Author's Night
“ BRILLIANT SUCCESS!” the play-
bills said,
Flaming all over the town one day,
Blazing in characters blue and red,
(Printed for posting, by the way,
Before the public had seen the play !)
“ Received with thunders of applause !
New Piece ! New Author!! Tremendous
hit ! !! ”
This was on Tuesday : still it draws,
And to-night is the Author’s Benefit.
bills said,
Flaming all over the town one day,
Blazing in characters blue and red,
(Printed for posting, by the way,
Before the public had seen the play !)
“ Received with thunders of applause !
New Piece ! New Author!! Tremendous
hit ! !! ”
This was on Tuesday : still it draws,
And to-night is the Author’s Benefit.
“ New piece ” : I’ve a word to say about
that.
Nine years ago, it may be more,
There came one day to the manager’s door
A hopeful man, with a modest rat-tat,
Who smilingly entered, took off his hat,
And, begging the great man’s pardon, slipt
Into his hand a manuscript.
In a month he came again : “ The play —
Which I troubled you with,— the other
day—”
“ The play ? Oh ! ah ! ” says the manager,
Politest of men: “ Excuse me, sir !
’T is being considered.” (Safe to bet
He hadn't looked at the title yet! )
“ I ’ll drop you a line ; or, you ’ll confer
A favor by calling a week from now.”
And he turned him out with a model bow.
Eight days later again they met,—
Modest author hopeful as ever ;
But the great man finished his business thus:
“ I’ve read your play, sir ; very clever ;
But ” (handing it back to him) “ I regret
It isn’t exactly the thing for us.
Good morning, sir ! ” Politest of men 1 —
Nine years ago, it may be ten.
that.
Nine years ago, it may be more,
There came one day to the manager’s door
A hopeful man, with a modest rat-tat,
Who smilingly entered, took off his hat,
And, begging the great man’s pardon, slipt
Into his hand a manuscript.
In a month he came again : “ The play —
Which I troubled you with,— the other
day—”
“ The play ? Oh ! ah ! ” says the manager,
Politest of men: “ Excuse me, sir !
’T is being considered.” (Safe to bet
He hadn't looked at the title yet! )
“ I ’ll drop you a line ; or, you ’ll confer
A favor by calling a week from now.”
And he turned him out with a model bow.
Eight days later again they met,—
Modest author hopeful as ever ;
But the great man finished his business thus:
“ I’ve read your play, sir ; very clever ;
But ” (handing it back to him) “ I regret
It isn’t exactly the thing for us.
Good morning, sir ! ” Politest of men 1 —
Nine years ago, it may be ten.
Author and piece were new enough then.
But sorrow and toil and poverty
Have taken the gloss from him, you see ;
And the play was afterwards knocked about
The theatres, keeping company
With dice and euchre-packs so long,
And pipes and actors’ paint, it grew
To look so dingy and smell so strong,
You’d have called it anything but new !
Till gruff and gouty old Montagu
Happened to take it up one day.
’T was after dinner ; he thought, no doubt,
’T would help him to a nap. “ But stay !
What in the deuce, boys ! Here’s a
play ! ”
He rubbed his glasses, forgot his gout,
And read till he started up with a shout,
“ ’T is just the thing for my protégée,
And hang me, if I don’t bring it out ! ”
But sorrow and toil and poverty
Have taken the gloss from him, you see ;
And the play was afterwards knocked about
The theatres, keeping company
With dice and euchre-packs so long,
And pipes and actors’ paint, it grew
To look so dingy and smell so strong,
You’d have called it anything but new !
Till gruff and gouty old Montagu
Happened to take it up one day.
’T was after dinner ; he thought, no doubt,
’T would help him to a nap. “ But stay !
What in the deuce, boys ! Here’s a
play ! ”
He rubbed his glasses, forgot his gout,
And read till he started up with a shout,
“ ’T is just the thing for my protégée,
And hang me, if I don’t bring it out ! ”
And so it chanced, politest of men !
The play came into your hands again
Nine years later, — did I say ten '?
And either age had improved its flavor,
Or you are wiser than you were then ;
For now you deem it a special favor
That gouty and grouty old Montagu
Consented to bring it out with you.
