From the circumstances of her father’s situation, and from her early accomplishments and success as an actress, it will be imagined by many, that Miss Brunton was early initiated in stage business; that she had seen every play acted, and had studied and imitated the many great models of her time, the Barrys, the Bellamys, the Yeates, and the Siddonses; that under a father so well qualified to instruct her, her talents were brought forth in the very bud, by constant exercise, and that while yet a child she had learned to personate the heroine. What then will the reader’s surprise be, when he is informed that she had seen very few plays; perhaps fewer than the general run of citizens’ daughters – and that the stage was never even for an instant contemplated as a profession for her till a very short time before her actual appearance in public. The fact is, that Mr. Brunton’s conduct through life was distinguished no less by prudence and discretion, than by a lofty regard to the honourable estimation of his family. While he himself drudged upon the stage and faced the public eye, his family, more dear to him, lived in the repose of retired life, and instead of fluttering round the scenes of gayety and dissipation, or haunting the theatre before or behind the curtain, Mrs. Brunton trained her children to domestic habits, and contented herself with qualifying her daughters to be like herself, good wives and mothers. Not in the city but in the country near Bath did Mr. Brunton live in an elegant cottage, where his little world inhaled the pure air of heaven, and grew up in innocence – Mrs. Brunton herself being their preceptress. Nothing was farther from his thoughts than that any of his daughters possessed requisites for the stage; they were all very young, even the eldest, our heroine, had but turned past fifteen, and, exclusive of her youth, had a lowness of stature and an exility of person, than which nothing could be farther from suggesting ideas of the heroine, or of tragic importance, when one day, by desire of her mother, she recited some select passages in her father’s presence. He listened with mixed emotions of astonishment and delight – a new train of thought shot across his mind; he put her over and over again to the trial, and at every repetition had additional motives to admire and to rejoice. Then, for the first time, was he aware of the mine which lay concealed in his family under modesty and reserve, and then, for the first time, he resolved that she should try her fate upon the stage, his fond heart prognosticating that his darling would, ere long, be the darling of the people. That she should possess such an affluence of endowment, without letting it earlier burst upon her father’s sight, is evidence of a share of modesty and diffidence as rare as lovely, and well worthy imitation, if under the present regime the imitation of such virtues were practicable.
As this circumstance exhibits our heroine’s private character in a most exalted and amiable view, so it demonstrates the native powers of her genius. Let it only be considered! – while she yet fell, by two months, short of sixteen years of age, or in other words while she had yet scarcely advanced a step from the date of childhood, without any previous stage practice, without the advantage of studying, in the performances of other actresses, what to do, or what to avoid, she comes forward, for the first time, in one of the most arduous characters in tragedy, and at one flight mounts to the first rank in her profession. It is a circumstance unexampled in the records of the stage, and would be incredible if not too universally known to be doubted.
Mr. Brunton immediately on discovering the treasure he possessed, resolved to bring it forth to public view. The time was nearly at hand when he was to take his benefit, and he judiciously thought that there could not be a more happy way of introducing her with advantage than in the pious office of aiding him on that occasion – nor can the most lively imagination, conceive an object more interesting than a creature so young, so lovely, and so much wiser than her years standing forward to encounter the hazards and the terrors of that most trying situation in cheerful obedience to a father’s will, and for a father’s benefit. The selection of the character of Euphrasia for her, while he played the aged father, Evander, who is supposed to be sustained by the nourishment given from his daughter’s bosom, was judicious, as it formed a coincidence of fact and fiction, which if it had been only moderately supported by her performance, could scarcely fail to excite in every bosom, in the house, the most lively and interesting sensations. Nothing that paternal affection, and good sense could dictate were wanting on the part of Mr. Brunton. Of the short time he had for instructing her, no part was lost. The appearance of Mr. Brunton’s daughter in Euphrasia, with a prologue written for the occasion, was announced, and notwithstanding there were not wanting wretches mean and miserable enough to trumpet abroad her youth and smallness of stature, as insurmountable obstacles to her personating the Grecian daughter, more just ideas of her, or perhaps curiosity brought a full house. Mr. Brunton himself spoke the prologue, which was written for him by the ingenious Mr. Meyler, and was as follows:
Sweet Hope! for whom his anxious parent burns,
Lo! from his tour the travelled heir returns,
With each accomplishment that Europe knows,
With all that Learning on her son bestows;
With Roman wit and Grecian wisdom fraught,
His mind has every letter’d art been taught.
Now the fond father thinks his son of age,
To take an active part in life’s vast stage;
And Britain’s senate opes a ready door,
To fill the seat his sire had fill’d before,
There when some question of great moment springs,
He’ll rise – then “hear him, hear him,” loudly rings,
He speaks – th’ enraptur’d list’ning through admire
His voice, his argument, his genius’ fire!
The fond old man, in pure ecstatic joy,
Blesses the gods that gave him such a boy!
But if insipid Dulness guide his tongue,
With what sharp pangs his aged heart is wrung —
Despair, and shame, and sorrow make him rue
The hour he brought him to the public view.
And now what fears! what doubt, what joys I feel!
When my first hope attempts her first appeal,
Attempts an arduous task – Euphrasia’s wo —
Her parent’s nurse – or deals the deadly blow!
Some sparks of genius – if I right presage,
You’ll find in this young novice of the stage:
Else had not I for all this earth affords
Led her thus early on these dangerous boards.
If your applause gives sanction to my aim,
And this night’s effort promise