The aegis & intelligencer. [volume] (Bel Air, Md.) 1864-1923, 1893-07-28
HIS LAST ROLE.


Joaquin Miller in Peterson's Magazine.
HIS LAST ROLE.
The curtain had already raised three
times and still the applause was prolonged
They were compelled to raise it again. Oar
zincourt, his left hand pressed against his
heart, his right holding several gilt laurel
crowns, bowed, while his eyes filled with
tears. The braves increased to a storm; he
wanted to say something to express his
thanks to the public. but the old comedian
could only open his lips and utter mum
bling sound. He was overcome; his emo
ton was too deep to clothe in words.
Canes beat on the floor with q furious
noise. The entire theatcr shook with the
| sound. Again and again did the ushers
pass up to tho stage paper palu branches
| bearing ribbons on which the principal
roles Of the actor were printed. Mean
while as Darzincourt stood in the midst Of
the company thai had supported him the
stage manager left the group and embraced
him in the name of the crowd At the
same time he placed one Of the crowns on
his head. The crown, far too large,
slipped down to his shoulders, but what of
that2-the scene was beautiful
1t was on this tableau and amid fresh
and furious applause that the curtain de-
scended, leaving Darzincourt to take off
his crown and receive the fluctuations of his
comrades.
Never before In that provincial city had
similar manifestation been made over q re-
firing actor, and AZ he was to leave the
stage permanently there was no jealousy
among his fellows. So they retired to the
Cafe de la Coincide, where second ovation
awaited him, and the fragrant smoke from
the punch bowls on the marble tObles re-
vived the enthusiasm Of those who pressed
forward to do him honor. And there were
toasts without number, you may be srlrel
The old habitues of the theater reproached
him for leaving them so soon. why, il
one pleases the public, one is always young"
And he, rubbing his chin that had been
shaved for more than half century, was
obliged to defend his retirement. His hair
was white; j." was too rheumatic TO kneel
gracefully in the love scenes. Besides he
had made his mark; his life had been
passed on the boards. Well he needed re
pose He wanted to see the real country
instead of faded canvas. He had dreamed
of little farm-a little garden where he
could smoke his pipe In peace to the end Of
his days. 1t was time to think of himself
he had given enough of his life to the pub
lie. And it was amusing to hear him
speak Of his farming projects seated there
in the costume of Louis XIV, with the
makeup still on his face, which In the
heat of the cafe glistenGd in oily lines
ha rr-tf h,c,, 10,
gravity, and also novel by the libations he
had taken during that affecting evening"
declared that there was no telling what
the future might bring forth. Who could
say that Darzincourt would not come back
some day? But the latter shook his head.
Mol his decision had been made, he want
ed now to enjoy the luxury of doing moth
ing.
Two days afterward Dartmouth, in
stalled In his little house, his head covered
with a large straw hat, wearing a linen
suit and wooden shoes, began to water his
flowers In the midst of n broiling sum- while
chatting with his little serving maid.
But you ought to wait till evening"" she
said. They will perish"
"Bahp' he smiled. FLOWERS are like
women. You can't show them too much |
attention"
From that time delicious life began for |
him in the peace of his rustic home. He
thought with horror Of the rehearsals OF
others days. of the constant changing Of
costumes and parts to be learned and shiv.
cred at the remembrance of those scenes |
which called for nervous action. \ year of |
peaceful pleasure followed. He was very
happy, and why not. he kept asking him |
self again and again-so often in fact that |
he began to doubt if he felt SO sincerely
This happiness ut the bottom was devil.
ish monotonous. Yet he was not willing |
to acknowledge that ennui had crept into |
that pretty little house which he had longed |
for so much, and the more he assured him.
self that he needed nothing the more he |
saw that the days that dragged by were
abominably void and dull.
Today, seated in an arbor taking his cot
fee he allowed his pipe to go out as he read |
over some old plays, occasionally pausing !
to exclaim as he came to some familiar role,
''Ah, was great in that' And the old
memories of the past that he thought were ,
buried came back to the present and sang
q siren song in his ears. All, the music !
of applause, the shouts and braves that
set the lights trembling after an impas-
stoned speechl And the little servant COM
ing to remove the dishes surprised him
standing there flushed of face, his hair
blowing in the breeze, apostrophizing an
imaginary parsonage. /
"Ah, monsieur 10 comte-at last we are
face to FACET
"a count here! Where is this count of
yoursf"
And the girl laughed until the tears ran
down her cheeks
Oh, these old habits that We can never
lay aside! One fine day DARTMOUTH was
forced to acknowledge that he regretted
the theater. Well, yes, why not? One can
not live on the boards with impunity and
not suffer from nostalgia. He subscribed
to the town paper, ard followed the the
atrical notices written by II young lawyers
clerk who had literary aspirations. When
he read the eulogies on his old companions,
his bile rose; besides they were playing in
roles that he had filed. He had hesitated /
before; he hesitated no more.
One morning he abandoned his linen suit,
put on his holiday clothes and sought the
director of the theater The latter appeared
to be surprised at the visit, and learning
the motive raised his hands with gesture
of depreciation.
"What, Darzincourt ut his age wished to
reappear"
And he noticed that the comedian stopped
had accumulate II fresh crop of whiskers.
Still the prospect of II fruitful evening. on
the strength of the actors reputation,
tempted him, and he had already formed
plan announcing the Temperance" of the
celebrated Dartmouth.
"Well. why shouldn't you return to the
stagef" he said.
Radiant with the idea of again filling
this dingy hall with his sonorous speeches,
the old actor began to discuss the piece.
He didn't need any rehearsals, OF course; he
had played the part SO ofteni With the Joy
of a child he sought the costume room,
tried on agaAl the clothes that he had worn
more than a hundred times, requested that
a few changes be made and passed the day
in consultation with the hairdresser and
costumer of the theater
Not wig pleased him; he ordered n new
one. a nervous gayety possessed him; he
could have turned somersaults.
The advertisement produced it's effect.
When the time came, the hall was crowded
to witness his temperance, but the fever
1sh enthusiasm that he had counted on was