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the same time her mouth was stopped. who could go everywhere, half commandShe would not confuse her father, nor being, half taking with guile every heart that tray him. It was chiefly from this bewil. she encountered. Frances would never dering sensation, and not, as her father, do that. But she would be true, true as suddenly grown acute in respect to Fran- the heavens themselves, and never falter. ces, thought, from a mortifying conscious. By a sudden gleam of perception he saw ness that Constance would speak with that though he had never told her any. more freedom if she were not there, that thing of this, though it must have been a Frances spoke. “I think,” she said, revelation of wonder to her, yet that she “that I had better go and see about the had not burst forth into any outcries of

Mariuccia will not know what to astonishment, or asked any compromising do till I come; and you will take care of questions, or done anything to betray him. Constance, papa."

His heart went forth to Frances with an He looked at her, hearing in her tone a infinite tenderness. He had not been a wounded feeling, a touch of forlorn pride, doting father to her; he had even - being which perhaps were there, but not so himself what the world calls a clever man, much as he thought; but it was Constance much above her mental level - felt bimthat replied: "O yes; we will take care self to condescend a little, and almost upof each other. I have so much to tell braided heaven for giving him so ordinary him," with a laugh. Frances was aware a little girl. And Constance, it was easy that there was relief in it, in the prospect to see, was a brilliant creature, accustomed of her own absence; but she did not feel to take her place in the world, fit to be it so strongly as her father did. She gave any man's companion. But the first rethem both a smile, and went away. sult of this revelation was to reveal to

“So that is Frances," said the new him, as he had never seen it before, the found sister, looking after her. “I find modest and true little soul which had her very like mamma. But everybody developed by his side without much notice says I am your child, disposition and all.” from him, whom he had treated with such She rose, and came up to Waring, who cruel want of confidence, to whom the had never lessened the distance between shock of this evening's disclosures must himself and her. She put her hand into have been so great, but who, even in the his arm and held up her face to him. “I moment of discovery, shielded him. All am like you. I shall be much happier this went through his mind with the ut. with you.

Do you think you will like most rapidity. He did not put bis newhaviný me instead of Frances, father?” found child away from him; but there She clasped his arın against her in a ca- was less enthusiasm than Constance exressing way, and leaned her cheek upon pected in the kiss he gave her. "I am the sleeve of his velvet coat. "Don't you very glad to have you here, my dear,” he think you would like to have me, father, said, more coldly than pleased her. instead of her?" she said.

why instead of Frances ? You will be A whole panorama of the situation, like happier both of you for being together." a landscape, suddenly flashed before War- Constance did not disengage herself ing's mind. The spell of this caress, and with any appearance of disappointment. confidence she showed of being loved, She perceived, perhaps, that she was not which is so great a charm, and the im- to be so triumphant here as was usually pulse of nature, so much as that is worth, her privilege. She relinquished her fadrew him towards the handsome girl, who ther's arm after a minute, not too precipi. took possession of him and his affections tately, and returned to her chair. “I without a doubt, and pushed away the shall like it, as long as it is possible," she other from his heart and his side with an said. “It will be very nice for me having impulse which his philosophy said was a father and sister, instead of a mother common to all men -- or at least, if that and brother. But you will find that was too sweeping, to all women. But in mamma will not let you off. She likes to the same moment came that sense of have a girl in the house. She will bave championship and proprietorship, the one her pound of flesh.” She threw herself inextricably mingled with the other, which back into her chair with a laugh. “ How makes us all defend our own, whenever quaint it is here; and how beautiful the assailed. Frances was bis own; she was view must be, and the mountains and the his creation; he had taught her almost sea! I shall be very happy here — the everything. Poor little Frances ! Not world forgetting, by the world forgot — like ihis girl, who could speak for herself, I and with you, papa.”

