"--"that you are, Jimmy, and no mistake," criedyoung Moriarty.
"We'll talk it over," said Jimmy. And they did talk it over.
II
Dionysius Hogan was a celebrated character in Dublin during thelast quarter of the eighteenth century. The Irish capital has alwayscherished curious characters, for pretty much the same reason thatcaused badgers to be preserved; any man, or, for that matter, any woman,who was only eccentric enough, could depend on the patronage of thepeople of Dublin. Dionysius Hogan afforded his fellow-citizens many alaugh on account of his numerous eccentricities. He was a man of aboutfifty years of age, but his great anxiety was to appear thirty yearsyounger; and he fancied he accomplished this aim by wearing in 1783 thecostume of 1750, only in an exaggerated form. His chief hallucinationwas that several of the best known ladies in society were in love withhim, and that it was necessary for him to be very careful lest heshould compromise himself by a correspondence with some of those who hadhusbands.
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It need scarcely be said that this idea of his was not greatlydiscouraged by the undergraduates of Trinity College. It was not theirfault if he did not receive every week a letter from some distinguishedlady begging the favor of an interview with him. Upon many occasions thecommunications, which purported to come from married ladies, took theform of verses. These he exhibited with great pride, and only afterextorting promises of profound secrecy, to his student friends.
It was immaterial that Dionysius found almost every week that he hadbeen the victim of practical jokes; his belief in his own powers ofcaptivating womankind was superior to every rebuff that he encountered.He exhibited his dapper little figure, crowned with the wig of amacaroni, to the promenaders in all the chief thoroughfares daily,and every evening he had some fresh story to tell of how he had beenexerting himself to avoid an assignation that was being urged on him bya lady of quality sojourning not a hundred miles from the Castle.
The scheme which Mr. Blake had suggested to his fellow-students inthe Smock Alley tavern found a willing agent for its realisation inDionysius Hogan. Mrs. Siddons, her beauty and her powers, were, ofcourse, the talk of the town during her first visit to Dublin. It onlyneeded Jimmy Blake to drop a few dark hints in the hearing of Dionysiuson the subject of a rumor that was current, to the effect that a certainwell-known gentleman in Dublin had attracted the attention of the greatactress, to make Dionysius believe that he had made a conquest of theSiddons.
For the remainder of the evening he took to dropping dark hints to thiseffect, and before he had slept that night there was no doubt on hismind that Sarah Sid-dons was another lady who had succumbed to hisattractive exterior. To be sure, he had heard it said that she was ashard as marble; but then she had not seen him until she had come toDublin. All women, he believed, had their weak moments, and there was noarticle of his creed more strongly impressed upon him than that the weakmoment of many women was when they saw him for the first time.
When, on descending from his bedroom to his little sitting-room in hishumble lodgings--for Mr. Hogan's income did not exceed eighty pounds ayear--a letter was put into his hand bearing the signature "S. S.," andwhen he found that above these initials there was a passionate avowalof affection and a strong appeal to him to be merciful as he was strong,and to pay the writer a visit at her lodgings before the hour of one,"when Mr. S. returns from the theatre, where he goes every forenoon,"poor Dionysius felt that the time had at last come for him to castdiscretion to the winds. The beauty of Mrs. Siddons had had a powerfuleffect upon his susceptible heart when she had first come before hiseyes on the stage of the Smock Alley theatre.
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On that night he believed that she had kept her eyes fixed upon himwhile repeating some of the beautiful soliloquies in "Isabella." Theartful suggestions of Jimmy Blake had had their effect upon him, and nowhe held in his hand a letter that left him no room to doubt--even if hehad been inclined that way--the accu
racy of the tale that his poor hearthad originally told him.
He dressed himself with his accustomed care, and, having deluged hiscambric with civet--it had been the favourite scent of thirty yearsbefore--he indulged in the unusual luxury of a chair to convey him tothe lodgings of the great actress; for he felt that it might seriouslyjeopardise his prospects to appear in the presence of the lady withsoiled shoes.
The house where Mrs. Siddons lodged was not an imposing one. She hadarrived in Dublin from Holyhead at two o'clock in the morning, andshe was compelled to walk about the streets in a downpour of rain forseveral hours before she could prevail upon any one to take her in.It is scarcely surprising that she conceived a strong and enduringprejudice against Dublin and its inhabitants.
On enquiring in a whisper and with a confidential smirk for Mrs.Siddons, he learned from the maid servant that the lady was in her room,and that Mr. Siddons had not returned from his morning visit to thetheatre. The servant stated, however, that Mrs. Siddons had given thestrictest orders to admit no one into her presence.
"Ah, discreet as one might have expected," murmured Dionysius. "She doesnot mean to run the chance of disappointing me. Which is her parlour,child?"
