Lord H. [aside.] What unparalleled dissimulation. Lady J. For heaven's sake, dispel the cloud that hangs about your brow; your presence could bring nothing but joy to your Julia-I have been too long a prey to melancholy. Lord H. To melancholy! Lady J. Yes, shut up in this solitude-hark! don't I hear the sound of a carriage? Lord H. Some company? Lady J. Yes; not that I like them, neither will you, but I expect half the world; there's Lady Rachel Rattlecap, Sir Frederick Pharo, the two Misses Scarecrow, the Countess of Roundabout; and last, not least in our dear love, the Honorable Edward Eastdale. Lord H. What! [Strictly observing her.] That young fop! the greatest coxcomb in the country! Lady J. Speak a little less severely, sir, of a person I esteem. Lord H. [aside.] That's the man! Lady J. And, if he came alone, would meet with a very different reception. Lord H. No doubt on't. Lady J. However, to prove to you that I would owe my happiness to you alone, I will go and endeavor to get rid of these troublesome intruders; in the mean time, Henry, do you take a turn in the little wood-you no doubt remember how its winding walks and fragrant shrubs can lull a lover's anxious mind to pleasing reverie; go-go—go— to the little wood-to the little wood. [Exit R. Lord H. To the little wood! there to loiter patiently along the winding walks, while the perfidious to the little wood! [Imitating her.] D the little wood! was ever man so treated by a false, deceitful woman! I will show no more weakness, feel no more regret. What compels me to put up with this outrage, and suffer a trifling coxcomb to rob me with impunity of my earthly happiness? Nothing! I'll give way to the transports of rage that rise within my breast, revenge myself of the ungrateful creature-I'll kill this coxcomb of a rival, or perish by his hand! Yes, and when he is no more, I'll kill him again. [Looking off R. spy upon me? Lady J. Mi lor'! Lady J. Those visiteurs, as you call dem, are— Lady J. They are but only one- Lady J. One single gentleman is all dat has enter de door dis day. Lord H. And he, no doubt, is a lover? Lord H. Damnation! and this lover, no doubt, is disguised? Lady J. Non, mi lor', your arrival make a great change, and he is dress-parbleu! he is dress like you. Lord H. I understand-thrown off all constraints. Well, what have they done with him -where is he, I say? Lady J. At dis moment? at dis moment he is wid mi ladi. Lord H. With her ladyship! Alone? Lady J. Quite alone, quite alone. Lord H. Furies! what, you saw her with him? Lord H. [raising his voice violently.] What? Lady J. Because he had taken it into his head dat he had got a rival. Lord H. He has, he has a dangerous rival, and he shall soon feel the whole weight of my resentment. Lady J. Et no poor creature, let him alone, let him alone; for as I could see, he want it here. [Pointing to her head. Lord H. He's a fool. Lady J. dat. Your lordship knows him, I perceive And so her ladyship Lord H. Lady J. At length, fearful of a discovery, she became very anxious to put an end to de interview, and as it is growing dark, dey have agreed to meet again in de little wood, in order, I suppose Lord H. [furiously.] To do what? Lady J. Bah-it is impossible to talk to such a man as dat! be able to make such rapid progress in her heart Lord H. That a fool-a fop-a coxcomb, should as Lady J. [taking the candle.] I can convince you of it. Lord H. Be it so I take you at your word. [Goes hastily and grasps her hand. Lady J. Et non, mi lor', you are in too great a Lord H. Do you come to see whether I am in passion. [He shakes her hand, and she drops the the little wood? Lady J. Bah, bah, little wood. candle-stage dark.] Dere now, you are more in de dark dan ever-stay quiet, I will get a candle Lord H. Nay, no affection-La Roche has told-mais, si vous ceri, et tempeli-ah, moi foi, c'est me all. Lady J. Monsieur La Roche? Lord H. Yes, yes, I know the projects of Lady Julia-La Roche has told me-and here, take this. [Gives a purse.] I'll make it worth your while to add to his intelligence; tell all you know, and first, what carriage was that?