The play came into your hands again
Nine years later, — did I say ten '?
And either age had improved its flavor,
Or you are wiser than you were then ;
For now you deem it a special favor
That gouty and grouty old Montagu
Consented to bring it out with you.
“ Tremendous hit! ”
In the vast theatre’s hollow sphere
High hangs the glittering chandelier ;
Its bright beams flash on
Beauty and fashion ;
A sea of life pours into the pit,
And cloud upon cloud piles over it,
Where Youth and Pleasure and Mirth and
Passion And Years and Folly and Wisdom and Wit
Throng to the Author’s Benefit.
In the vast theatre’s hollow sphere
High hangs the glittering chandelier ;
Its bright beams flash on
Beauty and fashion ;
A sea of life pours into the pit,
And cloud upon cloud piles over it,
Where Youth and Pleasure and Mirth and
Passion And Years and Folly and Wisdom and Wit
Throng to the Author’s Benefit.
The orchestra leader takes his place ;
Horn and serpent and oboë follow,
Violin and violoncello,
Trombone, trumpet, and double-bass.
A turning of music-leaves begins,
With a thrumming and screwing of violins ;
Then the leader waves his bow, and — crash !
Kettle-drum rattles and cymbals clash,
And brass and strings and keen triangle
And high-keyed piccolo, piercing and pure,
Their many-colored chords entangle,
Weaving the wild, proud overture.
Horn and serpent and oboë follow,
Violin and violoncello,
Trombone, trumpet, and double-bass.
A turning of music-leaves begins,
With a thrumming and screwing of violins ;
Then the leader waves his bow, and — crash !
Kettle-drum rattles and cymbals clash,
And brass and strings and keen triangle
And high-keyed piccolo, piercing and pure,
Their many-colored chords entangle,
Weaving the wild, proud overture.
Old Montagu, with fret and frown,
All cloaked and gloved, walks up and down
Before the door of his protégée,
Keeping her worshippers at bay.
But he catches one who comes that way,
Gives him a gouty finger or two,
And seems quite civil: “ Why did n’t you
Have a bouquet
For my protegee,
In the boudoir-scene last night ? ’T will do
As well to-night, though.” (Straight off
goes gay
Young Lothario, hunting a nosegay.)
He punches a pale reporter next
With his playful cane : “ She’s terribly vext
At you, young fellow ! Why did n’t you get
That notice into your last Gazette ?
You will in your next, eh ? Don’t forget!”
And gruff and snuffy old Montagu
Limps down to the curtain and peeps
through:
“ Boys ! what a house it is ! Thanks to me,
The fellow’s fortune is made,” quoth he.
All cloaked and gloved, walks up and down
Before the door of his protégée,
Keeping her worshippers at bay.
But he catches one who comes that way,
Gives him a gouty finger or two,
And seems quite civil: “ Why did n’t you
Have a bouquet
For my protegee,
In the boudoir-scene last night ? ’T will do
As well to-night, though.” (Straight off
goes gay
Young Lothario, hunting a nosegay.)
He punches a pale reporter next
With his playful cane : “ She’s terribly vext
At you, young fellow ! Why did n’t you get
That notice into your last Gazette ?
You will in your next, eh ? Don’t forget!”
And gruff and snuffy old Montagu
Limps down to the curtain and peeps
through:
“ Boys ! what a house it is ! Thanks to me,
The fellow’s fortune is made,” quoth he.
Then, tinkle-tinkle! The music hushes;
Up to the ceiling the great curtain rushes;
And a world of surprise
To fresh young eyes,
A realm of enchantment, glows and flushes,
Stretching far back from the footlights’
brink.
How does it look to worldly-wise
And crusty old Montagu, do you think?
Up to the ceiling the great curtain rushes;
And a world of surprise
To fresh young eyes,
A realm of enchantment, glows and flushes,
Stretching far back from the footlights’
brink.
How does it look to worldly-wise
And crusty old Montagu, do you think?
And the author, where all the while is he ?
