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 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."]
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.
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.
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!
"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.
"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.
"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!
"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!
"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!
"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.
"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!
"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!
"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.
"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!
"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.
"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.
"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.
"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.
"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.
"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?
"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.
"Surely some obscene oppression,
Weighs the natives' labour down,
Or their energies are palsied
By a tyrant master's frown.
To my heart the blood is gushing —
Righteous tears bedew my cheek —
Parliament shall know their burdens,
Ere I'm older by a week!
"Ha! those fine devoted fellows!
'Twere a black and burning shame,
If we let the Yankees swamp them
In their mean exclusive game.
I have always held the doctrine,
Since my public life begun,
That it was our bounden duty
To take care of Number One.
"What! – allow the faithful Indian
To be crushed in cotton-growing?
O forbid it, truthful Wilson!
O refuse it, saintly Owen!
Have their claims been disregarded?
There is life within a mussel;
And I've got a kind of bridle
On the neck of Johnny Russell.
"I shall move a special motion,
Touching this o'erlooked affair:
El-Dorado would be nothing
To the wealth that waits us there.
Let us get a fair protection
For our native Indian niggers,
And, I think, the Rochdale mill-book
Would display some startling figures!
"Ha! I've got another notion!
Things are rather dull at home,
And I feel no fixed objection,
In my country's cause to roam.
It is needful that some cautious
Hand should undertake the task,
Hum – there must be a commission —
Well – I've only got to ask.
"They'll be rather glad to spare me,
In their present precious fix:
Charley Wood is somewhat shakey
With his recent dodge on bricks.
Palmerston's in hottest water,
What with France, and what with Greece;
As for little Juggling Johnny
He'll pay anything for peace.
"Faith, I'll do it! were it only
As a most conclusive trick,
And a hint unto our fellows
That I'm quite as good as Dick.
Hang him! since he's made orations,
In a sort of mongrel French,
One would think he's almost equal
To Lord Campbell on the bench.
"Time it is our course were severed;
I'm for broad distinctions now.
Since my mills are fairly stoppaged,
At another shrine I bow.
Send me only out to India
On this patriotic scheme,
And I'll show them how protection
Is a fact, and not a dream."