Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 98: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

rr te ee i eee ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. «6 Oh, Miss Trafford ! itis I who am honoured!” —and now he was all cringing humility again. “ T, the poor and comparatively obscure dramatic writer, seek you, the great tragedian—to ask not coin, Miss Trafford Perish the vile thought! No mean and grovelling selfishness is here !’”—~and he hit his left breast a tremendous thump with his clenched fist, at the same time suddenly assuming a look of fierce defiance against the whole world to gainsay the truth of his assertion. “No, my dear sir,” I said, beginning to be fear- ful that I had to do with a lunatic who might pos- sibly prove a dangerous one, “ I am sure no one could impute selfishness to a literary gentleman such as you. But might I ask what is it you seek Pp” * Your countenance and favour,” replied Mr, Jiogleton: and again his right arm was theatri- cally extended. ‘‘ Now are my aim and object both revealed |” “Yet still I do. not quite understand,” I said, “in what manner you require my assistance.” Mr. Jingleton slowly thrust his right hand into the pocket of his short coat of shooting-jacket ap- pearance ; and thence he drew forth a packet en- veloped in brown paper, very greasy, and smelling of stale tobacco-smoke. This packet he proceeded to open with g most mysterious air: but I already more than half-suspected that it contained a manuscript—and such indeed proved to be the fact. “Here,” said Mr. Jingleton, with the manu- Script upon his knees—and as he slowly turned over the leaves, I saw that they were very dirty, very much thumbed, and soiled at the edges, as if the unfortunate work had been through the hands of all the managers and lessees in London without experiencing success,—“ here is a drama, Mies Trafford, in five acts—a legitimate drama, I may venture to call it—a drama in which the unities are preserved—a drama over which I spent days and nights of anxious toil,—a toil that hitherto has unrewarded been! But now, unless I mock myself with hopes vain and illusive as night’s airy dreams, the moment of my triumph’s near at hand: for you, Miss Trafford, will delight to shed the glory of your own bright genius on the fair creation of my heroine!” “Am I to understand, Mr. Jingleton,” I asked, smiling as I perceived that he endeavoured to speak in blank verse,—“ am I to understand that you are desirous for me to recommend your drama for representation and take the character of the heroine ?” | “ Such is my wish, my hope, my aspiration !” answered Mr. Jingleton, whose diffidence was every moment losing itself in theatrical gestures and dramatic effects. “Tam really afraid,” I said, “ that I must at once disappoint you in this hope; for my engage- ment with Mr. Richards has ceased—I have no interest with that gentleman to enable me to for- ward your views " “TIsthis the truth P ora mere pretext made to let me down, with courteous ease and lightness, from the high culmination of my hopes into the abysm of a dark despair ?”—and Mr. Jingleton sent forth the syllable -pair with a fierce sardonic prolonga- tion and rolling accentuation, which rendered both his appearance and his conduct so exceedingly lu- 83 | dicrous that it was with the greatest difficulty I i could keep myself from laughing. “IT am truly sorry,” I said, “to be com- | pelled ——” “ At least give me a kindly written word,” in- terjected Mr. Jingleton, “to the great Thespian manager Ricardo, vulgarly y-clept Richards! Per- haps you'll say that you must see the drama? | not ' you were kind and generous. i have long been | as he entered the room. Well, ’tis here !’” “It is indeed useless, Mr. Jingleton,” I said, “to read any of your production. I have little doubt of its merit: but I am unable to forward your views in the manner you have suggested. | Permit me, however, without giving offence, to state that if a little pecuniary aid would be ac. ceptable m “ Ah, Miss Trafford !’ said the poor author, now dropping the rant and gesticulation, and relapsing into the cringing servility as at first; “report did deceive me when it whispered in my ear that connected with the stage—I have seen and admired you from a distance 8 “You mean, I presume, that you have been connected with the stage as an author P” “Well, Miss Trafford, to speak the truth, I have sometimes taken a character in one of my own plays. You see, it enabled me to eke out. I used to write for the Tom and Jerry Saloon: the price was half-a-guinea a play—so that five shillings extra on the Saturday night for taking a part rE “Good heavens!” I ejaculated, “ you have written plays for ten shillings and sixpence ?” “ Alas, I have, Miss Trafford !” was Mr. Jin- gleton’s response, delivered with a lugubrious so. lemnity which had something singularly ludicrous in it. “But on the other hand I have received remuneration as fair as any other writer. Jor in- stance, there was my crack piece which came out at the Adelphi and ran for a hundred and fifty nights. I'll tell you how it was, Miss, One day I was sitting in my room at my lodgings, busily engaged in meditating on the vanities of the world and the deceitfulness of riches—for I had nothing to do at the moment but thus to give way to my reflections—when there was a knock at the door. I called out, ‘ Come in:” but a hoarse voice on the other side exclaimed, ‘ It’s deuced easy to talk about coming in, but I can’t reach the latch.’ I was nearly flying into a rage, for it was the gruff voice of a man that spoke, and so I natu- rally thought that it was ridiculous for him to pretend he could not reach the latch when any child of only five or six years old could easily lift it. However, I thought I wouldn’t say anything rude; so I went to the door—I opened it—and in walked a little fellow only two feet high;—that is to say, one foot for the length of his head, and the other foot for the length of his body and that’s all, for he had no legs whatsoever !” “ And yet,” I said with a smile, “you just now stated that he walked into the room?” So he did, Miss Trafford—I can assure you exclaimed Mr. Jingleton: “but he positively had no legs, and only little bits of feet fastened on to |his body, just like the fing of a seal; and he flapped away too in just the same style that the seal moves itself along. He was handsomely dressed, with a gold chain which nearly touched the floor He asked if I were that |? e 0) 0)(0) SS (E(@)