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From Blackwood's Magazine, tain of tears has never been stirred within ON SOME OF SHAKESPEARE'S FEMALE her. To pain of heart she has been a CHARACTERS:

stranger. She has not learned tenderness BEATRICE.

or toleration under the discipline of suf“There was a star danced, and under that was I born."" sering or disappointment, of unsatisfied

yearning or failure. Her life has been DEAR MR. RUSKIN, I am glad to see by your letter that To which all pleasant things have come un

a summer mood, Beatrice is a favorite with you. The her. sought, esy of Campbell and others, that describes her as a compound of tomboy, flirt, and and across which the shadows of care or shrew, "an odious woman," I think,

sorrow have never passed. She has a Campbell calls her, — has manifestly not quick eye to see what is weak or ludicrous enlisted you among its adherents. Whilst, in man or woman. The impulse to speak therefore, I am sure of your sympathy in out the smart and poignant things that trying to put into words the conception of rise readily and swifily to her lips, is irrethis brilliant and charming woman which sistible. She does not mean to inflict I endeavored to embody on the stage, pain, though others besides Benedick still I must approach the subject with must at times have felt that “every word great trepidation, as you tell me that you

stabs.” She simply rejoices in the keen are “listening with all your heart to what sword-play of her wit as she would in any I shall say of her.” I cannot dare to hope other exercise of her intellect or sport of that I shall throw much light upon the her fancy. In very gaiety of heart she character that will be new to you, who flashes around her the playful lightning have shown, in so many places, how thor- of sarcasm and repartee, thinking of them ough has been your study of Shake. only as something to make the time pass speare's heroines, and with what loving brightly by. “I was born,” she says of insight you have used them to illustrate herself, “ to speak all mirth and no mat. the part women have played, and are

Again, when Don Pedro tells her meant to play, in bringing sweetness and she has “a merry heart,” she answers, comfort, and help and moral strength, into

“Yea, my lord, I thank it; poor fool, it man's troubled and perplexing life. The keeps on the windy side of care.” And lesson Shakespeare teaches seems to me what does hier uncle Leonato say of her ? to be entirely in accordance with your There's little of the melancholy element in own belief, expressed in many ways, her, my lord: she is never sad but when she “that no man ever lived a right life who sleeps, and not ever sad then; for I have heard had not been chastened by a woman's my daughter say, she hath often dreamt of unlove, strengthened by her courage, and happiness and waked herself with laughing. guided by her discretion."

(Act ii., sc. I.) Of Beatrice I cannot write with the Wooers she has had, of course, not a same full heart, or with the same glow of few ; but she has “mocked them all out sympathy, with which I wrote of Rosalind. of suit." Very dear to heris the indepenHer character is not to me so engaging. dence of her maidenhood, — for the mo. We might hope to meet in life something ment has not come wben to surrender that to remind us of Beatrice ; but in our independence into a lover's hands is more dreams of fair women Rosalind stands delightful than 10 maintain it. But though out alone.

in the early scenes of the play she makes Neither are the circumstances under a mock of wooers and of marriage, with which Beatrice comes before us of a kind obvious zest and with a brilliancy of fancy to draw us so closely to her. Unlike and pungency of sarcasm that might well Rosalind, her life has been and is, while appal any ordinary wooer, it is my convicwe see her, one of pure sunshine. Sorrow tion that, though her heart has not as yet and wrong have not softened her nature, been touched, she has at any rate begun nor taken off the keen edge of her wit. to see in “Signor Benedick of Padua When we are introduced to her, she is qualities which have caught ber fancy. the great lady, bright, brilliant, beautiful, She has noted him closely, and his image enforcing admiration as she moves “in recurs unbidden to her mind with a fre. maiden meditation fancy free” among the quency which suggests that he is at least fine ladies and accomplished gallants of more to her than any other man. The her circle. Up to this time there has train is laid, and only requires a spark 10 been no call upon the deeper and finer kindle it into flame. How this is done by qualities of her nature. The sacred foun. Shakespeare, and with what exquisite

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skill, will be more and more felt the more time proving to lier, what she was previ. closely the structure of the play and the ously quite prepared to “believe better distinctive qualities of the actors in it are than reportingly,” that be was of a truly studied.