How seems it to him ? Were I in his place,
Turning at last my toil-worn face
From the dreary deserts of poverty,
Would n’t all my heart leap high to see
The flowers of beauty and fashion and grace,
One many-hued, gay,
Immense bouquet,
How seems it to him ? Were I in his place,
Turning at last my toil-worn face
From the dreary deserts of poverty,
Would n’t all my heart leap high to see
The flowers of beauty and fashion and grace,
One many-hued, gay,
Immense bouquet,
Flaunting and fluttering here for me ?
The costumed players, even she,
The bright young queen
Of the radiant scene,
Speaking his speeches, living his thought;
And all this vast, pulsating mass
Held captive by the spell he wrought,
Held breathless, like a sea of glass
That bursts in breakers of wild applause ; —
Would n’t you conceive you had some
cause
For an honest thrill, if you were he ?
But where, as we said, can the fellow be ?
The costumed players, even she,
The bright young queen
Of the radiant scene,
Speaking his speeches, living his thought;
And all this vast, pulsating mass
Held captive by the spell he wrought,
Held breathless, like a sea of glass
That bursts in breakers of wild applause ; —
Would n’t you conceive you had some
cause
For an honest thrill, if you were he ?
But where, as we said, can the fellow be ?
Montagu is crabbed and old ;
And the wings are barren and gusty and
cold ;
And, ah! could the fresh young eyes be-
hold,
Around and under
That vision of wonder, —
Behind the counterfeit joys and hopes,
The tinsel and paint of the players’ parts, —
The barn-like vault, with its pulleys and
ropes,
Shabby canvas and sheet-iron thunder,
And, O, the humanest lives and hearts !
And the wings are barren and gusty and
cold ;
And, ah! could the fresh young eyes be-
hold,
Around and under
That vision of wonder, —
Behind the counterfeit joys and hopes,
The tinsel and paint of the players’ parts, —
The barn-like vault, with its pulleys and
ropes,
Shabby canvas and sheet-iron thunder,
And, O, the humanest lives and hearts !
Head of Jesuit, heart of Jew,
Snuffy and puffy old Montagu
Watches his ward, as a lynx his prey,
Wheedles her lovers, and reckons his
gains ;
Though naught but praise of his protégée
Will he hear from another, he follows the
play
With eyes that threaten and brows that
rebuke her,
And lips that can chide in a fierce, sharp
way,
When all is over, for all her pains.
The priest and the lover are playing euchre
In the intervals of their parts ; the clown,
Dull fellow enough when the curtain is
down,
Has had, they say,
Bad news to-day;
The merry ghost of the murdered man
Takes pleasant revenge on the whiskered
villain
At a game of chess which they began
In the green-room, just before the killing ;
The beggar is scuffling with the king ;
And the lovelorn maiden is gossiping
With the misanthrope, prince of all good
fellows ;
And some are sad, and some are gay,
Some are in love, and some are jealous ;
And there’s many a play within the play ! And, O young eyes ! in yonder alley,
Which the tall theatre overtops
(Its sheer crag towering above a valley
Of poor men’s tenements and shops), —
Where three little cherubs, not overfed,
Are lying asleep in a trundle-becl,
While a thin, wan woman, sitting late,
Is stitching a garment beside the grate, —
You might, at this moment, see a man
Act as no paid performer can, —
In that wholly unstudied, natural way
No one to this day
Ever saw in a play!
Snuffy and puffy old Montagu
Watches his ward, as a lynx his prey,
Wheedles her lovers, and reckons his
gains ;
Though naught but praise of his protégée
Will he hear from another, he follows the
play
With eyes that threaten and brows that
rebuke her,
And lips that can chide in a fierce, sharp
way,
When all is over, for all her pains.
