32. CHAPTER XXXII.
SCENE THIRD AND LAST.
Mr. Incledon—stirring the fire, and pointing to a
cigar, which Mr. Sansoucy refuses with a shake of his head.
But you are wrong, Ernest. The human intellect has
something of the Divine in its grandest manifestations—
but its powers are circumscribed. What you allege would
make a man more than human.
Mr. Sansoucy, with an argumentative movement of his
hand. Not at all. It is only an act which long training has
perfected the student in. Look at Kean. Did you ever
see him?
Incledon. No.
Sansoucy. I did once, in London, just when he retired.
If you had seen him, you would not dispute, what I say.
Yes, Ralph! There are men born with such a ductility
of mind and feature, that they end by believing themselves
really the characters they act. You should have seen
Edmund Kean in Richard. A fiery little devil—so to
speak—blustering his words out, scowling, and with every
muscle swollen with passion: no, he thought himself really
Richard—and on the night I saw him, he was as near
killing the unfortunate Richmond, whose rôle, you know,
is to lay the proud usurper low, as a man can come without
actually running his adversary through.
Incledon And that proves—?
Sansoucy. Simply one thing. That certain natures
are gifted with this extraordinery genius, which enables
them to throw themselves into a part, and forget their own
identity. This end once reached, they ride upon the whirlwind
of art and direct it. It is more than the keenest eye
can see—the fact that all they utter has been gotten by
heart—that every gesture is the result of previous arrangement—that
they are only acting. Think of the stories of
Garrick, Mrs. Siddons, Miss O'Neil, and Kemble.—
Incledon, smiling. You knock me down with names.
Sansoucy. They are high authority, and present
powerful illustrations.
Incledon. Well, possibly.
Sansoucy, gratified at having triumphed. Look even at
Macready. Did you see him in Macbeth? You have
seen him? Well, do you recollect the great `dagger scene,'
as my friends the actors call it in their jargon? In that
scene I defy any one to see the actor's terror-stricken
features, his brow bathed in sweat, his hands clutching at
the air, without looking for the dagger, even as he looks.
Incledon. Very well.
Sansoucy. Well, what does that prove Mr. Logician?
Simply this, that the actor feels that he is not Mr. Macready,
but the Thane of Caudor—and as a consequence
of that belief, and the further conviction that he is going
to murder the sleeping king—actually feels that there is
an air-drawn dagger, and expresses that feeling in his eyes,
and makes you look for what he evidently sees—Q. E. D.
You are wrong and I am right.
Incledon, smiling at his friend's good humored air of
triumph. Well, you may be, but still I believe that such
ductility of imagination is given to but one man in a
million—scarcely ever to a woman.
Sansoucy, quickly. Oftener to women than to men.
Incledon. I don't believe it.
Sansoucy. That's because you are as obstinate as a
block of granite. Women, Ralph, have this impressibility
of temperament a thousand fold more fully than men.
Where one man is a great actor, a hundred women might
be great actresses. And do not think that this is a cynical
speech on my part. Not at all. I yield to no man in
chivalrie feeling toward woman, and I bow before a little
girl even, for she is purer and more innocent than I am.
But the fact remains. Believe me, Ralph, there are
greater actresses in private life than on the stage.
Incledon. What a cynic!
Sansoucy. Just as I expected. A man cannot look at
woman, as they are, and say, `This is good—that bad,'
without having some such speech made to him. You are
to think them angels, on penalty of being branded as a
woman hater! Very well! that shan't affect me in the least.
I will go on as I always have gone on, honoring women for
a thousand qualities far nobler than the same in men—
endurance, disinterestedness, tenderness, and devotion—I
shall go on attributing all this to women, my dear Ralph;
but I will not take back what I have said, that half the
women a man meets have smiles and tears, and frowns
and tenderness as much at their command, as the keys of
the pianos which their fingers play on without effort!
Incledon, thinking of Silvia and frowning. Very well—
that's just what I expected, Ernest. Take care you never
find out the truth of what I say. There's Aurelia. Tell
me is she an actress?
Sansoucy, sighing. Really I haven't made up my mind;
but who knows? Ah, my dear Ralph! the fact is that
my philosophy is a very dangerous one, and has too fine
an edge to apply practically—like a razor used to cut
open the leaves of a book, it is too keen, and runs out of
its track—and slash! there's your fine copy, with its steel
engravings sliced in two! But let us dismiss the subject,
or I will recant all I have said!
Incledon. Willingly.
Sansoucy, rising. Well, I am going. No, I can't
stay. I have a thousand things to do in the morning,
besides a visit to my little friend, Ellie, to pay. Goodnight:
come and see me, to-morrow. I shall have from
twelve until dinner on my hands. You will come?
Incledon. Willingly, again.
Sansoucy, disappearing wrapped to the eyes in his
overcoat. Good-night.
Incledon, gazing after him. A mind rioting in discussion!—but
all editors have just such characters. I
suppose it becomes habit with them—and they take pride
in their skill at dialectics. He is half right about actors
and their capabilities, no doubt—but doubt a young girl
like Silvia! Impossible: my faith in woman, which I
cling to as my treasure and blessing, only second to my
faith in a higher than all earthly things, would leave me
—I should doubt the earth I tread on—I should sicken
at the thought of living in a world so poor and mean!
Grant, O my God, as I raise my eyes solemnly to thee
and yield my heart to thee as a little child—naked, and
poor, and humble, but with faith and trust—grant, O my
God and Father, that I may not lose my treasure, even
my faith in human nature—in the beings whom I am
thrown with—whom I love—and loving cannot look
upon as wholly base, and fallen and untouched with the
sublime light of heaven!”