“noble strain," and that she might safely I think, indeed, this play should rank, intrust her happiness to his hands! in point of dramatic construction and de. Viewed in this light, the play seems to me velopment of character, with the best of to be a masterpiece of construction, de. Shakespeare's works. It has the further veloped with consummate skill, and held distinction, that whatever is most valua- together by the unflagging interest which ble in the plot is due solely to his own we feel in Beatrice and Benedick, and in invention. In this respect it differs sig. the progress of the amusing plot by which nally from “ As You Like It.” In "The they arrive at a knowledge of their own Tale of Gamelyn,” and more particularly in hearts. Lodge's “ Rosalynde,” Shakespeare found I was called upon very early in my caready to his hand the main plot of that reer to impersonate Beatrice, but I must play, and suggestions for several of the frankly admit that, while, as I have said, I characters. With his usual wonderful could not but admire her, she had not aptitude, be assimilated everything that taken hold of my heart as my other hero. could be turned to dramatic account. Yetines had done. Indeed there is nothing his debt was, after all, of no great amount. of the heroine about her, nothing of roHe had to discard far more than he mance or of poetic suggestion in the cir. adopted. The story with the actors in it cumstances of her life — nothing, in short, became a new creation; and by infusing to captivate the imagination of a very into a pretty but tedious pastoral and some young girl, such as I then was. very unreal characters a purpose and a no small surprise to me when Mr. Charles life which were exclusively his own, be Kemble, who was playing a series of fare. transmuted mere pebbles into gems. But well performances at Covent Garden, neither for plot nor character was he in. where I had made my début on the stage debted to any one in “ Much Ado About but a few months before, singled me out Nothing." It is, no doubt, true that in to play Beatrice to his Benedick, on the Ariosto and Bandello, and in our own night when he bade adieu to his profesSpenser, he found the incident of an inno- sion. That I, who had hitherto acted cent lady brought under cruellest suspi- only the young tragic heroines, was to cion by the base device of which Hero is be thus iransported out of my natural the victim. Here, however, his obligation sphere into the strange world of high ends;

and but for the skill with which this comedy, was a surprise indeed. To con. incident is interwoven with others, and a sent seemed to me nothing short of prenumber of characters brought upon the sumption. I urged upon Mr. Kemble how scene, which are wholly of his own creat- utterly unqualified I was for such a vening, it would be of little value for drainatic ture. His answer was, “ I have watched purposes.

you in the second act of Julia in “The How happy was the introduction of such Hunchback,' and I know that you will bymen as Dogberry — dear, delightful Dog and-by be able to act Shakespeare's comberry!- and his band, "the shallow fools edy. I do not mean ‘now,' because more who brought to light” the flimsy villany years, greater practice, greater confidence by which Don Pedro and Claudio had in yourself, must come before you will allowed themselves to be egregiously be. have sufficient ease. But do not be afraid. fooled! How true to the irony of life was I am too much your friend to ask you to the accident, due also to Shakespeare's do anything that would be likely to prove invention, of Leonato's being too much a failure.” This he followed up by offerbored by their tedious prate, and too busy ing to teach me “the business” of the with the thought of his daughter's ap: scene. What could I do? He had, from proaching marriage, to listen to them, and my earliest rehearsals, been uniformly ihus not hearing what would have pre- kind, helpful, and encouraging how vented the all but tragic scene in which could I say him nay? My friends too, that marriage is broken off ! And how who of course acted for me, as I was much happier than all is the way in which under age, considered that I must con. the wrong done to Hero is the means of sent. I was amazed at some of the odd bringing into view the fine and generous things I had to say, not at all from elements of Beatrice's nature, - of show- knowing their meaning, but simply being Benedick how much more there was in cause I did not even surmise it. My dear her than he had thought, and at the same | home instructor, of whom I have often

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spoken in these letters, said, " My child, Beatrice all in tears! What shall I do to you will do this very well. Only give way comfort her! What can I give her in reto natural joyousness. Have no fear. membrance of her first Benedick? I Let yourself go free; you cannot be vul- sobbed out, “Give me the book you studgar, if you tried ever so hard."

