hioned spectacles
on his forehead and a perky little conical hat looking down on them was
certainly an unusual sight and an amusing one.

One of Mr. Couldock's most marked characteristics was the amazingly high
pitch of his voice in speaking. Anyone who has heard two men trying to
converse across a large open field has had a good illustration of his
style of intonation, which anger raised to a perfect shriek. The most
shocking exhibition of rage I ever saw came from him during a performance
of "Louis XI." Annie and I, as pages, were standing each side of the
throne, holding large red cushions against our stomachs. My cushion
supported a big gilded key, until, in my fright, I actually shook it off,
for when Mr. Couldock's passion came upon him on the stage his violence
created sad havoc in the memories of the actors. The audience, too,
could hear many of his jibes and oaths, and Mr. Ellsler was very angry
about it, for in spite of his affection for the man, he drew the line at
the insulting of the audience; therefore, when the curtain fell, Mr.
Ellsler said: "Charley, this won't do! you _must_ control yourself in the
presence of the public!"

The interference seemed to drive him mad. A volley of oaths,
inconceivably blasphemous, came from his lips, and then, with a bound, he
seized the manuscript (it was not a published play then, and the
manuscript was valuable) and tore it right down the centre. Mr. Ellsler
and the prompter caught his right hand, trying to save the play, but
while they held that he lifted the rest of the manuscript and tore it to
pieces with his teeth, growling and snarling like a savage animal. Then
he broke away and rushed frantically up-stairs to Mr. Ellsler's
dressing-room, where he locked himself in. When it was time to call the
next act he gave no answer to their knocking, though he could be heard
swearing and raving within. Mr. Ellsler finally burst open the door, and
there stood _Louis XI._ in his under-garments, and his clothing--where?
It was a tiny room, nevertheless no velvet costume could be found. The
window, a long French one, was nailed up for winter--the clothes had not
been thrown out. There was no stove yet, they had not been burned; where
then were they? Another overture was played. Some of Mr. Ellsler's
clothes were hastily brought--a nondescript covering for his royal
nakedness was found, and he went on to finish the performance somehow,
while the prompter guessed at the ringing