It had been done before, of course, by Benjamin Webster and George Vining.  Henry engaged Bancroft for the Abbe, a part of quite as much importance as his own.  It was only a melodrama, but Henry could always invest a melodrama with life, beauty, interest, mystery, by his methods of production.

“I’m full of French Revolution,” he wrote to me when he was preparing the play for rehearsal, “and could pass an examination.  In our play, at the taking of the Bastile we must have a starving crowd—­hungry, eager, cadaverous faces.  If that can be well carried out, the effect will be very terrible, and the contrast to the other crowd (the red and fat crowd—­the blood-gorged ones who look as if they’d been all drinking wine—­red wine, as Dickens says) would be striking....  It’s tiresome stuff to read, because it depends so much on situations.  I have been touching the book up though, and improved it here and there, I think.

“A letter this morning from the illustrious Blank offering me his prompt book to look at....  I think I shall borrow the treasure.  Why not?  Of course he will say that he has produced the play and all that sort of thing; but what does that matter, if one can only get one hint out of it?

     “The longer we live, the more we see that if we only do our own
     work thoroughly well, we can be independent of everything else or
     anything that may be said....

     “I see in Landry a great deal of Manette—­that same vacant gaze
     into years gone by when he crouched in his dungeon nursing his
     wrongs....

“I shall send you another book soon to put any of your alterations and additions in.  I’ve added a lot of little things with a few lines for you—­very good, I think, though I say it as shouldn’t—­I know you’ll laugh!  They are perhaps not startling original, but better than the original, anyhow!  Here they are—­last act!

     “’Ah, Robert, pity me.  By the recollections of our youth, I implore
     you to save my boy!’ (Now for ’em!)

     “’If my voice recalls a tone that ever fell sweetly upon your ear,
     have pity on me!  If the past is not a blank, if you once loved,
     have pity on me!’ (Bravo!)

     “Now I call that very good, and if the ’If and the ‘pitys’ don’t
     bring down the house, well it’s a pity!  I pity the pittites!

“...  I’ve just been copying out my part in an account book—­a little more handy to put in one’s pocket.  It’s really very short, but difficult to act, though, and so is yours.  I like this ’piling up’ sort of acting, and I am sure you will, when you play the part.  It’s restful.  ‘The Bells’ is that sort of thing.”

The crafty old Henry!  All this was to put me in conceit with my part!

Many people at this time put me in conceit with my son, including dear Burne-Jones with his splendid gift of impulsive enthusiasm.