diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:22:03 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:22:03 -0700 |
| commit | 77a034a86747553c136830d95396859727386b40 (patch) | |
| tree | 559904aa66b7cd8f40419e59bb3337ef0a0a964a /3670-h/3670-h.htm | |
Diffstat (limited to '3670-h/3670-h.htm')
| -rw-r--r-- | 3670-h/3670-h.htm | 8835 |
1 files changed, 8835 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/3670-h/3670-h.htm b/3670-h/3670-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7e9c706 --- /dev/null +++ b/3670-h/3670-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8835 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Peg Woffington, by Charles Reade + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Peg Woffington, by Charles Reade + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Peg Woffington + +Author: Charles Reade + +Release Date: January 14, 2010 [EBook #3670] +Last Updated: March 5, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PEG WOFFINGTON *** + + + + +Produced by James Rusk, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + PEG WOFFINGTON + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Charles Reade + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + To T. Taylor, Esq., my friend, and coadjutor in the comedy of “Masks and + Faces,” to whom the reader owes much of the best matter in this tale: and + to the memory of Margaret Woffington, falsely <i>summed up</i> until + to-day, this “Dramatic Story” is inscribed by CHARLES READE.— + </p> + <p> + LONDON. Dec. 15, 1852. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary=""> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + ABOUT the middle of the last century, at eight o'clock in the evening, in + a large but poor apartment, a man was slumbering on a rough couch. His + rusty and worn suit of black was of a piece with his uncarpeted room, the + deal table of home manufacture, and its slim unsnuffed candle. + </p> + <p> + The man was Triplet, scene painter, actor and writer of sanguinary plays, + in which what ought to be, viz., truth, plot, situation and dialogue, were + not; and what ought not to be, were—<i>scilicet,</i> small talk, big + talk, fops, ruffians, and ghosts. + </p> + <p> + His three mediocrities fell so short of one talent that he was sometimes + <i>impransus.</i> + </p> + <p> + He slumbered, but uneasily; the dramatic author was uppermost, and his + “Demon of the Hayloft” hung upon the thread of popular favor. + </p> + <p> + On his uneasy slumber entered from the theater Mrs. Triplet. + </p> + <p> + She was a lady who in one respect fell behind her husband; she lacked his + variety in ill-doing, but she recovered herself by doing her one thing a + shade worse than he did any of his three. She was what is called in grim + sport an actress; she had just cast her mite of discredit on royalty by + playing the Queen, and had trundled home the moment the breath was out of + her royal body. She came in rotatory with fatigue, and fell, gristle, into + a chair; she wrenched from her brow a diadem and eyed it with contempt, + took from her pocket a sausage, and contemplated it with respect and + affection, placed it in a frying-pan on the fire, and entered her bedroom, + meaning to don a loose wrapper, and dethrone herself into comfort. + </p> + <p> + But the poor woman was shot walking by Morpheus, and subsided altogether; + for dramatic performances, amusing and exciting to youth seated in the + pit, convey a certain weariness to those bright beings who sparkle on the + stage for bread and cheese. + </p> + <p> + Royalty, disposed of, still left its trail of events. The sausage began to + “spit.” The sound was hardly out of its body, when poor Triplet writhed + like a worm on a hook. “Spitter, spittest,” went the sausage. Triplet + groaned, and at last his inarticulate murmurs became words: “That's right, + pit now, that is so reasonable to condemn a poor fellow's play before you + have heard it out.” Then, with a change of tone, “Tom,” muttered he, “they + are losing their respect for specters; if they do, hunger will make a + ghost of me.” Next he fancied the clown or somebody had got into his + ghost's costume. + </p> + <p> + “Dear,” said the poor dreamer, “the clown makes a very pretty specter, + with his ghastly white face, and his blood-boltered cheeks and nose. I + never saw the fun of a clown before, no! no! no! it is not the clown, it + is worse, much worse; oh, dear, ugh!” and Triplet rolled off the couch + like Richard the Third. He sat a moment on the floor, with a finger in + each eye; and then, finding he was neither daubing, ranting, nor deluging + earth with “acts,” he accused himself of indolence, and sat down to write + a small tale of blood and bombast; he took his seat at the deal table with + some alacrity, for he had recently made a discovery. + </p> + <p> + How to write well, <i>rien que cela.