Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 5).djvu/96



N a Parisian green-room a new performer was complaining of nervousness. From some of her companions she received encouragement, but the majority expressed themselves after this fashion: "Such tremors are incurable. As nature has formed us, bold or timid, cold or ardent, grave or gay, so we must remain. Whoever saw an ambitious man cured of his ambition, or a miser of his avarice?"

Some members of the company objected to the fatalism of these observations, and one said: "If you ask for a converted miser, I can show you one. Here he is! I am one."

The man who said this was a popular dramatist, noted for generosity. His statement was received with ejaculations of "Nonsense!" "Impossible!" "Do you expect us to believe that?" "Indeed," answered he, quite seriously, "I speak the truth. I was a miser, although now, I trust, I am such no longer. If you would care to hear it, I will relate to you the story of my conversion. in the worst It was effected by a child's tear." All present immediately crowded around him, and heard from his lips the following recital:—

"In 1834," said the dramatist, "I had just given to the theatre of the Porte-Saint-Martin one of the most successful of my pieces. One day about that time two letters reached me by the same post. Both were from Marseilles. One was from a theatrical manager, informing me that he intended bringing out my new piece there, and that he desired my presence at the final rehearsals of the drama. With regard to remuneration for my trouble, I might make my own terms in reason. The second letter, a very brief one, ran thus 'Monsieur, the wife and daughter Some of your brother are dying of want. hundreds of francs would save them, and I doubt not that you will hasten to visit connexions so near to you, and make arrangements for their present and future comfort.' This letter bore the signature of Dr. Lambert, of Marseilles.

"As I have already told you, I was a miser in the worst sense of the word. The