-who were those visitors?. Lady J. Those visiteurs? Lord H. Aye, this moment tell me impossible! [Pretends to go out. Lady J. My lot with Lord Henry would have been too deplorable; he is jealous-imperious proud of his supposed superiority-Eastdale' promises me a happier destiny. Lord H. [unable to contain himself any longer.] Ah! Lady J. Who goes there? Eastdale-Eastdale -dear Eastdale, is it you? Lord H. [aside.] Let me take advantage of her error. [To LADY JULIA.] Yes, 'tis I. Lady J. You have merited my fullest contidence, and I am yours. Yet I think it necessary to inform you that till this day I loved this cousin, to whom I was going to be united. Lord H. [greatly agitated.] Lady Julia! Lady J. Experience has shown me my danger, taught me to appreciate your gentle qualities, and you receive, since such you think it, the prize predestined to a rival. The only question now is, how best to dispose of Lord Henry. Lord H. How best to dispose of Lord Henry? Lady J. Yes; I have thought it the wisest way, the most decorous, to present him to you as my husband. I have therefore had this marriage article drawn up. Go-there are lights in the Pavilion-sign the paper, and return with a candle. [LORD HENRY sighs.] Why do you sigh? Lord H. Poor Henry! Lady J. Poor fellow! But we don't think of him now. Lord H. [aside-taking the parchment from her.] What have I lost, wantonly lost! If she knew my feelings at this moment, she might still, perhaps I'll sign, however, and she shall see I have too much honor to take advantage of the error which she herself is in. [Goes out upon the terrace, C. Lady J. So now we draw to a conclusion. Oh, my dear cousin, I'll teach you to plot! Plot, indeed! as if we women were not always better at that sport. [Looking through the folding doors, c.] By all my hopes, he signs, and without examining the contents! Excellent! Enter LORD HENRY, with a candle and the parchment; he throws the paper on the ground, and sits down in great agitation. Lord H. There-there's the instrument. Lady J. Ah! ma felicite est complete―est complete. Lord H. What voice do I hear? Lady J. That of your wife, min dear. Come, dear, come to these spotless arms. Lord H. Thou infernal old hag! return that fatal instrument immediately, or [Attempting to snatch it. Lady J. Et non, non, non! If your passion will not let me see what one is worth-[coughs violently] it is only a little cough which takes me in de winter. Lord H. I wish to the Lord it had taken you off. I am a dead man. [Throwing himself into a chair with his head upon the table. Lady J. He is a dead man! I have not seen many such dead man as dat. Ah! let me tell you, sir, for all de passion you are in, I have got some good blood in my vein. Lord H. D- your blood! Lady J. And dere was a Miladi in min family, before you make me one. And when I take off dis wire-drawn cap, which conceals tresses in which, spite of deir silver hue, many an incautious swain has been caught, dat hover too near dem-when I take off dese spectacles, which intercept oder beams dan dose of de sun-when I pull off dese gloves, which cover a hand dat might have blessed even a philosopher-when I take off dese ruffles of two grandmothers and a maiden aunt Lord H. [aside.] What the devil! is she undressing herself? Lady J. When I untie dis ponderous apron, which would transform a fairy into a duenna[speaking in her own voice and accent] when I draw off this cloak from a bosom which conceals a heart, the truth of which a faithless cousin ought never to have doubted-then, perhaps, he would as readily take Madame la Gouvernante to wife, as Lady Julia herself! Lord H. [falling at her feet.] Lady Julia! Lord H. Is it possible? Am I awake? Lady J. Most truly so, and never to dream of jealousy again, I hope. Lord H. And well, well! when I was disguised as La Roche, who would have thought— have my uncle's letters to prove it. Lady J. By the Lord, I knew you, Hal!" and I Lord H. My angel! if ever again I-dear me! I was in a devil of a fright. I began to think I was fairly taken in. Lady J. So you were, and so shall I be, too, [To audience.] Unless our frolic be approved by you. THE END. COSTUMES. MODERN. NEW YORK DRAMA THE TRAGEDIES. A CHOICE COLLECTION OF COMEDIES. WITH FARCES, ETC., CASTS OF CHARACTERS, STAGE BUSINESS, COSTUMES, RELATIVE POSITIONS, &c., ADAPTED TO THE HOME CIRCLE, PRIVATE THEATRICALS, AND THE AMERICAN STAGE. VOL. 2. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by WHEAT & CORNETT, in the Office NO. 23. dead men in their shrouds? What do you want with dead men in their shrouds, or out of them DAVID GARRICK: either? What nonsense is this, my child? [Goes A Comedy, in Three Acts. R. C.] Oh, the old story; you have been reading again. What nonsense is it now? [Looks at folio volume.] I thought so! "The Works of William Shakspeare." Confound the works of William (Adapted from the French of "Sullivan," which was founded on a German Dramatiza Shakspeare, say I! I wish they had never been tion of attended Incident in Garrick » Life.) BY T. W. ROBERTSON. CAST OF CHARACTERS. invented. Ada. But, father, you never read them. Ingot. I should think not, indeed. I should never have been the man I am if I had. Why, the Haymarket, London, 1864. Wallack's, New York, 1873. name of Shakspeare can never be mentioned with SCENE.