ied Benedick from.” He answered, “ You And so the performance came, and went shall have it, and many others !” He off more easily than I had imagined, as kept his word, and I have still two small so many dreaded events of our lives do volumes in which are collected many of pass away, without any of the terrible the plays in which he acted, and also some things happening which we have torment.in which his daughter, Fanny Kemble, ed ourselves by anticipating. The night who was then married and living in Amer. was one not readily to be forgotten. The ica, had acted. These came with a charmexcitement of having to act a character ing letter on the title-page addressed to so different from any I had hitherto at. bis “dear little friend." tempted, and the anxiety natural to the He also told my mother to bring me to effort, filled my mind entirely. I had no him, if at any time she thought his advice idea of the scene which was to follow the might be valuable ; and on several occaclose of the comedy, so that it came upon sions afterwards he took the trouble of me quite unexpectedly.

reading over new parts with me, and givThe “farewell ” of a great actor to the ing me his advice and help. One thing arena of his triumphs was something my which he impressed upon me I never forimagination had never pictured, and all at got. It was, on no account to give promi. once it was brought most impressively be. nence to the physical aspect of any painful fore me, touching a deep, sad minor chord emotion. Let the expression be genuine, in my young life. It moved me deeply. earnest, but not ugly. He pointed out to As I write, the exciting scene comes viv. me how easy it was to simulate distoridly before me, the crowded stage, the tions, to writhe, for example, from the pressing forward of all who had been Mr. supposed effect of poison, to gasp, to roll Kemble's comrades and contemporaries, the eyes, etc. These were melodramatic

the good wishes, the farewells given, the effects. But if pain or death had to be tearful voices, the wet eyes, the curtain simulated, or any sudden or violent shock, raised again and again. Ah, how can any let them be shown, he said, in their menone support such a trial? I determined tal rather than in their physical signs. in that moment that, when my time came The picture presented might be as somto leave the stage, I would not leave it bre as the darkest Rembrandt; but it in this way. My heart could never have must be noble in its outlines, truthful, borne such a strain. I need not say that picturesque, but never repulsive, mean, this resolve has remained unchanged. I or commonplace. It must suggest the could not have expected such a demon- heroic, the divine in human nature, and strative farewell; but, whatever it might not the mere everyday struggles or torhave been, the certainty that it is the last tures of this life, whether in joy or sorrow, time one does anything is, I think, well despair or hopeless grief. Under every kept from us. I see now the actors in the circumstance ihe graceful, the ideal, the play asking for a remembrance of the beautiful, should be given side by side night, - gloves, handkerchiefs, feathers, with the real. one by one taken from the hat, then the I have always felt what a happy cir. hat itself, — all, in short, that could be cumstance it was for a shy and sensiäve severed from the dress. I, whose claim temperament like mine, that my first steps was as nothing compared to that of oth in my art should have been guided and ers, stood aside, greatly moved and sor- enco

couraged by a nature so generous and rowful, weeping on my mother's shoulder, sympathetic as Mr. Kemble's. He made when, as the exciting scene was at last me feel that I was in the right road to drawing to a close, Mr. Kemble saw me, success, and gave me courage by speak. aud exclaimed, "What: My Lady baby * ing warınly of my natural gifts of voice,

etc., and praising my desire to study and * I must explain that “baby” was the pet name by improve, and my readiness in seizing his which Mr. Kemble always called me. cannot tell meaning and profiting by his suggestions. why, unless it were because of the contrast he found How different it was when, shortly afterbetween his own wide knowledge of the world and of art, and my innocent ignorance and youth. Delicate wards, I came under Mr. Macready's inhealth had kept me in a quiet home, which I only left Auence! Equally great in their art, na. at intervals for a quieter life by the seaside, so that I knew far less of the world and its ways than even most

ture had cast the men in entirely different girls of my age.

moulds. Each helped me, but by proc. esses wholly unlike. The one, while so slightly, her good friend the noble pointing out what was wrong, brought the lion ! * balm of encouragement and hope; the Mr. Kemble seemed to my eyes before other, like the surgeon who "cuts beyond everything pre-eminently a gentleman. the wound to make the cure more cer. And this told, as it always must tell, when tain," was merciless to the feelings, where he enacted ideal characters. There was he thought a fault or a defect might so a natural grace and dignity in his bearing, best be pruned away. Both were my true a courtesy and unstudied deference of friends, and were most kind to me, each manner in approaching and addressing in his own way of showing kindness. Yet women, whether in private society or on it was well for my self-distrustful nature the stage, which I have scarcely seen that the gentler kindness came first. equalled. Perhaps it was not quite as