"It's the first front, yer honour," said the girl; "but, Lord save yerhonour, she'd murther me if I let ye go up. Oh, it's joking ye are."
"Hush," whispered Dionysius, his finger on his lips. "Not so loud, Ipray. She is waiting for me."
"Holy Biddy! waiting for yer?" cried the maid. "Now do n't be afthergetting a poor colleen into throuble, sir. I'm telling ye that it'skilled entirely I'd be if I let ye go up."
"Do n't be a fool, girl," said Dionysius, still speaking in a whisper."I give you my word of honour as a gentleman that Mrs. Siddons isawaiting me. Zounds! why do I waste time talking to a menial? Out of myway, girl."
He pushed past the servant, leaving her somewhat awe-stricken at hisgrand manner and his finery, and when she recovered and made a grab forhis coat tails, he was too quick for her. He plucked them out of herreach, and she perceived that he had got such a start of her thatpursuit would be useless. In a few moments he was standing before thedoor of the room on the first floor that faced the street.
His heart was fluttering so that he had scarcely courage to tap upon thepanel. He had tapped a second time before that grand contralto, thatfew persons could hear without emotion, bade him enter. He turned thehandle, and stood facing Mrs. Siddons.
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She was sitting in a gracefully majestic attitude by the side of a smalltable on which a desk was placed. Mrs. Siddons never unbent for a momentin private life.
She assumed majestic attitudes in the presence of the lodging-houseservant, and spoke in a tragic contralto to the linen-draper'sapprentice. She turned her lovely eyes upon Dionysius Hogan as he stoodsmirking and bowing at the door. There was a vista of tragedy in thedelivery of the two words--
"Well, sir?"
It took him some moments to recover from the effect the words producedupon him. He cleared his throat--it was somewhat husky--and with anartificial smirk he piped out:
"Madam--ah, my charmer, I have rushed to clasp my goddess to my bosom!Ah, fair creature, who could resist your appeal?"
He advanced in the mincing gait of the Macaronis. She sprang to herfeet. She pointed an eloquent forefinger at a spot on the floor directlyin front of him.
"Wretch," she cried, "advance a step at your peril!" Her eyes wereflashing, and her lips were apart.
His mincing ceased abruptly; and only the ghost of a smirk remained uponhis patched and painted face. It was in a very fluty falsetto that hesaid:
"Ah, I see my charmer wants to be wooed. But why should Amanda reproachher Strephon for but obeying her behests? Wherefore so coy, dear nymph?Let these loving arms--"
"Madman--wretch--"
"Nay, chide me not, dear one. 'T is but the ardour of my passion thatbids me clasp thee, the fairest of Hebe's train. We shall fly togetherto some retreat--far from the distractions--"
"Oh, the man is mad--mad!" cried the lady, retreating a step or two ashe advanced.
"Only mad with the ardour of my passion," whispered Dionysius.
"Oh, heaven! that I should live to hear such words spoken in mypresence!" cried Mrs. Siddons, with her hands clasped in passionateappeal to a smiling portrait of the landlady's husband that hung overthe fireplace. Then she turned upon Dionysius and looked at him.
Her eyes blazed. Their fire consumed the unfortunate man on whom theyrested. He felt himself shrivelled up and become crisp as an autumnleaf. He certainly trembled like one, as a terrible voice, but no louderthan a whisper, sounded in his ears: "Are you a human being or themonster of a dream, that you dare to speak such words in my hearing?What wretch are you that fancies that Sarah Siddons may be addressedby such as you, and in language that is an insult to a pure wife andmother. I am Sarah Siddons, sir! I am a wife who holds her husband'shonour dearer than life itself--I am a mother who will never cause ablush of shame to mantle the brow of one of her children. Wretch,insulter, why are mine eyes not basilisks, with death in their glanceto such as you?"
Down went Dionysius on his knees before that terrible figure thatstretched out wild quivering hands above his head. Such gestures as herswould have fitted the stage of Drury Lane.
In the lodging-house parlour they were overwhelming.
"For God's sake, spare me, spare me!" he faltered, with his handsclasped and his head bent before that fury.
"Why should I spare such a wretch--why should I not trample such a worminto the dust?"
She took a frantic step toward him. With a short cry of abject terror hefell along the floor, and gasped. It seemed to him that she had trampledthe life out of his body.
She stood above him with a heaving bosom beneath her folded arms.
There was a long pause before he heard the door open. A weight seemedlifted off him. He found that he could breathe. In a few moments heventured to raise his head. He saw a beautiful figure sitting at thedesk writing. Even in the scratching of her pen along the paper therewas a tone of tragedy.