</i> + </p> + <p> + “First, think in as homely a way as you can; next, shove your pen under + the thought, and lift it by polysyllables to the true level of fiction,” + (when done, find a publisher—if you can). “This,” said Triplet, + “insures common sense to your ideas, which does pretty well for a basis,” + said Triplet, apologetically, “and elegance to the dress they wear.” + Triplet, then casting his eyes round in search of such actual + circumstances as could be incorporated on this plan with fiction, began to + work thus: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +<span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size:10pt"> + TRIPLET'S FACTS. TRIPLET'S FICTION. + + A farthing dip is on the table. A solitary candle cast its pale + gleams around. + + It wants snuffing. Its elongated wick betrayed an owner + steeped in oblivion. + + He jumped up, and snuffed it. He rose languidly, and trimmed it with + his fingers. Burned his with an + instrument that he had by his fingers, + and swore a little. side for that + purpose, and muttered a silent + ejaculation +</span> +</pre> + <p> + Before, however, the mole Triplet could undermine literature and level it + with the dust, various interruptions and divisions broke in upon his + design, and <i>sic nos servavit</i> Apollo. As he wrote the last sentence, + a loud rap came to his door. A servant in livery brought him a note from + Mr. Vane, dated Covent Garden. Triplet's eyes sparkled, he bustled, wormed + himself into a less rusty coat, and started off to the Theater Royal, + Covent Garden. + </p> + <p> + In those days, the artists of the pen and the brush ferreted patrons, + instead of aiming to be indispensable to the public, the only patron worth + a single gesture of the quill. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane had conversed with Triplet, that is, let Triplet talk to him in a + coffee-house, and Triplet, the most sanguine of unfortunate men, had + already built a series of expectations upon that interview, when this note + arrived. Leaving him on his road from Lambeth to Covent Garden, we must + introduce more important personages. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane was a wealthy gentleman from Shropshire, whom business had called + to London four months ago, and now pleasure detained. Business still + occupied the letters he sent now and then to his native county; but it had + ceased to occupy the writer. He was a man of learning and taste, as times + went; and his love of the Arts had taken him some time before our tale to + the theaters, then the resort of all who pretended to taste; and it was + thus he had become fascinated by Mrs. Woffington, a lady of great beauty, + and a comedian high in favor with the town. + </p> + <p> + The first night he saw her was an epoch in the history of this gentleman's + mind. He had learning and refinement, and he had not great practical + experience, and such men are most open to impression from the stage. He + saw a being, all grace and bright nature, move like a goddess among the + stiff puppets of the scene; her glee and her pathos were equally catching, + she held a golden key at which all the doors of the heart flew open. Her + face, too, was as full of goodness as intelligence—it was like no + other farce; the heart bounded to meet it. + </p> + <p> + He rented a box at her theater. He was there every night before the + curtain drew up; and I'm sorry to say, he at last took half a dislike to + Sunday—Sunday “which knits up the raveled sleave of care,” Sunday + “tired nature's sweet restorer,” because on Sunday there was no Peg + Woffington. At first he regarded her as a being of another sphere, an + incarnation of poetry and art; but by degrees his secret aspirations + became bolder. She was a woman; there were men who knew her; some of them + inferior to him in position, and, he flattered himself, in mind. He had + even heard a tale against her character. To him her face was its + confutation, and he knew how loose-tongued is calumny; but still—! + </p> + <p> + At last, one day he sent her a letter, unsigned. This letter expressed his + admiration of her talent in warm but respectful terms; the writer told her + it had become necessary to his heart to return her in some way his thanks + for the land of enchantment to which she had introduced him. Soon after + this, choice flowers found their way to her dressing-room every night, and + now and then verses and precious stones mingled with her roses