What Will He Do with It? — Volume 11Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
General
What Will He Do with It? — Volume 11
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century
"You know that, on my own account, I had reasons for secresy--change of
name. I shunned all those whom I had ever known in former days; could
take no calling in life by which I might be recognised; deemed it a
blessed mercy of Providence that when, not able to resist offers that
would have enabled me to provide for you as I never otherwise could, I
assented to hazard an engagement at a London theatre--trusting for my
incognito to an actor's arts of disguise--came the accident which, of
itself, annihilated the temptation into which I had suffered myself to be
led. For, ah, child! had it been known who and what was the William
Waife whose stage-mime tricks moved harmless mirth, or tears as pleasant,
the audience would have risen, not to applaud, but hoot, 'Off, off,' from
both worlds--the Mimic as the Real! Well, had I been dishonest, you--you
alone felt that I could not have dared to take you, guiltless infant, by
the hand. You remember that, on my return to Rugge's wandering theatre,
bringing you with me, I exaggerated the effects of my accident--affected
to have lost voice--stipulated to be spared appearing on his stage. That
was not the mere pride of manhood shrinking from the display of physical
afflictions. No. In the first village that we arrived at, I recognised
an old friend, and I saw that, in spite of time, and the accident that
had disfigured me, he recognised me, and turned away his face, as if in
loathing. An old friend, Sophy--an old friend! Oh, it pierced me to the
heart; and I resolved, from that day, to escape from Rugge's stage; and I
consented till the means of escape, and some less dependent mode of
livelihood, were found, to live on thy earnings, child; for if I were
discovered by other old friends, and they spoke out, my disgrace would
reflect on you; and better to accept support, from you than that! Alas!
appearances were so strong against me, I never deemed they could be
cleared away, even from the sight of my nearest friends. But Providence,
you know, has been so kind to us hitherto; and so Providence will be kind
to us again, Sophy. And now, the very man I thought most hard to me--
this very Guy Darrell, under whose roof we are--has been the man to make
those whose opinion I most value know that I am not dishonest; and
Providence has raised a witness on my behalf in that very Mr. Hartopp,
who judged me (and any one else might have done the same) too bad to be
fit company for you! And that is why I am congratulated; and, oh, Sophy,
though I have borne it as Heaven does enable us to bear what of ourselves
we could not, and though one learns to shrug a patient shoulder under the
obloquy which may be heaped on us by that crowd of mere strangers to us
and to each other, which is called 'the WORLD,' yet to slink out of sight
from a friend, as one more to be shunned than a foe--to take like a
coward the lashings of Scorn--to wince, one raw sore, from the kindness
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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