The priest and the lover are playing euchre
In the intervals of their parts ; the clown,
Dull fellow enough when the curtain is
down,
Has had, they say,
Bad news to-day;
The merry ghost of the murdered man
Takes pleasant revenge on the whiskered
villain
At a game of chess which they began
In the green-room, just before the killing ;
The beggar is scuffling with the king ;
And the lovelorn maiden is gossiping
With the misanthrope, prince of all good
fellows ;
And some are sad, and some are gay,
Some are in love, and some are jealous ;
And there’s many a play within the play ! And, O young eyes ! in yonder alley,
Which the tall theatre overtops
(Its sheer crag towering above a valley
Of poor men’s tenements and shops), —
Where three little cherubs, not overfed,
Are lying asleep in a trundle-becl,
While a thin, wan woman, sitting late,
Is stitching a garment beside the grate, —
You might, at this moment, see a man
Act as no paid performer can, —
In that wholly unstudied, natural way
No one to this day
Ever saw in a play!
Out at elbows, out at toes,
A needy, seedy, lank little man,
To and fro and about he goes,
With a vexed little bundle of infantine
woes, —
Sitting down, rising up, and with rocking
and walking,
With hushing and tossing and singing and
talking,
Vainly trying
To still its crying ;
While a shadow behind him, huge and dim,
With a shadow-baby mimics him,
Sketched on the wall
Grotesque and tall !
A needy, seedy, lank little man,
To and fro and about he goes,
With a vexed little bundle of infantine
woes, —
Sitting down, rising up, and with rocking
and walking,
With hushing and tossing and singing and
talking,
Vainly trying
To still its crying ;
While a shadow behind him, huge and dim,
With a shadow-baby mimics him,
Sketched on the wall
Grotesque and tall !
Anon he pauses. Hark to the cheers !
He laughs as he hears ;
And he says, “ I believe I could tell by the
cheers,
(If only this child would n’t worry so !)
Whether they come from above or below,
Begin in the boxes or up in the tiers,
Which is the speech, and who is the play-
er ! ”
In his keen face kindles a youthful glow, —
And lo! ’t is the face of the man we know, —
’T is certainly so !
Though faded and jaded, thinner and grayer,
With a ghost of the look of long ago.
He laughs as he hears ;
And he says, “ I believe I could tell by the
cheers,
(If only this child would n’t worry so !)
Whether they come from above or below,
Begin in the boxes or up in the tiers,
Which is the speech, and who is the play-
er ! ”
In his keen face kindles a youthful glow, —
And lo! ’t is the face of the man we know, —
’T is certainly so !
Though faded and jaded, thinner and grayer,
With a ghost of the look of long ago.
“ To think,” he says, “ I never knew
The play was to be brought out, until
I saw it that morning on the bill ! Then did n't I hurry home to you
(I vow, this baby will never hush !
There, bite my finger, if you will! )
With the wonderful news ? And did n't I
rush
Up the alley, to find old Montagu ?
You would n’t believe it was really true
,
And you only half believe it still ! ”
The play was to be brought out, until
I saw it that morning on the bill ! Then did n't I hurry home to you
(I vow, this baby will never hush !
There, bite my finger, if you will! )
With the wonderful news ? And did n't I
rush
Up the alley, to find old Montagu ?
You would n’t believe it was really true
,
And you only half believe it still ! ”
Reason enough that she should doubt !
For has n’t she witnessed, all these years,
His coming in, and his going out, His wisdom, his weakness, his laughter and
tears ?
Seen him pine and seen him fret ?
Eating his dinner (when dinners were had);
Serious, frivolous, hopeful, sad ; —
Why, he never could get
A living yet,
And all that he tried has failed outright!
Now can it be,
Is it really he,
This poor, weak man at her side, whose wit
Is making the theatre shake to-night,
As if its very sides would split ?
For has n’t she witnessed, all these years,
His coming in, and his going out, His wisdom, his weakness, his laughter and
tears ?
Seen him pine and seen him fret ?
Eating his dinner (when dinners were had);
Serious, frivolous, hopeful, sad ; —
Why, he never could get
A living yet,
And all that he tried has failed outright!
Now can it be,
Is it really he,
This poor, weak man at her side, whose wit
Is making the theatre shake to-night,
As if its very sides would split ?
Odd, is it not ? But after all,
If you will observe, it does n’t take
A man of giant mould to make
A giant shadow on the wall ;
And he who in our daily sight
Seems but a figure mean and small,
Outlined in Fame’s illusive light
May stalk, a silhouette sublime,
Across the canvas of his time.
