“That reminds me of such a curious dream I had last night. I thought I was standing here where we are now, and that I put my hand into the lion’s open mouth, when he bit it off.” Suiting the action to the word, the girl thrust her hand into the marble creature’s jaws, uttered a cry of agony, and pulled it out hurriedly. The lion’s mouth contained a nest of scorpions, one of which had stung her so severely as to necessitate immediate measures to ensure the safety of her injured hand.
ACTORS AND ACTRESSES
Our winter season[[35]] at Florence was as brilliant as that at Rome, and, to me, more delightful in one respect, as I obtained a theatrical engagement. On the walls of Florence stood a large and commodious house (I know not if it still exists). It then belonged to Mr Rowland Standish, and was called by his name; it had a large garden and a very pretty theatre. The mistress—the lessee, the manageress, the friend of all who came near her, whether professionally or socially—was Lady Lucy Standish,[[36]] beneath whose auspices the little theatre became the resort of a happy company, both before and behind the curtain.
[35]. The winter season of the early months of 1834; see subsequent notes.
[36]. Lady Lucy Perry, third daughter of Edmund Henry, first Earl of Limerick; married 1816 to Rowland Stephenson, who took the name of Standish in 1834.
How excellent were some of our actors and actresses! Ah! I fear very few survive to read this feeble tribute. Among other performances, we gave an ambitious representation of the old comedy, A Cure for the Heartache, in which the Secretary of our Legation, Mr George Edgcumbe,[[37]] especially distinguished himself as the “yokel” of the piece. He had lately become engaged to Miss Shelley, a fair friend and countrywoman of mine, but however preoccupied his heart may have been, it did not interfere with the rare skill with which he played a difficult, and some would have considered ungrateful, rôle. The villain of the play, who had designs on the sister of the ploughman, lays a scheme by which to get the latter into his power. He places a purse full of money (one of those large elongated purses with which in old melodramas the wicked peer always tempted the virtuous peasant) within the grasp of the poverty-stricken brother, when summoned on some pretext to the great house. After a short soliloquy, lamenting his penury and the like, the ploughman looks round, sees the golden bait, and chinks the guineas. Then follows a silent pause. The temptation at first appears irresistible; you see the struggles which are passing in the poor fellow’s mind, the difficulty of resistance, the final victory over himself, and the well-expressed air of reproach and indignation with which he hands the purse to his tempter on his entering the room.
[37]. The Honourable George Edgcumbe, second son of Richard, second Earl of Mount Edgcumbe; married 19th May 1834 Fanny Lucy, eldest daughter of Sir John Shelley, sixth Baronet.
May I be forgiven for adding a little incident concerning my own performance? I played the rich heiress whose betrothed lover throws her over at the end of the piece, in favour of her penniless rival. I thought it would be neat and appropriate at such a juncture to make my exit in violent hysterics, and in that state I repaired to my dressing-room, where I was calmly employed in changing my dress for the after piece, when the door burst open and my sister rushed in, terror-stricken.
“O Mary,” she said, “you will kill yourself; this dreadful excitement is too much for you!”
I looked up and she looked down. I was certainly the calmer of the two, but my vanity had received a most flattering compliment.