and + eglantine. And oh, how he watched the great actress's eye all the night; + how he tried to discover whether she looked oftener toward his box than + the corresponding box on the other side of the house. Did she notice him, + or did she not? What a point gained, if she was conscious of his nightly + attendance. She would feel he was a friend, not a mere auditor. He was + jealous of the pit, on whom Mrs. Woffington lavished her smiles without + measure. + </p> + <p> + At last, one day he sent her a wreath of flowers, and implored her, if any + word he had said to her had pleased or interested her, to wear this wreath + that night. After he had done this he trembled; he had courted a decision, + when, perhaps, his safety lay in patience and time. She made her <i>entree;</i> + he turned cold as she glided into sight from the prompter's side; he + raised his eyes slowly and fearfully from her feet to her head; her head + was bare, wreathed only by its own rich glossy honors. “Fool!” thought he, + “to think she would hang frivolities upon that glorious head for me.” Yet + his disappointment told him he had really hoped it; he would not have sat + out the play but for a leaden incapacity of motion that seized him. + </p> + <p> + The curtain drew up for the fifth act, and!—could he believe his + eyes?—Mrs. Woffington stood upon the stage with his wreath upon her + graceful head. She took away his breath. She spoke the epilogue, and, as + the curtain fell, she lifted her eyes, he thought, to his box, and made + him a distinct, queen-like courtesy; his heart fluttered to his mouth, and + he walked home on wings and tiptoe. In short— + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington, as an actress, justified a portion of this enthusiasm; + she was one of the truest artists of her day; a fine lady in her hands was + a lady, with the genteel affectation of a gentlewoman, not a harlot's + affectation, which is simply and without exaggeration what the stage + commonly gives us for a fine lady; an old woman in her hands was a + thorough woman, thoroughly old, not a cackling young person of epicene + gender. She played Sir Harry Wildair like a man, which is how he ought to + be played (or, which is better still, not at all), so that Garrick + acknowledged her as a male rival, and abandoned the part he no longer + monopolized. + </p> + <p> + Now it very, very rarely happens that a woman of her age is high enough in + art and knowledge to do these things. In players, vanity cripples art at + every step. The young actress who is not a Woffington aims to display + herself by means of her part, which is vanity; not to raise her part by + sinking herself in it, which is art. It has been my misfortune to see + ——, and——, and ——, et ceteras, play + the man; Nature, forgive them, if you can, for art never will; they never + reached any idea more manly than a steady resolve to exhibit the points of + a woman with greater ferocity than they could in a gown. But consider, + ladies, a man is not the meanest of the brute creation, so how can he be + an unwomanly female? This sort of actress aims not to give her author's + creation to the public, but to trot out the person instead of the + creation, and shows sots what a calf it has—and is. + </p> + <p> + Vanity, vanity! all is vanity! Mesdames les Charlatanes. + </p> + <p> + Margaret Woffington was of another mold; she played the ladies of high + comedy with grace, distinction, and delicacy. But in Sir Harry Wildair she + parted with a woman's mincing foot and tongue, and played the man in a + style large, spirited and <i>elance.</i> As Mrs. Day (committee) she + painted wrinkles on her lovely face so honestly that she was taken for + threescore, and she carried out the design with voice and person, and did + a vulgar old woman to the life. She disfigured her own beauties to show + the beauty of her art; in a word, she was an artist! It does not follow + she was the greatest artist that ever breathed; far from it. Mr. Vane was + carried to this notion by passion and ignorance. + </p> + <p> + On the evening of our tale he was at his post patiently sitting out one of + those sanguinary discourses our rude forefathers thought were tragic + plays. <i>Sedet aeternumque Sedebit Infelix Theseus,</i> because Mrs. + Woffington is to speak the epilogue. + </p> + <p> + These epilogues were curiosities of the human mind; they whom, just to + ourselves and <i>them,</i> we call our <i>forbears,</i> had an idea their + blood and bombast were not ridiculous enough in themselves, so when the + curtain had fallen on the <i>debris</i> of the <i>dramatis personae,</i> + and of common sense, they sent on an actress to turn all the sentiment