Rensselaer Union, Volume 8, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 December 1875 — An Old-Time Tragedy. [ARTICLE]

An Old-Time Tragedy.

A few days ago I happened to pick up a scrap of a New York paper which contained a paragraph to the effect , that one Julian Cook, formerly au actor, died in an insane hospital, after a restraint of two and twenty years. I remember iiuii well as second juvenile man in old Eagle Street Theater in Buffalo, then under the management of Messrs. Carr A Warren, of whose company I was at the time a member. And the unfortunate circumstances which deprived the poor fellow of his reason are as fresh in my memory, after the lapse of so many years, as if they transpired but yesterday. ' It was the last night of the engagement' of that erratic and talented woman who like a meteor flew witli such dazzling brilliancy around the world, delighting countless thousands both in Europe iyid America; ruling at one time with more than queenly sway the King, court and people of Bavaria, and anon flying for her life before an infuriated populace; feted and flattered by the nobility of Paris, creating a. wonderful sensation in Australia, and finally sinking into obscurity, degradation and the grave in a small mining town in California. This was Lola Montez, Countess of Lansfeldt. It was the last night of Lola’s engagement, as well as the last night of the old Eagle. The morning disclosed a transformation. The stately old building bad become a chaotic mass of black and smoking ruins. It was the general belief that Lola Montez caused the destruction of the theater, which deprived one person of lite, another of reason, and every member of the company of more or less personal effects. But it was a mere supposition, taking color from the fact that she had quarreled with the managers, and had spitefully remarked: “ I wish your old theater would burn down before morning.” It did burn down before morning, but let us impute its burning to an accident rather than to an v act of that peculiar woman, who, withall her faults, had so many, many virtues, whose hand never refused relief to the suffering and needy, and who contributed so munificently to the various charitable institutions throughout the world. Our company was composed of ladies and gentlemen of. sterling abilities, some of whom are still before the public. Julian was our second juvenile, a young man of fine scholarly attainments, apd an actor of great promise; but he was always a jolly' dog, fond of a lark, always in debt, bills and duns forever staring him in the face, liquidating demands on his empty purse with a few funny stories, and dismissing his creditors with such a peculiar grace that they felt perfectly content to wait any indefinite time, suiting the convenience of the pleasing young actor. But a change came over him, and for several months he had conducted himself in the most exemplary manner. He had confided his heart to another’s keeping, and was beloved tenderly and truly in return. The cause of his salutary change was a beautiful and accomplished girl occupying the position of danteuse in the company. Poor Mabel Kindall! hers was a sad fate.

It was Saturday night; a large and enthusiastic audience had retired, after witnessing the novel terpsichorean extravaganza by Lola and her coryphees. The performers had all left for their respective lodgings, with the exception qf Mabel (who was delayed longer than usual, arranging and packing her costume), Julian, and the night-watchman. The lights were all extinguished but the large lamp over the stage-door and the one in Mabel’s dressing-room, which was situated on the O. P. side, in the proscenium, and over the tier ot private boxes. It was an out-of-the way room, and none but Mabel (who preferred being alone) was willing to dress in it. A lumber-room for the stowage of dilapidated “ props” and “ sets” was on the “fly” gallery, and inclose proximity to the young lady’s dressing-room. this lumber-room was full of light and inflammable material, kept under lock and key and very rarely entered. Julian was sitting on the step of the stage-door, waiting to escort Mabel home. The night-watch was impatiently pacing up and down the stage, and all was as dreary as a theater invariably is when its seats are vacant and its many lights are extinguished. Julian had just risen to his feet, calling to Mabel to make haste, when a wild shriek aud a sudden illumination of the theater nearly paralyzed him with an overwhelming sense of danger. Rushing wildly on the stage, where he could command a view' of the situation, he beheld a most appalling sight. The lumber-room was on tire ami there,. in the door of her dressing-room, like a tableau of despair, white and motionless as a statue, stood Mabel.

Seeing at once that the only sure means of escape was by her jumping from the gallery, Julian placed himself, in conjunction with the watchman, in a position after the manner of acrobats, ready to receive her, and cried to her to ‘‘jump,” but she was like one in a trance—the horror of the situation had deprived her of the power of motion. The fire by this time was devouring the flies, which extended above and across the stage, and the rigging loft, still higher up, was one hissing, crackling canopy of flame. Fierce red tongues were licking the rail along the fly-gallery to the proscenium, closing the Only opening of escape to the unfortunate girl. Julian, finding that she was deaf to his cries, determined to save her or perish with her, and dashed madly up the stairs leading to the fly-gallery. The fire alarm had been sounded throughout the city. The firemen- were already at work and the Babel and confusion attending all such scenes were enacted over again. The watchman stood at his now dangerous post where Julian had left him, in hopes that Mabel would make an effort for her life and jump from the gallery. He hurriedly explained to the firemen, who had bv this time reached the stage, the great peril of the poor girl, and there was no lack of brave men ready and willing to risk even life to save her. She was no longer visible from the, stage, for a great wall of fire had risen up, completely obscuring her with a light. Then above the din and fearful confusion ot sounds was heard a shriek so piercing, so pregnant of agony, that strong men trembled and hearts stood still. AB eyes were riveted on the spot where Mabel w r as last seen. A moment more, and Julian emerged from the dressing-room with Mabel in his arms. Dashins; through the flames he gained the edge of the fly gallery, was seen to stagger for a moment, but finally, mustering his remaining strength, fie leaped with his precious burden (which he had hastily muffledin various articles of costume) to the stage below, a depth of twenty-four feet. A mattress, the stage carpet and other articles of soft goods were previously arranged to receive them. Better far had the unfortunate couple perished at once in the flames. It would

have spared one of them days of the most dreadful suffering, and the other long years of imbecility worse than death. They were taken to their lodgings,, followed by a melancholy train of actors and firemen, rendering all the assistance within their scope. Although there was no outward sign of fire on the poor girl’s person, except the loss of her bdautiful’ dark brown hair, still she had inhaled its fiery breath, and no power on earth could save her. Julian was also in a critical condition. His..hands and face wire l fearfully blistered, and hetoohad lost'his curling locks; a painful disguise the poor fellow wore, and it was hard indeed to" recognize in ,his mutilated and suffering person the gay and light-hearted youth of a few hours previous. The terrible ordeal which he passed through had deprived him of all consciousness, while Mabel had passed away into that long and quiet sleep which knows no sorrow, knows no pain. Julian awoke to leirn that she whom he so tenderly loved was dead. He received the sad intelligence without a murmur, but the agony* expressed upon his features called forth the tenderest sympathies of all present. For hours he lay with closed eyes, silent and motionless, as it he too had gone out into the night, a cold and weary pilgrim, in search of[!her; At length the paroxysm passed away, the lethargy was broken, he was aroused to life, but his reason was dead and buried. And so he lived for two and twenty years, a helpless maniac, capable of neither joy nor sorrow .—Portland Oregonian.