He crawled backward upon his hands and knees, with his eyes furtivelyfixed upon that figure at the desk. If, when he had looked up he hadfound her standing with an arm outstretched tin the direction of thedoor, he felt that he would have been able to rise to his feet and leaveher presence; but Mrs. Siddons' dramatic instinct caused her to producea deeper impression upon him by simply treating him as if he were deadat her feet--as if she had, indeed, trampled the life out of his body.
He crept away slowly and painfully backward, until he was actually inthe lobby. Then by a great effort he sprang to his feet, rushed headlongdown the stairs, picked himself up in the hall, and fled wildly throughthe door, that chanced to be open, into the street. He overthrew achairman in his wild flight, and as he turned the corner he went with arush into the arms of a young man, who, with a few others by his side,was sauntering along.
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"Zounds, sir! what do you mean by this mode of progression?" cried theyoung man, holding him fast.
Dionysius grasped him limply, looking at him with wild, staring eyes.
"For God's sake, Mr. Blake, save me from her--do n't let her get hold ofme, for the love of all the saints."
"What do you mean, you fool?" said Jimmy Blake. "Who is anxious to gethold of you?"
But no answer was returned by poor Dionysius. He lay with his head overBlake's shoulder, his arms swaying limply like two pendulums.
"By the powers, he has gone off in a swoon," said young Blenerhassett."Let us carry him to the nearest tavern."
In less than half an hour Dionysius had recovered consciousness; butit required a longer space of time, and the administration of aconsiderable quantity of whisky, to enable him to tell all his story. Heproduced the letter signed "S. S." which he had received in the morning,and explained that he had paid the visit to Mrs. Siddons only with aview of reasoning her out of her infatuation, which, he said with as
hadowy simper, he could not encourage.
"I had hardly obtained access to her when she turned upon me in a fury,"said he. "Ah, boys, those eyes of hers!--I feel them still upon me. Theymade me feel like a poor wretch that's marched out in front of a platoonto be shot before breakfast. And her voice! well, it sounded like thevoice of the officer giving the word of command to the platoon to fire.When I lay ready to expire at her feet, every word that she spoke hadthe effect of a bayonet prod upon my poor body. Oh, Lord! oh, Lord! I'llleave it to yourself, Mr. Blake: was it generous of her to stab me withcold steel after I was riddled with red-hot bullets?"
"I'm sorry to say, Mr. Hogan," replied Blake, "that I can't take alenient view of your conduct. We all know what you are, sir. You seekto ingraft the gallantries of the reign of his late Majesty upon thepresent highly moral age. Mrs. Siddons, sir, is a true wife and mother,besides being a most estimable actress, and you deserved the rebuff fromthe effects of which you are now suffering. Sir, we leave you to thegnawings of that remorse which I trust you feel acutely."
Mr. Blake, with his friends, left the tavern room as Dionysius wasbeginning to whimper.
In the street a roar of laughter burst from the students.
"Mother o' Moses!" cried Moriarty. "'T is a golden guinea I'd give tohave been present when the Siddons turned upon the poor devil."
"Then I 'll give you a chance of being present at a better scene thanthat," said Blake.
"What do you mean, Jimmy?" asked Moriarty.
"I mean to bring you with me to pay a visit to Mrs. Siddons this veryminute."
"'T is joking you are, Jimmy?"
"Oh, the devil a joke, ma bouchai! Man alive, can't you see that the funis only beginning? We'll go to her in a body and make it out that shehas insulted a friend of ours by attributing false motives to him, andthat her husband must come out to the Park in the morning."
"That's carrying a joke a bit too far," said Mr. Blenerhassett. "I'llnot join in with you there."
"Nobody axed ye, sir," said Blake. "There are three of us here withoutyou, and that's enough for our purpose."
"If Mr. Siddons kicks you into the street, or if Sally treats you as shedid that poor devil in the tavern,'t is served right that you'll be,"said Blenerhassett, walking off.
"We'll have a scene with Sarah Siddons for our trouble, at any rate,"laughed Blake.
The three young men who remained when the more scrupulous youth haddeparted, went together to Mrs. Siddons' lodgings. They understood morethan Dionysius did about the art of obtaining admittance when only aportress stood in the way--a squeeze, a kiss, and a crown combined tomake the maid take a lenient view of the consequences of permitting themto go up the stairs.
When, after politely rapping at the door of the parlour, the threeentered the room, they found the great actress in precisely the sameattitude she had assumed for her last visitor. The dignity of herposture was not without its effect upon the young men. They were notquite so self-confident as they had been outside the door. Each of themlooked at the other, so to speak; but somehow none of the three appearedto be fluent. They stood bowing politely, keeping close to the door.
