"Pardon me, sir, I will not leave you thus: Your looks are pale and wild,"
yet now, because his looks were red and wild, she left without permission, and the enraged instead of grieving _Romeo_ had no one to receive his order:
"----get me ink and paper, And hire post horses."
So when, in his confusion, he went on continuing his lines as they were written, and, addressing empty space, fiercely bade _Balthazar_:
and in unintentionally suggestive tones promised:
the audience laughed openly and heartily at the star himself.
"Yes, sir," he snorted later on to Mr. Ellsler, "by heaven, sir! they laughed at me--AT ME! I have been made ridiculous by your measly little _Balthazar_--who should have been a man, sir! Yes, sir, a man, whom I could have chastised for making a fool of himself, sir! and a d----d fool of me, sir!"
For the real tragedy of that night lay in the wound given to the dignity of Mr. F. B. Conway, who played a measured and stately _Romeo_ to the handsome and mature _Juliet_ of his wife.
We had no young _Juliets_ just then, they were all rather advanced, rather settled in character for the reckless child of Verona. But every lady who played the part declared at rehearsal that Shakespeare had been foolish to make _Juliet_ so young--that no woman had learned enough to understand and play her before middle age at least.
Mrs. Bradshaw, one day, said laughingly to me: "By your looks you seemed to disagree with Mrs. Ellsler's remarks this morning. She, too, thinks a woman is not fit for _Juliet_ until she has learned much of nature and the world."
"But," I objected, lamely, "while they are learning so much about the world they are forgetting such a lot about girlhood!"
Her laughter confused and distressed me. "I can't say it!" I cried, "but you know how very forward _Juliet_ is in speech? If she _knew_, that would become brazen boldness! It isn't what she _knows_, but what she _feels_ without knowing that makes the tragedy!" And what Mrs. Bradshaw meant by muttering, "Babes and sucklings--from the mouths of babes and sucklings," I could not make out; perhaps, however, I should say that my mate Annie played few blankverse parts after _Balthazar_.
Then, one Saturday night, we were all corralled by the prompter before we could depart for home, and were gravely addressed by the manager--the whole thing being ludicrously suggestive of the reading of the riot act; but after reminding us that Mr. James E. Murdoch would begin his engagement on Monday night, that the rehearsals would be long and important, he proceeded to poison the very source of our Sunday's rest and comfort by fell suggestions of some dire mishap threatening the gentleman through us. We exchanged wondering and troubled glances. What could this mean?