If you will observe, it does n’t take
A man of giant mould to make
A giant shadow on the wall ;
And he who in our daily sight
Seems but a figure mean and small,
Outlined in Fame’s illusive light
May stalk, a silhouette sublime,
Across the canvas of his time.
She answers with a peevish smile.
Taking stitch upon stitch the while :
“ Why did n’t they pay you something down,
To buy you a coat and me a gown ?
Then I could go to the theatre too,
And you would n’t be ashamed to sit
In the private box they offered you,
Instead of sneaking in as you do.
They put you off with a benefit!
And how do I know but Montagu
Is going to cheat you out of it ? ”
Taking stitch upon stitch the while :
“ Why did n’t they pay you something down,
To buy you a coat and me a gown ?
Then I could go to the theatre too,
And you would n’t be ashamed to sit
In the private box they offered you,
Instead of sneaking in as you do.
They put you off with a benefit!
And how do I know but Montagu
Is going to cheat you out of it ? ”
“ These women never will understand Some things ! ” he cries, " How many times
more
Must I explain — ” A rap at the door !
A step on the creaking stairway floor !
He opens, and sees before him stand
A visitor, courteous, bland, and grand, —
His friend the manager, true as you live !
Who puts a packet into his hand,
Very much as once we saw him give
A manuscript, with the same old bow.
(Everything seems altered now
But the model man and his model bow ;
He will enter, I fancy, the other world
In just this style, —
With a flourish and smile,
Diamonds sparkling, and mustache curled !)
more
Must I explain — ” A rap at the door !
A step on the creaking stairway floor !
He opens, and sees before him stand
A visitor, courteous, bland, and grand, —
His friend the manager, true as you live !
Who puts a packet into his hand,
Very much as once we saw him give
A manuscript, with the same old bow.
(Everything seems altered now
But the model man and his model bow ;
He will enter, I fancy, the other world
In just this style, —
With a flourish and smile,
Diamonds sparkling, and mustache curled !)
“ It gives me very great pleasure : one third
Of the gross receipts ” : presenting the
packet.
“ For a first instalment, upon my word,
Not bad, my friend !—A check, if preferred ; But I thought you might manage this,” he
says.
“ A little seed, which I trust will grow.
The piece is certainly a success,
And, with the right management to back it,
Will run, I should say, six weeks or so.
Really, a very neat success !
We shall always be playing it more or less.
I ’m happy to say so much ; although
I think I was right, nine years ago.
(Sign this little receipt, it you please ?)
Times were not ripe for it then, you know ;
The play would have failed, nine years ago.
Now, when can you give us another piece ? ”
Of the gross receipts ” : presenting the
packet.
“ For a first instalment, upon my word,
Not bad, my friend !—A check, if preferred ; But I thought you might manage this,” he
says.
“ A little seed, which I trust will grow.
The piece is certainly a success,
And, with the right management to back it,
Will run, I should say, six weeks or so.
Really, a very neat success !
We shall always be playing it more or less.
I ’m happy to say so much ; although
I think I was right, nine years ago.
(Sign this little receipt, it you please ?)
Times were not ripe for it then, you know ;
The play would have failed, nine years ago.
Now, when can you give us another piece ? ”
The author, in the sudden heat
And tumult of his joy, (or is it
His strange confusion at this visit ?
The greatest honor of all his life ! )
Partly because the said receipt
Is to be signed, and partly, maybe,
Because one arm still holds the baby,
Turns over the packet to his wife.
She tears the wrapper, and both her hands
Amazed she raises, —
Amazed she gazes !
The bursting treasure her broad lap fills, —
Gold and silver and good bank-bills !
Why, this at last she understands ;
And now she believes in the benefit,
In the manager, and in Montagu,
In the play, and just a little bit
In her dear, old, clever husband too !
And tumult of his joy, (or is it
His strange confusion at this visit ?
The greatest honor of all his life ! )
Partly because the said receipt
Is to be signed, and partly, maybe,
Because one arm still holds the baby,
Turns over the packet to his wife.
She tears the wrapper, and both her hands
Amazed she raises, —
Amazed she gazes !