"Who are these persons?" said Mrs. Siddons, as if uttering her thoughts."Am I in a civilised country or not?"
"Madam," said Blake, finding his voice, at last, when a slur was castupon his country. "Madam, Ireland was the home of civilisation when theinhabitants of England were prowling the woods naked, except for a coatof paint."
Mrs. Siddons sprang to her feet.
"Sir," she cried, "you are indelicate as well as impertinent. You haveno right to intrude upon me without warning."
"The urgency of our mission is our excuse, madam," said Blake. "The factis, madam, to come to the point, the gentleman who visited you just nowis our friend."
"Your friend, sir, is a scoundrel. He grossly insulted me," said Mrs.Siddons.
"Ah,'t is sorry I am to find you do n't yet understand the impulses of awarmhearted nation, madam," said Blake, shaking his head. "The gentlemancame to compliment you on your acting, and yet you drove him fromyour door like a hound. That, according to our warmhearted Irish ways,constitutes an offence that must be washed out in blood--ay, blood,madam."
"What can be your meaning, sir?"
"I only mean, madam, that your husband, whom we all honour on account ofthe genius--we do n't deny it--the genius and virtue of his wife, willhave to meet the most expert swordsman in Ireland in the Phonix Parkin the morning, and that Sarah Siddons will be a widow before breakfasttime."
There was a pause before there came a cry of anguish more pitiful thanany expression of emotion that the three youths had ever heard.
"My husband!" were the words that sounded like a sob in their ears.
Mrs. Siddons had averted her head. Her face was buried in her hands.The wink in which Jimmy Blake indulged as he gave Moriarty a nudge wasanything but natural.
"Why was I ever tempted to come to this country?" cried the lady wildly.
"Madam, we humbly sympathise with you, and with the country," saidBlake. He would not allow any reflection to be cast on his country.
She took a few steps toward the three young men, and faced them withclasped hands. She looked into the three faces in turn, with passionateintreaty in her eyes. "Have you no pity?" she faltered.
"Yes," said Blake, "that we have; we do pity you heartily, madam."
"Are you willing to take part in this act of murder--murder?" cried Mrs.Siddons, in a low voice that caused the flesh of at least two of heraudience to creep. "Are you blind? Can 't you see the world pointing atyou as I point at you, and call you murderers?" She stood before themwith her eyes half closed, her right hand pointing to each of them inturn as she prolonged the word, suggesting a thousand voices whispering"murderers!" There was a long pause, during which the spell-boundyouths, their jaws fallen, stared at that terrible figure--the awfulform of the Muse of Tragedy. Drops of perspiration stood on the foreheadof young Moriarty. Blake himself gave a gasp. "Have you no compassion?"Mrs. Sid-dons continued, but in another tone--a tone of such pathos asno human being could hear unmoved. Clasping her hands, she cried: "Mypoor husband! What harm has he done? Is he to be dragged from thesearms--these arms that have cherished him with all the devotion that atoo-loving wife can offer? Is he to be dragged away from this true heartto be butchered? Sirs, we have children--tender little blossoms. Oh,cannot you hear their cries? Listen, listen--the wailing of the babesover the mangled body of their father."
Surely the sound of children's sobbing went around the room.
One of the young men dropped into a chair and burst into tears.
Blake's lips were quivering, as the streaming eyes of the woman wereturned upon him.
"For heaven's sake, madam!" he faltered--"for heaven's sake--oh, my God!what have we done?--what have we done? Worse than Herod! the innocentchildren!--I hear them--I hear them! Oh, God forgive us! God forgive usfor this cruel joke."
He broke down utterly. The room now was certainly filled with wildsobbing and the sound of convulsive weeping.
0217]
For several minutes the three emotional Irishmen sat weeping. They werein the power of the woman, who, at the confession of Blake, had becomeperfectly self-possessed in a moment. She stood watching them, ascornful smile upon her lips. She knew that the magic which she had ather command could enchain them so long as she wished. She was merciful,however.
"If you consider your jest sufficiently successful, gentlemen," saidshe, "perhaps you will oblige me by withdrawing. I have letters towrite."
The spell that she had cast around them was withdrawn.
Blake sprang to his feet and drew his handkerchief across his eyes.
"Mrs. Siddons--madam," said he, "we have behaved like fools--nay, worse,like scoundrels. We are not bold enough to ask your pardon, madam; butbelieve me, we feel deeply humiliated. You may forgive us, but we shallnever forgive ourselves. Madam, you are the greatest actress in theworld, and you may ex
pect the finest benefit ever given to an actress inthis city."
But in spite of the fact that Mrs. Siddons' benefit the following nightwas all that Mr. Blake predicted it would be, she wrote some very hardwords about Dublin to her friend, Mr. Whately, of Bath.