-Drawing-Room, INGOT's House. ADA discovered R. at table, reading large volume. Ada. That is beautiful; I wouldn't have lost his Hamlet and Romeo for worlds. How he made the Friar tremble at these lines; the good old man who meant well to both of them. [Reads. "'Tis torture and not mercy: Heaven is here, Live here in Heaven, and may look upon her, [Shakes her head, rises.] No, that's not a bit like it. It wants force, feeling, passion, life! He spoke as if his soul was in each word. I saw him on the twenty-third. [Pause.] How well Juliet depicts the horrors of a marriage distasteful to the heart. "Oh, bid me lurk, rather than marry Paris, Enter INGOT, L. 1 E., and looks at ADA amazed. And hide me with a dead man in his shroud." Ingot. Halloa, halloa, halloa! What's all this? Ada. [frightened.] Oh, papa! Ingot. [embraces her.] What do you mean by Ingot. Yes, nonsense. I'll prove it by the very first words I put my finger on. [At table.] Ha, ha, ha! I thought as much! "F-r-i” and a full stop! Now, what does "F-r-i" and a full stop mean? Why, the fellow can't even spell. If he meant "F-r-y," why didn't he put it so? Ada. [laughingly.] "F-r-i-a-r"-Friar. Friar Lawrence, papa. Ingot. Then why didn't he say so? Now what comes next? [Reading.] "I'll give thee armor to keep off that word!" Now, I put it to your stock of common sense, and you have a considerable share of it, did anybody ever hear such stuff? How can armor keep off words? Don't the man in armor on Lord Mayor's day hear the little boys shouting out "Sauce-pans" after him? Ada. [smiling.] But that's a metaphor, father. Ingot. It's a lie. [Pause.] I mean it's a fallacism. Ada. Ah! Ingot. [reads.] "Adversity's sweet milk." Now how can adversity be sweet milk? If it gets skim milk, it ought to think itself well off. Ada. You should read on, father. Ingot. I have read on. What's this?" Philosophy." Worse and worse. Now he says philosophy is sweet milk. He might as well say sour butter. [Closes volume. Ada. [embraces him.] You are a dear, silly old father. Ingot. And you are a dear, silly young daughter. But you can go now-go to your room. Ada. But I want to stay here. Ingot. You can't. I expect some one. Ingot. To dinner. Ada. The usual city folks? Ada. [carelessly.] Cousin Dick! Ingot. Yes, and Cousin Dick. So leave the room. [Gets volume in her arms, goes L. Ingot. [sadly.] Ah, Ada, I believe you love note.] "Dear Davy-After making inquiries about your charmer of all the box-openers, I have found out that she is either the daughter of the Duke of Dorchester, or the sister of Sir John Dunbar, or the wife-" [lets hand holding note drop disappointedly.] Who can she be? I play to her and for her! By Jove, if this only should be her Voice of Ingot. [off L. 1 E.] Are you sure it's him? Garrick. [aside.] That doesn't sound much like a lady's voice. Enter, L. 1 E., INGOT. They salute. Ingot. [aside.] He's a good-looking fellow. Garrick. [aside.] Some wealthy cit. Ingot. [aside.] I never was so near a player before. Pooh! I suppose they are very like other [Advances; aloud.] Am I speaking to Mr. Garrick, of Drury Lane Theatre? Ada. I love my Shakspeare and I love you. [Embraces INGOT.] My dear old daddy. There! [Kisses him.] Don't be jealous. You and Shak-men. speare are two such different men. [Exit laughing, L. 1 E. Ingot. I flatter myself that we are! If she had stopped here, I should have been puzzled. I must lose no time over this, for Ada's dislike to her cousin is increasing every day. [Goes up c.] A quarter to twelve. Will he come or not? How Ada insisted in staying here! [Nervously looking out off L. U. E. window.] If Thomas should come without him. There he is. [Looks pleased.] Alone! [Depressed.] No! there's some one following him on horseback. They've stopped. He's getting down off his horse at my door. I feel quite flurried. I'll go and take three or four glasses of wine to recover myself. [Exit L. 1 E. This way, sir, Voice of Thomas [off R. U. E.] this way. Enter, R. U. E., bowing in DAVID GARRICK. Garrick: [looking round, aside.] Nice sort of a place. Garrick. [proudly.] My features are tolerably well known about town, sir! Ingot. Very likely. [Dryly.] But I never go to the play-house. Garrick. To what am I