The bursting treasure her broad lap fills, —
Gold and silver and good bank-bills !
Why, this at last she understands ;
And now she believes in the benefit,
In the manager, and in Montagu,
In the play, and just a little bit
In her dear, old, clever husband too !
As for him, he seizes his hat, —
Wife and children must have a treat !
He follows the manager into the street,
Bent on purchasing this and that,
Something to wear and something to eat.
But the worthy man is quite too fast:
The shops are mostly closed ; and at last
He comes around to the play-house door,
Where he hears such a din
Burst forth within,
What does he do, but just look in ?
Wife and children must have a treat !
He follows the manager into the street,
Bent on purchasing this and that,
Something to wear and something to eat.
But the worthy man is quite too fast:
The shops are mostly closed ; and at last
He comes around to the play-house door,
Where he hears such a din
Burst forth within,
What does he do, but just look in ?
He reaches the lobby, and stands in the
crowd ;
By stretching his neck, and tiptoeing tall,
He can see that the curtain is down, that’s
all.
But still the roar Goes up as before,
Shout upon shout !
Rapping and clapping and whistling and
calling,
Stamping and tramping and caterwauling.
So he cries aloud to a man in the crowd,
“ What is it about ? ”
And the man in the crowd screams back as
loud,
“ Don't you know ?
It’s the end of the show !
They 're trying to call the author out! ”
crowd ;
By stretching his neck, and tiptoeing tall,
He can see that the curtain is down, that’s
all.
But still the roar Goes up as before,
Shout upon shout !
Rapping and clapping and whistling and
calling,
Stamping and tramping and caterwauling.
So he cries aloud to a man in the crowd,
“ What is it about ? ”
And the man in the crowd screams back as
loud,
“ Don't you know ?
It’s the end of the show !
They 're trying to call the author out! ”
The manager appears in his place,
Hat in hand, extremely polite,
Bowing and smiling to left and right,
(Ifonly the author could get a sight!)
And delivers with characteristic grace
A neat little speech of about a minute,
With a plenty of pleasant nothings in it: —
“ Author — unable to appear —
Obliged — presents —
Compliments — ”
(If only the author himself could hear !
How the people cheer !}
“ Company — favorite — credit due —
My friend and the public’s — Montagu —
Theatre — enterprise in securing —
Author— other plans maturing —
Public — generous appreciation —
Gratification —
This ovation— ”
Hat in hand, extremely polite,
Bowing and smiling to left and right,
(Ifonly the author could get a sight!)
And delivers with characteristic grace
A neat little speech of about a minute,
With a plenty of pleasant nothings in it: —
“ Author — unable to appear —
Obliged — presents —
Compliments — ”
(If only the author himself could hear !
How the people cheer !}
“ Company — favorite — credit due —
My friend and the public’s — Montagu —
Theatre — enterprise in securing —
Author— other plans maturing —
Public — generous appreciation —
Gratification —
This ovation— ”
And so, with a beautiful peroration,
Just the thing for the happy occasion,
Sails off in the breeze of a grand sensation.
Just the thing for the happy occasion,
Sails off in the breeze of a grand sensation.
All is over, and out with the throng
The jostled author is borne along.
Will the fresh young eyes, I wonder, see
The crumpled man in the crowd, and note
The napless hat and the seedy coat ?
Alone, unknown, he goes his way,
None so unknown and lonely as he !
While he hears at his side a sweet voice
say,
“ O, what would n’t any one give to be
The author of that delightful play !
I know he is handsome, he must be gay,
And tall, — though of that I’m not so cer-
tain ;
Why did n’t he come before the curtain ? ”
The jostled author is borne along.
Will the fresh young eyes, I wonder, see
The crumpled man in the crowd, and note
The napless hat and the seedy coat ?
Alone, unknown, he goes his way,
None so unknown and lonely as he !
While he hears at his side a sweet voice
say,
“ O, what would n’t any one give to be
The author of that delightful play !
I know he is handsome, he must be gay,
And tall, — though of that I’m not so cer-
tain ;
Why did n’t he come before the curtain ? ”
T. Trowbridge.