Tales of the Wonder Club Volume I Part 32

The way was long and lonely--not a soul stirring, and the landscape as far as they could see covered with snow; but the sky was cheerful, and the little birds sang overhead. Our club felt exhilarated by the nipping air, and discoursed by the way on divers subjects, until Mr. Oldstone, whose appet.i.te for stories was insatiable, said that he saw no reason why Mr. Blackdeed's story that was to come next should not enliven their walk. The proposal was seconded, and Mr. Blackdeed, finding himself loudly called upon, began his story thus:

I must begin, then, gentlemen, by informing you that my family name is not the one I bear at present. It is many years since I dropped that. My father was of good family, and possessed a large estate in ----s.h.i.+re. I was an only son, and should have inherited my father's estate, had not a rascally uncle of mine cheated me out of it.

I was looked upon as a lad of great promise by my fond parents, and from earliest youth seemed destined for the stage; for as far back as I can remember my greatest delight was to see a pantomime. I was more precocious than the general run of children at my age, for at an age when few children have begun to read I was already manager of a toy theatre. This taste of mine grew with my growth, and was encouraged by my parents--probably because they saw it was an innocent amus.e.m.e.nt and kept me out of mischief.

At ten years old I began to write plays, in which I used to act myself and invite my schoolfellows to act with me. This rendered me very popular at school, both with the boys and with the masters, and I won many a prize for public speaking and for learning by heart long pa.s.sages from Shakespeare and other poets.

At fourteen I grew ambitious, and published a book of plays under my own name, which, unluckily, was cut up unmercifully by the critics. This was mortifying enough, but added to this I had to bear my father's displeasure for having published the book under his name, my parent believing it a great disgrace for a son of his to write books or plays.

So he gave me a severe reprimand, and from that time forth thought it his duty to discourage my taste for the drama. But nature will have her own way, in spite of whatever obstacles parents, and friends place in her path, and at fifteen I yearned for the mysteries of the "green room."

I had secretly, but no less determinedly, set my heart on following the stage as a profession, and one day my father took me into his study, and said it was high time I should make up my mind what profession to follow. I replied that I had made up my mind already what profession to follow. I told him that I intended to be an actor. At this he told me to get such ideas out of my head as soon as possible, that he would never allow a son of his to disgrace his name by a.s.sociating it with the stage.

I repeated my determination. He grew furious, and after beating me, locked me up in my room and ordered bread and water to be brought to me by a servant. This treatment, he told me, was to last until I had come to my senses. However well this mode of proceeding might have answered with a youth of less spirit, it did not answer with me. Even an ordinary boy of fifteen is no child, and I at that age was equal to a man of twenty.

I felt the indignity of this treatment as an excessively sensitive organisation would. I refused to touch either the bread or the water, and meditated an escape from the paternal roof, never to return.

Now, it happened that at that time there was in the village a band of strolling players, who had hired a barn to act in. These I had been in the habit of seeing act every evening, till my pa.s.sion for the stage was augmented to an intense degree.

The players were to leave on the morrow. Here was an opportunity! I would wait till the evening, escape by the window of my chamber, and offer my services to the manager. I looked down from my window into the garden, to ascertain if I could venture upon a leap; but it was much too high for me, yet there was a ladder against the wall, though not near enough for me to reach.

What was I to do? I tied sundry pocket-handkerchiefs together, which I wetted. I then tied an ornament that served as a paper weight, being rather heavy, and holding one end of the wet handkerchief in my hand, I threw the heavy end towards the ladder, which it caught, winding itself round one of the rungs so tightly that I was enabled to draw it towards me and place it just under my window, ready for the evening.

The evening came. I waited till my parents were at supper. This was just about the time that the evening's performance would be at an end. I donned my worst clothes, and tying up some necessaries in a handkerchief and taking a walking-stick to carry the bundle across my shoulder, I opened my cas.e.m.e.nt and cautiously descended the ladder till I found myself in the garden.

There was yet another obstacle to be overcome; the garden wall had to be scaled, for the gate was already locked. The wall was high, but after much exertion and many falls, I scrambled up--I hardly know how--and leapt down the other side into the road. I found that I had ripped up my coat behind and damaged the knees of my small clothes.

In this plight I made my appearance before the manager. He looked at me from head to foot, scrutinisingly; asked me my name and what I had been bred up to. I gave him the name I bear at present, and said that I had never been brought up to any trade, but had always had a taste for the stage.

"Humph!" he muttered, observing that I spoke better English than himself or his company, "you appear a youth of some little education--eh?"

"I trust that will not unfit me for your company?" I said.

"On the contrary, young man," he said, "we are in want of educated actors; but what brings you in this pitiful plight?"

"The frowns of fortune," I observed, laconically.

"Ah!" he observed, with a smile; "I understand. Well, what can you do?"

"My _forte_," I replied, "is high tragedy."

"Ah! I dare say," said he, satirically, "and I've no doubt you'll tell me that Macbeth, Hamlet, and Oth.e.l.lo are your chief characters."

"Precisely so," I replied; "that is just what I mean to say."

"I thought so," he said. "My dear young man, you're stage-struck like many others at your age. All you youngsters, when you begin, fancy that you are going to leap over the heads of us old experienced actors with a bound; but in everything you must begin at the beginning, and you will have to serve your apprentices.h.i.+p at acting as well as anything else."