to attribute the honor of this interview? Is it for a wager? Ingot. Not at all. Garrick. Then may I inquire Ingot. Who I am? My name is Ingot, Simon Ingot, one of the Corporation of London, and a Director of the East India Company-I may add, I am very well known on 'Change! Garrick. Possibly; but I never go into the city! Ingot. Eh [Laughs. Aside.] A devilish good joke! He pays me back in my own coin. Garrick. [coldly.] Mr. Ingot, pardon me that I ask in what way I can be of service to you. I have but small interest in the Corporation of London, or in the East India Company; and you, I take it, have no desire to make your first apfa-pearance on any stage! Thomas. [going down L.] I beg pardon, sir, but may I ask-are you Mr. David Garrick-the mous Mr. Garrick of the theatres Royal, Drury Lane and Covent Garden? Garrick. For the tenth time, my dear friend, you have asked me that question, and for the tenth time I have the honor to answer, "I am." Thomas. I beg pardon, sir! No offense! I'll tell master directly. [Aside, lifting hands in wonder.] David Garrick! [Exit L. 1 E. Why, this is even a Ingot. Me a play-actor! better joke than the other. Garrick. Then I cannot understand in what other way— Ingot. I'll tell you, Mr. Garrick, sir; I'll tell you, but sit down. [They sit, GARRICK C., INGOT L. c.] You see, sir, I am a man of business, and in business we have business ways. I am downright and straightforward, regular and methodical as my ledger-debtor and creditor, and balance and balance! That's all I know. Garrick. Yes, I can understand that that's all you know! time I don't blame them as does; if they like it, they have a right to please themselves. Now, Mr. Garrick, I hear that you are a wonderfully clever man. Garrick. [up c.] What a singular adventure. This morning I received a note, bidding me be at Temple Bar at ten o'clock, where a guide would be in waiting; I was punctual to the appointment, I found this man, rode after him, and-here I am. But where am I? Nice place [coming Ingot. Now, I never went inside a play-house, down c.] substantial furniture--I wonder who the and never mean to go. You are a play-actorgentleman can be Stop! why may it not be a I don't mean to say that that's any crime of yours. lady? That coxcomb Barry would think so. He No, no; let every man stick to his trade. I never says such happy contingencies are all that make went to the play in my life, I say, but at the same the profession endurable. If so, the fair incognita will find me singularly frigid to her charms. Why may it not be her?"Her" of that face! that one face that haunts me still! Oh, that night! her features and her eyes betrayed her sympathy with me. We met, pulse to pulse, and heart to heart, and for that hour Hamlet lived. [Excited.] The audience were cold-not a sound! Our eyes met, and we looked into each other's minds. I played for her for her applause I was like one inspired, and only saw that one face, that one look. Those wide dark eyes understood me-they consoled me for the want of comprehension in the rest! [Pause.] Who was she? I asked a friend to inquire; I have his note in my pocket. [Reads Garrick. Mr. Ingot! Ingot. A-genius in-in tragedy and comedy – Ingot. And make the fortune of any play-house where you happen to play. Garrick. Really, sir, my modesty won't let me contradict so complimentary a statement. Ingot. Now, what do you get by it? Garrick. [aghast.] I beg your pardonIngot. What do you make by it? What's your wages? Garrick. [indignantly.] Sir! wages? ed. After fifteen years of lucky speculation I re Ingot. Don't be offended. I have a reason for turned to England with my daughter Ada, a direcasking--what do you get by it? Garrick. [aside.] A curious old fish, this. [Aloud.] Eh? Ingot. What do you gain? Garrick. Hem!-popularity! fame! Ingot. Never mind popularity and fame! They express no commercial value! In plain English, what amount does play-acting bring you in by the year-per annum? Garrick. I-I really don't know! Ingot. [annoyed.] Don't know!