Mr. Kemble never lost an opportunity rare in his day as it is now. What a lover of making you happy. When Joanna he must have made! What a Romeo ! Baillie's play, “ The Separation," was pro. What an Orlando! I got glimpses of duced within two months of my first ap. what these must have been in the readpearance, I had, in the heroine Margaret, ings which Mr. Kemble gave after he left

I a very difficult part — quite unlike any I the stage, and which I attended diligenthad previously acted or even studied. ly, with heart and brain awake to profit by The story turns upon a wife's hearing that what I heard. How fine was bis Mercu. before their marriage her husband had tio ! What brilliancy, what ease, what murdered her brother. The play opens spontaneous flow of fancy in the Queen with the wife learning the terrible truth, Mab speech! The very start of it was just as the tidings reach her that her hus. suggestive “Oh, then, I see Queen band has returned safely from battle, and Mab” (with an emphasis on

" Mab”) is close at hand. Of course "the separa “hath been with you!” How exquisite tion" ensues. It must have been a great was the play of it all, image rising up after trouble to Mr. Kemble, who played Gar. image, and crowding one upon another, cio, the husband, to study a new part at each new one more fanciful than the last! that period of his career, and I wonder - Thou talk’st of nothing," says Romeo; that he undertook it. You may imagine but oh, what nothings! As picture after how nervous and anxious I was at attempt. picture was brought before you by Mr. ing the leading character in a play never Kemble's skill, with the just emphasis before acted, and one, moreover, with thrown on every word, yet all spoken which I had little sympathy. During the trippingly on the tongue," what objects

" first performance Mr. Kemble also ap: that one might see or touch could be more peared very nervous, and at times seemed real? I was disappointed in his reading at a loss for his words. He was deaf, of Juliet, Desdemona, etc. His heroines too, not very deaf, but sufficiently so to were spiritless, tearful creatures, too make the prompter's voice of no use to merely tender, without distinction or inhim. Happily I was able on several oc. dividuality, all except Lady Macbeth, into casions, being close to him, to whisper the whom I could not help thinking some of words. How I knew them I can hardly the spirit of his great sister, Mrs. Sid. tell, because we had not copies of the dons, was transfused. But, in truth, I play to study from, but only our own cannot think it possible for any man's manuscript parts. But I had heard him nature to simulate a woman's, or vice repeat them at rehearsal, and they had fixed themselves in my memory. Natu.

* I shall never forget my surprise, when one day, rally I thought nothing of this at the time. during the run of “Separation," on going into the Soho The next morning, when we met upon Bazaar, and coming to the doll-stall - a not-forgotten the stage to make some little changes in Miss Helen Faucit as the Lady Margaret in 'Sepa

spot of interest for me — I saw myself in a doll, labelled the play, Mr. Kemble spoke openly of the ration."" Such things were very unusual then, and I help I had been to hiin, making very dress was exactly mine -- copied most accurately:

felt just a little - not proud, but happy. The doll's much more of it than it deserved, and, am sure, had I not thought it vain, I should have liked above all, marvelling at the self-command to buy my doll-self. But again, perhaps my funds of the little novice, coming with so much might not have allowed it, and I felt too shy to ask the

price: it was a grandly got up lady, and although my readiness to support an old actor, who salary was the largest ever given in those days, I was, should have been on the lookout to do as a minor, only allowed by my friends a slight increase

to the pocket money which had been mine before. that office for her. I was much ashamed Happily for me, both then and since, money has ever to be praised for so small a thing. But been a mat:er of slight importance in my regard.

cess in my art, and the preservation of the freshness how quietly glad was the little mouse and freedom of spirit which are essential to true diswhen she found that she bad helped ever | tinction, were always my first thought.

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