so + laboriously acquired into a jest. + </p> + <p> + To insist that nothing good or beautiful shall be carried safe from a play + out into the street was the bigotry of English horseplay. Was a Lucretia + the heroine of the tragedy, she was careful in the epilogue to speak like + Messalina. Did a king's mistress come to hunger and repentance, she + disinfected all the <i>petites maitresses</i> in the house of the moral, + by assuring them that sin is a joke, repentance a greater, and that she + individually was ready for either if they would but cry, laugh and pay. + Then the audience used to laugh, and if they did not, lo! the manager, + actor and author of heroic tragedy were exceeding sorrowful. + </p> + <p> + While sitting attendance on the epilogue Mr. Vane had nothing to distract + him from the congregation but a sanguinary sermon in five heads, so his + eyes roved over the pews, and presently he became aware of a familiar face + watching him closely. The gentleman to whom it belonged finding himself + recognized left his seat, and a minute later Sir Charles Pomander entered + Mr. Vane's box. + </p> + <p> + This Sir Charles Pomander was a gentleman of vice; pleasure he called it. + Mr. Vane had made his acquaintance two years ago in Shropshire. Sir + Charles, who husbanded everything except his soul, had turned himself out + to grass for a month. His object was, by roast mutton, bread with some + little flour in it, air, water, temperance, chastity and peace, to be + enabled to take a deeper plunge into impurities of food and morals. + </p> + <p> + A few nights ago, unseen by Mr. Vane, he had observed him in the theater; + an ordinary man would have gone at once and shaken hands with him, but + this was not an ordinary man, this was a diplomatist. First of all, he + said to himself: “What is this man doing here?” Then he soon discovered + this man must be in love with some actress; then it became his business to + know who she was; this, too, soon betrayed itself. Then it became more + than ever Sir Charles's business to know whether Mrs. Woffington returned + the sentiment; and here his penetration was at fault, for the moment; he + determined, however, to discover. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane then received his friend, all unsuspicious how that friend had + been skinning him with his eyes for some time past. After the usual + compliments had passed between two gentlemen who had been hand and glove + for a month and forgotten each other's existence for two years, Sir + Charles, still keeping in view his design, said: + </p> + <p> + “Let us go upon the stage.” The fourth act had just concluded. + </p> + <p> + “Go upon the stage!” said Mr. Vane; “what, where she—I mean among + the actors?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; come into the green-room. There are one or two people of reputation + there; I will introduce you to them, if you please.” + </p> + <p> + “Go upon the stage!” why, if it had been proposed to him to go to heaven + he would not have been more astonished. He was too astonished at first to + realize the full beauty of the arrangement, by means of which he might be + within a yard of Mrs. Woffington, might feel her dress rustle past him, + might speak to her, might drink her voice fresh from her lips almost + before it mingled with meaner air. Silence gives consent, and Mr. Vane, + though he thought a great deal, said nothing; so Pomander rose, and they + left the boxes together. He led the way to the stage door, which was + opened obsequiously to him; they then passed through a dismal passage, and + suddenly emerged upon that scene of enchantment, the stage—a dirty + platform encumbered on all sides with piles of scenery in flats. They + threaded their way through rusty velvet actors and fustian carpenters, and + entered the green-room. At the door of this magic chamber Vane trembled + and half wished he could retire. They entered; his apprehension gave way + to disappointment, she was not there. Collecting himself, he was presently + introduced to a smart, jaunty, and, to do him justice, <i>distingue</i> + old beau. This was Colley Cibber, Esq., poet laureate, and retired actor + and dramatist, a gentleman who is entitled to a word or two. + </p> + <p> + This Cibber was the only actor since Shakespeare's time who had both acted + and written well. Pope's personal resentment misleads the reader of + English poetry as to Cibber's real place among the wits of the day. + </p> + <p> + The man's talent was dramatic, not didactic, or epic, or pastoral. Pope + was not so deep in the drama as in other matters, and Cibber was one of + its luminaries; he wrote some of the best comedies of his day. He also + succeeded where Dryden, for lack of true dramatic taste, failed. He + tampered successfully with Shakespeare. Colley Cibber's version of + “Richard the Third” is impudent and slightly larcenic, but it is + marvelously effective. It has stood a century, and probably will stand + forever; and the most admired passages in what literary humbugs who + pretend they know Shakespeare by the closet, not the stage, accept as + Shakespeare's “Richard,” are Cibber's. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cibber was now in private life, a mild edition of his own Lord + Foppington; he had none of the snob-fop as represented on our conventional + stage; nobody ever had, and lived. He was in tolerably good taste; but he + went ever gold-laced, highly powdered, scented, and diamonded, dispensing + graceful bows, praises of whoever had the good luck to be dead, and satire + of all who were here to enjoy it. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane, to whom the drama had now become the golden branch of letters, + looked with some awe on this veteran, for he had seen many Woffingtons. He + fell soon upon the subject nearest his heart. He asked Mr. Cibber what he + thought of Mrs. Woffington. The old gentleman thought well of the young + lady's talent, especially her comedy; in tragedy, said he, she imitates + Mademoiselle Dumenil, of the Theatre Francais, and confounds the stage + rhetorician with the actress. The next question was not so fortunate. “Did + you ever see so great and true an actress upon the whole?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cibber opened his eyes, a slight flush came into his wash-leather + face, and he replied: “I have not only seen many equal, many superior to + her, but I have seen some half dozen who would have eaten her up and spit + her out again, and not known they had done anything out of the way.” + </p> + <p> + Here Pomander soothed the veteran's dudgeon by explaining in dulcet tones + that his friend was not long from Shropshire, and—The critic + interrupted him, and bade him not dilute the excuse. + </p> + <p> + Now Mr. Vane had as much to say as either of them, but he had not the + habit, which dramatic folks have, of carrying his whole bank in his + cheek-pocket, so they quenched him for two minutes. + </p> + <p> + But lovers are not silenced, he soon returned to the attack; he dwelt on + the grace, the ease, the freshness, the intelligence, the universal beauty + of Mrs. Woffington. Pomander sneered, to draw him out. Cibber smiled, with + good-natured superiority. This nettled the young gentleman, he fired up, + his handsome countenance glowed, he turned Demosthenes for her he loved. + One advantage he had over both Cibber and Pomander, a fair stock of + classical learning; on this he now drew. + </p> + <p> + “Other actors and actresses,” said he, “are monotonous in voice, + monotonous in action, but Mrs. Woffington's delivery has the compass and + variety of nature, and her movements are free from the stale uniformity + that distinguishes artifice from art. The others seem to me to have but + two dreams of grace, a sort of crawling on stilts is their motion, and an + angular stiffness their repose.” He then cited the most famous statues of + antiquity, and quoted situations in plays where, by her fine dramatic + instinct, Mrs. Woffington, he said, threw her person into postures similar + to these, and of equal beauty; not that she strikes attitudes like the + rest, but she melts from one beautiful statue into another; and, if + sculptors could gather from her immortal graces, painters, too, might take + from her face the beauties that belong of right to passion and thought, + and orators might revive their withered art, and learn from those golden + lips the music of old Athens, that quelled tempestuous mobs, and princes + drunk with victory. + </p> + <p> + Much as this was, he was going to say more, ever so much more, but he + became conscious of a singular sort of grin upon every face; this grin + made him turn rapidly round to look for its cause. It explained itself at + once; at his very elbow was a lady, whom his heart recognized, though her + back was turned to him. She was dressed in a rich silk gown, pearl white, + with flowers and sprigs embroidered; her beautiful white neck and arms + were bare. She was sweeping up the room with the epilogue in her hand, + learning it off by heart; at the other end of the room she turned, and now + she shone full upon him. + </p> + <p> + It certainly was a dazzling creature. She had a head of beautiful form, + perched like a bird upon a throat massive yet shapely and smooth as a + column of alabaster, a symmetrical brow, black eyes