-don't know what you make a year? [Aside.] What odd people the players are! [Aloud.] Don't you keep any books? Garrick. Very few, except play-books. Ingot. But you must have some idea of your profits-come, at a rough guess. Garrick. Since you are so pressing-let me see -let me say about three thousand a year. Ingot. Three thousand? I'll make it four-five -six thousand, and settle it on you for life, if you'll leave the play-house, leave London, leave England, and go to America, Seringapatam, Abyssinia, anywhere, so that you'll never come back again and that we never hear of you again. Garrick. Leave the stage? Ingot. Isn't that enough? Then name own terms. your have Garrick. What possible interest can you in my departure from England? Ingot. That's it! I thought you would want to know Garrick. Naturally; and since you are so straightforward and downright Ingot. [drawing his chair nearer.] Mr. Garrick, though a player, everybody speaks of you as an honest man! No, I don't mean that— Garrick. [smiling.] Go on. Ingot. I am going to trust you with a secret which concerns my happiness-my happiness and the happiness of one very dear to me-dearer than my own life Garrick. Mr. Ingot, you interest me. tor of the company and a man of fortune. Garrick. Very well, my dear sir, but I do not see anything in this of importance to me. Ingot. Stay. Don't be in a hurry, Mr. Garrick; I am coming to it. My daughter Ada-I needn't tell you she's all my pleasure now-well, sir, about a year ago she went on a visit to her aunt on the mother's side, a lady of high family, and one night that unfortunate woman, that unhappy old lady, took her to Drury Lane Theatre Garrick. [half aside.] I begin to see now. Ingot. She came home raving about one Romeo and Othello, and Mr. Macbeth, and a whole pack of people of whom I know nothing, and want to know less! But-and she spoke in such terms of you, and she has taken to such curious ways that it set me thinking, and I have found out [in a whisper to GARRICK] that she has fallen in love with you! Garrick. [calmly.] Humph! As a child falls in love with a new toy! Ingot. No, Mr. Garrick, it's love-a real, true, downright passion. She don't know that I know it yet. Mr. Garrick, you've no idea what a strange, wild girl she is brought up in India among them women! Why, she says that genius and talents are a thousand times superior to birth and fortune. Knows nothing of the world, you see! [GARRICK bows.] Why, she actually turns up her nose at the East India Company, and thinks you are as good as a director or a nabob! Garrick. [lightly.] I am very much obliged to her, I'm sure. She is young her imagination is easily excited. You should talk to her-you should be more imperative. Ingot. Imaginative! You don't know her. Why, that girl can twist me round her little finger with a look or a smile, and she knows it. Why, sir, she's capable of marrying you, and making me give my consent to it, and what a horrible thing that would be! Garrick. [smiling.] Fearful! Garrick. All right. Garrick. Give up the stage? Ingot. Mr. Garrick, I wasn't always a rich man! I was only a clerk in the East India Company, and Ingot. I beg your pardon, Mr. Garrick, I didn't my position was humble and my salary low. I mean that. But I have got other views for herhad four hundred a year. At Bombay I married a cousin of hers-a young man who will be a peer the daughter of a lieutenant in the British army; some day. My pride-a family arrangement, you he was of high family, but had no money; plenty see. So now, Mr. Garrick, you will see why I ask of blue blood, but no cash. He gave his blessing, you to give up the stage. and my wife brought me a dower of virtue and Garrick. Impossible! obedience. Well, his blessing, my wife's virtue Ingot. Impossible? and obedience, and my four hundred a year, all added together, only made four hundred a year. Still, we were happy, very happy, but it wasn't to last long. My poor wife died in giving birth to a daughter. My Ada, my dear, darling child, [emotion] if I had not had her left with me, I, too, might have died. [Pause.] But you are a young man, Mr. Garrick, and don't know what it is to lose those who are dearest to us in this world. Strange to say, my grief was the means of my rising in the world. Garrick. How so? Ingot. It made me stick to my desk. I was always at it, ciphering, figuring, calculating, adding up; and one day I hit upon a plan of doubling the revenues of the East India Company. My idea was acted on; I was handsomely reward Ingot. Not when I offer you double the money? Garrick. Money! [Rises.] What money can compensate an actor for the loss of his art, the loss of fame, and the brilliant excitements of his life? Ingot. [rises.] Humph! That's just what Ada says! You won't tell Garrick. Mr. Ingot, your daughter is safe from me. Garrick. You have heard that David Garrick is an honest man. I will prove it by showing that you have not done wrong in confiding in me. I will cure your daughter of this romantic folly. She shall ask you to-morrow to be let wed the man you please to select. |