"Serve my apprentices.h.i.+p!" I muttered to myself, indignantly. "_I_, the son of a gentleman, serve an apprentices.h.i.+p!"

But I held my peace, as it did not suit me to quarrel with the manager at the onset.

"You must content yourself at present with small parts," said the manager, "such as a page or walking gentleman, or, being yet very youthful looking, you might take a female part."

The latter part of the manager's speech offended my dignity, but I said nothing.

"Come," said he, "let me see what you can do. Give me your idea of Hamlet. Begin with, 'To be, or not to be.'"

I accordingly began at the well-known pa.s.sage, and recited it all the way through.

"Not so bad, by jingo!" said he. "Bravo! I did not think you were such a clever fellow. Now do the dagger scene in Macbeth."

I then went through that with equal success, and received very high praise from the manager, who engaged me on the spot. I gave out a hint that I had eaten nothing all day, and was very hungry, so the manager invited me to supper. I made the acquaintance of all the other strolling players--a queer lot--who looked at me askance, doubtless because they saw I came of a rather better stock than they themselves, and probably they speculated on what they could make out of me.

Early the next morning we all started for London, and my _debut_ was made in a low London theatre, where I took the part of a young lady carried away by brigands. In the next piece I acted a page, in the next a lover, and so on. But I soon grew discontented with this small theatre, for I longed to show myself to the educated public, so I left my first manager, and sought an engagement in some more fas.h.i.+onable theatre.

Here I had to act a fairy prince in a pantomime. The pantomime was a great success, and drew many spectators. At the same time that the pantomime was going on, I had to act a page in one of Shakespeare's plays. I was now seventeen, and both tall and well grown, and possessed at that time--I think I can afford to say so now, gentlemen, as I am verging at present towards "the sear and yellow leaf"--a figure and a face that were the envy of the whole company.

Well, gentlemen, I improved fast in my profession, and one evening when the play of Romeo and Juliet was being acted at the theatre, the actor who should have taken the part of Romeo was indisposed only a few minutes before the curtain drew up. There was no one else in the company but myself who was sufficiently up in the part to take his place, so I offered my services, and they were accepted.

Now, Romeo was one of my favourite characters, and I had studied the part carefully; but the manager knew nothing of my talents as yet; in fact, he confessed to me afterwards that he was very doubtful as to the success of the piece that evening.

When the curtain drew up and the piece proceeded, I fancied I noticed signs of discontent among the audience at not finding the usual Romeo, but as I went on with my part the applause was so great that I felt as if my reputation were established for life. In fact, I completely eclipsed the actor whose part I had taken, inasmuch that the public refused to hear him again in that part, and the manager allotted his part to me.

This led to great jealousy between us. We quarrelled, and I made this the excuse for leaving the theatre, being anxious to appear in a still more fas.h.i.+onable one. I sought an engagement in one of the largest theatres in the metropolis, and as I already had some fame, I was engaged at once. The manager had seen me perform himself, and promised me when Romeo and Juliet should be acted again in his theatre that he would give me the part of Romeo. They happened to be acting Hamlet then; and the part of Laertes was allotted to me. I acquitted myself with much _eclat_, and a long and favourable criticism appeared in the papers afterwards.

One evening I took the part of Hamlet, the usual actor not being able to perform, and acquitted myself so well that the papers were full of the wonderful young actor. From this time my name began to be famous. I received a good salary, dressed fas.h.i.+onably, and entered into the best society. Nevertheless, I was aware of the prejudice that the world has against an actor, however celebrated he may be, so whenever I went into society, I dropped the name of Blackdeed, and resumed my own rightful one. Many, however, on being introduced to me remarked how much I resembled the celebrated young actor Blackdeed; but it was not for some time afterwards that it was generally known that we were one and the same person.

One evening, as I was entering a ball-room, I noticed that when my name was announced some confusion took place. As I entered, who should come forward to meet me but my father, whom I had not seen for three years.

He advanced towards me, more in sorrow than in anger, and addressed me in tones in which pride and natural affection strove for the mastery.

"We meet at last, sir," he said; "I leave it to your conscience to imagine the state of anxiety into which you have thrown your poor mother and myself by your cruel conduct. I would fain have overlooked the whole as a boyish freak, had you returned home of your own accord and sought my pardon; as it is, what can I say to you for having disgraced my name?"

"Disgraced your name, father! How?"

"Yes, sir; disgraced my name, by a.s.sociating it with the stage--a name untainted and highly honoured for many generations back."

"Indeed, sir," I said, "I never yet heard that talent or genius could disgrace a name. However, aware of your prejudice against the stage, I have dropped your name, which might otherwise have become famous, and act under a fict.i.tious one."

"Humph!" said he, somewhat pacified that his name had escaped disgrace.

"And what may be your theatrical name?"

"Blackdeed," said I.

"What! So you are the celebrated young actor everyone talks so much about," said he. "Well, well, you have been very foolish and very wrong, but if you consent to leave this life and return home with me, all may yet be well. Come," he said coaxingly.

"Father," I said, "my course is mapped out. I have chosen my profession, and I must follow my true avocation. The voice of nature is stronger than yours. Seek not to battle against my destiny."

My father, though immensely disappointed at my determination, would not, I believe, have cut me off, but dying suddenly, intestate, his estate was seized by his brother. This led to a law-suit between my uncle and myself, which lasted until nearly all my father's fortune was squandered away. I never got a farthing. Thus ever since I have had nothing to depend upon but my profession for a livelihood.