Dead Man's Rock Part 29

CHAPTER V.

TELLS HOW THE CURTAIN ROSE UPON "FRANCESCA: A TRAGEDY."

Again my story may hurry, for on the enchanted weeks that followed it would weary all but lovers to dwell, and lovers for the most part find their own matters sufficient food for pondering. Tom was busy with the rehearsals at the Coliseum, and I, being left alone, had little taste for the _Materia Medica_. On Sundays only did I see Claire; for this Mrs. Luttrell had stipulated, and my love, too, most mysteriously professed herself busy during the week. As for me, it was clear that before marriage could be talked of I must at least have gained my diplomas, so that the more work I did during the week the better. The result of this was a goodly sowing of resolutions and very little harvest. In the evenings, Tom and I would sit together--he tirelessly polishing and pruning the tragedy, and I for the most part smoking and giving advice which I am bound to say in duty to the author ("Francesca" having gained some considerable fame since those days) was invariably rejected.

Tom had been growing silent and moody of late--a change for which I could find no cause. He would answer my questions at random, pause in his work to gaze long and intently on the ceiling, and altogether behave in ways unaccountable and strange. The play had been written at white-hot speed: the corrections proceeded at a snail's pace.

The author had also fallen into a habit of bolting his meals in silence, and, when rebuked, of slowly bringing his eyes to bear upon me as a person whose presence was until the moment unsuspected.

All this I saw in mild wonder, but I reflected on certain moods of my own of late, and held my peace.

The explanation came without my seeking. We were seated together one evening, he over his everlasting corrections, and I in some especially herbaceous nook of the _Materia Medica_, when Tom looked up and said--

"Jasper, I want your opinion on a pa.s.sage. Listen to this."

Sick of my flowery solitude, I gave him my attention while he read:--

"She is no violet to veil and hide Before the l.u.s.ty sun, but as the flower, His best-named bride, that leaneth to the light And images his look of lordly love-- Yet how I wrong her. She is more a queen Than he a king; and whoso looks must kneel And worship, conscious of a Sovranty Undreamt in nature, save it be the Heaven That minist'ring to all is queen of all, And wears the proud sun's self but as a gem To grace her girdle, one among the stars.

Heaven is Francesca, and Francesca Heaven.

Without her, Heaven is dispossessed of Heaven, And Earth, discrowned and disinherited, Shall beg in black eclipse, until her eyes--"

"Stay," I interrupted, "unless I am mistaken her eyes are like the Pleiads, a simile to which I have more than once objected."

"If you would only listen you would find those lines cut out," said Tom, pettishly.

"In that case I apologise: nevertheless, if that is your idea of a Francesca, I confess she seems to me a trifle--shall we say?-- ma.s.sive."

"Your Claire, I suppose, is stumpy?"

"My Claire," I replied with dignity, "is neither stumpy nor stupendous."

"In fact, just the right height."

"Well, yes, just the right height."

Tom paid no attention, but went on in full career--

"I hate your Griseldas, your Jessamys, your Mary Anns; give me Semiramis, Dido, Joan of--"

"My dear Tom, not all at once, I hope."

"Bah! you are so taken up with your own choice, that you must needs scoff at anyone who happens to differ. I tell you, woman should be imperial, majestic; should walk as a queen and talk as a G.o.ddess.

You scoff because you have never seen such; you shut your eyes and go about saying, 'There is no such woman.' By heaven, Jasper, if you could only see--"

At this point Tom suddenly pulled up and blushed like any child.

"Go on--whom shall I see?"

Tom's blush was beautiful to look upon.

"The Lambert, for instance; I meant--"

"Who is the Lambert?"

"Do you mean to say you have never heard of Clarissa Lambert, the most glorious actress in London?"

"Never. Is she acting at the Coliseum?"

"Of course she is. She takes Francesca. Oh, Jasper, you should see her, she is divine!"

Here another blush succeeded.

"So," I said after a pause, "you have taken upon yourself to fall in love with this Clarissa Lambert."

Tom looked unutterably sheepish.

"Is the pa.s.sion returned?"

"Jasper, don't talk like that and don't be a fool. Of course I have never breathed a word to her. Why, she hardly knows me, has hardly spoken to me beyond a few simple sentences. How should I, a miserable author without even a name, speak to her? Jasper, do you like the name Clarissa?"

"Not half so well as Claire."

"Nonsense; Claire is well enough as names go, but nothing to Clarissa. Mark how the ending gives it grace and quaintness; what a grand eighteenth-century ring it has! It is superb--so sweet, and at the same time so stately."

"And replaces Francesca so well in scansion."

Tom's face was confession.

"You should see her, Jasper--her eyes. What colour are Claire's?"

"Deep grey."

"Clarissa's are hazel brown: I prefer brown; in fact I always thought a woman should have brown eyes: we won't quarrel about inches, but you will give way in the matter of eyes, will you not?"

"Not an inch."

"It really is wonderful," said Tom, "how the mere fact of being in love is apt to corrupt a man's taste. Now in the matter of voice--I dare wager that your Claire speaks in soft and gentle numbers."

"As an Aeolian harp," said I, and I spoke truth.

"Of course, unrelieved tenderness and not a high note in the gamut.

But you should hear Clarissa; I only ask you to hear her once, and let those glorious accents play upon your cra.s.s heart for a moment or two. O Jasper, Jasper, it shakes the very soul!"

Tom was evidently in a very advanced stage of the sickness; I could not find it in my heart to return his flouts of a month before, so I said--

"Very well, my dear Tom, I shall look upon your divinity in November.

I do not promise you she will have the effect that you look forward to, but I am glad your Francesca will be worthily played; and, Tom, I am glad you are in love; I think it improves you."