"This only is the witchcraft I have used;
Here comes the lady, let her witness it."
he turned to face Mrs. Ellsler entering with Iago and her attendants. Looking utterly bewildered, he exclaimed: "Why, for God's sake, Effie, you are not going on for Desdemona, are you?"
Perhaps his dissatisfaction may be better understood if I mention that a young man twenty-three years old, who took tickets at the dress-circle door, called Mrs. Ellsler mother, and that middle-aged prosperity expressed itself in a startling number of inches about the waist of her short little body. Though her feet and hands were small in the extreme, they could not counteract the effect of that betraying stodginess of figure. Mrs. Ellsler, in answer to that rude question, laughed, and said: "Well, I believe the leading woman generally does play Desdemona?"
"But," cried Mr. Davenport, "where's—w-who's Emilia?"
Mr. Ellsler took him by the arm and led him a little to one side. Several sharp exclamations escaped the star's lips, and at last, aloud and ending the conference, he said: "Yes, yes, John, I know anyone may have to twist about a bit now and then in a cast, but damn me if I can see why you don't cast Effie for Emilia and this girl for Desdemona—then they would at least look something like the parts. As it is now, they are both ridiculous!"
It was an awful speech, and the truth that was in it made it cut deep. There were those on the stage who momentarily expected the building to fall, so great was their awe of Mrs. Ellsler. The odd part of the unpleasant affair was that everyone was sorry for Mr. Ellsler, rather than for his wife.
Well, night came. I trailed about after Desdemona—picked up the fatal handkerchief—spoke a line here and there as Shakespeare wills she should, and bided my time as all Emilias must. Now I had noticed that many Emilias when they gave the alarm—cried out their "Murder! Murder!" against all the noise of the tolling bells, and came back upon the stage spent, and without voice or breath to finish their big scene with, and people thought them weak in consequence. A long hanging bar of steel is generally used for the alarm, and blows struck upon it send forth a vibrating clangor that completely fills a theatre. I made an agreement with the prompter that he was not to strike the bar until I held up my hand to him. Then he was to strike one blow each time I raised my hand, and when I threw up both hands he was to raise Cain, until I was on the stage again. So with throat trained by much shouting, when in the last act I cried:
"I care not for thy sword; I'll make thee known,
Though I lost twenty lives."
I turned, and crying:
"Help! help, ho! help!"