Of the great bespeak for Miss Snevellicci, and the first appearance of Nicholas upon any stage N ICHOLAS was up betimes in the morning; but he had scarcely begun to dress, notwithstanding, when he heard footsteps ascending the stairs, and was presently saluted by the voices of Mr Folair the pantomimist, and Mr Lenville, the tragedian.
`House, house, house!' cried Mr Folair.
`What, ho! within there" said Mr Lenville, in a deep voice.
`Confound these fellows!' thought Nicholas; `they have come to breakfast, I suppose. I'll open the door directly, if you'll wait an instant.'
The gentlemen entreated him not to hurry himself; and, to beguile the interval, had a fencing bout with their walking-sticks on the very small landing-place: to the unspeakable discomposure of all the other lodgers downstairs.
`Here, come in,' said Nicholas, when he had completed his toilet. `In the name of all that's horrible, don't make that noise outside.'
`An uncommon snug little box this,' said Mr Lenville, stepping into the front room, and taking his hat off, before he could get in at all.
`Pernicious snug.'
`For a man at all particular in such matters, it might be a trifle too snug,' said Nicholas; `for, although it is, undoubtedly, a great convenience to be able to reach anything you want from the ceiling or the floor, or either side of the room, without having to move from your chair, still these advantages can only be had in an apartment of the most limited size.'
`It isn't a bit too confined for a single man,' returned Mr Lenville.
`That reminds me,--my wife, Mr Johnson,--I hope she'll have some good part in this piece of yours?'
`I glanced at the French copy last night,' said Nicholas. `It looks very good, I think.'
`What do you mean to do for me, old fellow?' asked Mr Lenville, poking the struggling fire with his walking-stick, and afterwards wiping it on the skirt of his coat. `Anything in the gruff and grumble way?'
`You turn your wife and child out of doors,' said Nicholas; `and, in a fit of rage and jealousy, stab your eldest son in the library.'
`Do I though!' exclaimed Mr Lenville. `That's very good business.'
`After which,' said Nicholas, `you are troubled with remorse till the last act, and then you make up your mind to destroy yourself. But, just as you are raising the pistol to your head, a clock strikes--ten.'
`I see,' cried Mr Lenville. `Very good.'
`You pause,' said Nicholas; `you recollect to have heard a clock strike ten in your infancy. The pistol falls from your hand--you are overcome--you burst into tears, and become a virtuous and exemplary character for ever afterwards.'
`Capital!' said Mr Lenville: `that's a sure card, a sure card. Get the curtain down with a touch of nature like that, and it'll be a triumphant success.'
`Is there anything good for me?' inquired Mr Folair, anxiously.
`Let me see,' said Nicholas. `You play the faithful and attached servant;you are turned out of doors with the wife and child.'
`Always coupled with that infernal phenomenon,' sighed Mr Folair; `and we go into poor lodgings, where I won't take any wages, and talk sentiment, I suppose?'
`Why--yes,' replied Nicholas: `that is the course of the piece.'
`I must have a dance of some kind, you know,' said Mr Folair. `You'll have to introduce one for the phenomenon, so you'd better make a pas de deux , and save time.'
`There's nothing easier than that,' said Mr Lenville, observing the disturbed looks of the young dramatist.
`Upon my word I don't see how it's to be done,' rejoined Nicholas.
`Why, isn't it obvious?' reasoned Mr Lenville. `Gadzooks, who can help seeing the way to do it?--you astonish me! You get the distressed lady, and the little child, and the attached servant, into the poor lodgings, don't you?--Well, look here. The distressed lady sinks into a chair, and buries her face in her pocket-handkerchief. "What makes you weep, mamma?"says the child. "Don't weep, mamma, or you'll make me weep too!"--"And me!" says the favourite servant, rubbing his eyes with his arm. "What can we do to raise your spirits, dear mamma?" says the little child. "Ay, what can we do?" says the faithful servant. "Oh, Pierre!" says the distressed lady; "would that I could shake off these painful thoughts."--"Try, ma'am, try," says the faithful servant; "rouse yourself, ma'am; be amused." --"I will," says the lady, "I will learn to suffer with fortitude. Do you remember that dance, my honest friend, which, in happier days, you practised with this sweet angel? It never failed to calm my spirits then. Oh! let me see it once again before I die!" -- There it is--cue for the band, before I die , -- and off they go. That's the regular thing; isn't it, Tommy?'
`That's it,' replied Mr Folair. `The distressed lady, overpowered by old recollections, faints at the end of the dance, and you close in with a picture.'
Profiting by these and other lessons, which were the result of the personal experience of the two actors, Nicholas willingly gave them the best breakfast he could, and, when he at length got rid of them, applied himself to his task: by no means displeased to find that it was so much easier than he had at first supposed. He worked very hard all day, and did not leave his room until the evening, when he went down to the theatre, whither Smike had repaired before him to go on with another gentleman as a general rebellion.
Here all the people were so much changed, that he scarcely knew them.