full of fire and + tenderness, a delicious mouth, with a hundred varying expressions, and + that marvelous faculty of giving beauty alike to love or scorn, a sneer or + a smile. But she had one feature more remarkable than all, her eyebrows—the + actor's feature; they were jet black, strongly marked, and in repose were + arched like a rainbow; but it was their extraordinary flexibility which + made other faces upon the stage look sleepy beside Margaret Woffington's. + In person she was considerably above the middle height, and so finely + formed that one could not determine the exact character of her figure. At + one time it seemed all stateliness, at another time elegance personified, + and flowing voluptuousness at another. She was Juno, Psyche, Hebe, by + turns, and for aught we know at will. + </p> + <p> + It must be confessed that a sort of halo of personal grandeur surrounds a + great actress. A scene is set; half a dozen nobodies are there lost in it, + because they are and seem lumps of nothing. The great artist steps upon + that scene, and how she fills it in a moment! Mind and majesty wait upon + her in the air; her person is lost in the greatness of her personal + presence; she dilates with <i>thought,</i> and a stupid giantess looks a + dwarf beside her. + </p> + <p> + No wonder then that Mr. Vane felt overpowered by this torch in a closet. + To vary the metaphor, it seemed to him, as she swept up and down, as if + the green-room was a shell, and this glorious creature must burst it and + be free. Meantime, the others saw a pretty actress studying her business; + and Cibber saw a dramatic school-girl learning what he presumed to be a + very silly set of words. Sir C. Pomander's eye had been on her the moment + she entered, and he watched keenly the effect of Vane's eloquent eulogy; + but apparently the actress was too deep in her epilogue for anything else. + She came in, saying, “Mum, mum, mum,” over her task, and she went on doing + so. The experienced Mr. Cibber, who had divined Vane in an instant, drew + him into a corner, and complimented him on his well-timed eulogy. + </p> + <p> + “You acted that mighty well, sir,” said he. “Stop my vitals! if I did not + think you were in earnest, till I saw the jade had slipped in among us. It + told, sir—it told.” + </p> + <p> + Up fired Vane. “What do you mean, sir?” said he. “Do you suppose my + admiration of that lady is feigned?” + </p> + <p> + “No need to speak so loud, sir,” replied the old gentleman; “she hears + you. These hussies have ears like hawks.” + </p> + <p> + He then dispensed a private wink and a public bow; with which he strolled + away from Mr. Vane, and walked feebly and jauntily up the room, whistling + “Fair Hebe;” fixing his eye upon the past, and somewhat ostentatiously + overlooking the existence of the present company. + </p> + <p> + There is no great harm in an old gentleman whistling, but there are two + ways of doing it; and as this old beau did it, it seemed not unlike a + small cock-a-doodle-doo of general defiance; and the denizens of the + green-room, swelled now to a considerable number by the addition of all + the ladies and gentlemen who had been killed in the fourth act, or whom + the buttery-fingered author could not keep in hand until the fall of the + curtain, felt it as such; and so they were not sorry when Mrs. Woffington, + looking up from her epilogue, cast a glance upon the old beau, waited for + him, and walked parallel with him on the other side of the room, giving an + absurdly exact imitation of his carriage and deportment. To make this more + striking, she pulled out of her pocket, after a mock search, a huge paste + ring, gazed on it with a ludicrous affectation of simple wonder, stuck it, + like Cibber's diamond, on her little finger, and, pursing up her mouth, + proceeded to whistle a quick movement, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Which, by some devilish cantrip sleight,” + </pre> + <p> + played round the old beau's slow movement, without being at variance with + it. As for the character of this ladylike performance, it was clear, + brilliant, and loud as blacksmith. + </p> + <p> + The folk laughed; Vane was shocked. “She profanes herself by whistling,” + thought he. Mr. Cibber was confounded. He appeared to have no idea whence + came this sparkling adagio. He looked round, placed his hands to his ears, + and left off whistling. So did his musical accomplice. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said Cibber, with pathetic gravity, “the wind howls most + dismally this evening! I took it for a drunken shoemaker!” + </p> + <p> + At this there was a roar of laughter, except from Mr. Vane. Peg Woffington + laughed as merrily as the others, and showed a set of teeth that were + really dazzling; but all in one moment, without the preliminaries an + ordinary countenance requires, this laughing Venus pulled a face gloomy + beyond conception. Down came her black brows straight as a line, and she + cast a look of bitter reproach on all present; resuming her study, as who + should say, “Are ye not ashamed to divert a poor girl from her epilogue?” + And then she went on, “Mum! mum! mum!” casting off ever and anon resentful + glances; and this made the fools laugh again. + </p> + <p> + The Laureate was now respectfully addressed by one of his admirers, James + Quin, the Falstaff of the day, and the rival at this time of Garrick in + tragic characters, though the general opinion was, that he could not long + maintain a standing against the younger genius and his rising school of + art. + </p> + <p> + Off the stage, James Quin was a character; his eccentricities were three—a + humorist, a glutton and an honest man; traits that often caused + astonishment and ridicule, especially the last. + </p> + <p> + “May we not hope for something from Mr. Cibber's pen after so long a + silence?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” was the considerate reply. “Who have ye got to play it?” + </p> + <p> + “Plenty,” said Quin; “there's your humble servant, there's—” + </p> + <p> + “Humility at the head of the list,” cried she of the epilogue. “Mum! mum! + mum!” + </p> + <p> + Vane thought this so sharp. + </p> + <p> + “Garrick, Barry, Macklin, Kitty Clive here at my side, Mrs. Cibber, the + best tragic actress I ever saw; and Woffington, who is as good a comedian + as you ever saw, sir;” and Quin turned as red as fire. + </p> + <p> + “Keep your temper, Jemmy,” said Mrs. Woffington with a severe accent. + “Mum! mum! mum!” + </p> + <p> + “You misunderstand my question,” replied Cibber, calmly; “I know your <i>dramatis + personae</i> but where the devil are your actors?” + </p> + <p> + Here was a blow. + </p> + <p> + “The public,” said Quin, in some agitation, “would snore if we acted as + they did in your time.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that, sir?” was the supercilious rejoinder; <i>“you never + tried!”</i> + </p> + <p> + Mr. Quin was silenced. Peg Woffington looked off her epilogue. + </p> + <p> + “Bad as we are,” said she coolly, “we might be worse.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cibber turned round, slightly raised his eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” said he. “Madam!” added he, with a courteous smile, “will you be + kind enough to explain to me how you could be worse!” + </p> + <p> + “If, like a crab, we could go backward!” + </p> + <p> + At this the auditors tittered; and Mr. Cibber had recourse to his + spy-glass. + </p> + <p> + This gentleman was satirical or insolent, as the case might demand, in + three degrees, of which the snuff-box was the comparative, and the + spy-glass the superlative. He had learned this on the stage; in + annihilating Quin he had just used the snuff weapon, and now he drew his + spy-glass upon poor Peggy. + </p> + <p> + “Whom have we here?” said he. Then he looked with his spy-glass to see. + “Oh, the little Irish orange-girl!” + </p> + <p> + “Whose basket outweighed Colley Cibber's salary for the first twenty years + of his dramatic career,” was the delicate reply to the above delicate + remark. It staggered him for a moment; however, he affected a most puzzled + air, then gradually allowed a light to steal into his features. + </p> + <p> + “Eh! ah! oh! how stupid I am; I understand; you sold something besides + oranges!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Mr. Vane, and colored up to the temples, and cast a look on + Cibber, as much as to say, “If you were not seventy-three!” + </p> + <p> + His ejaculation was something so different from any tone any other person + there present could have uttered that the actress's eye dwelt on him for a + single moment, and in that moment he felt himself looked through and + through. + </p> + <p> + “I sold the young fops a bargain, you mean,” was her calm reply; “and now + I am come down to the old ones. A truce, Mr. Cibber, what do you + understand by an actor? Tell me; for I am foolish enough to respect your + opinion on these matters!” + </p> + <p> + “An actor, young lady,” said he, gravely, “is an artist who has gone deep + enough in his art to make dunces, critics and greenhorns take it for + nature; moreover, he really personates; which your mere <i>man of the + stage</i> never does. He has learned the true art of self-multiplication. + He drops Betterton, Booth, Wilkes, or, ahem—” + </p> + <p> + “Cibber,” inserted Sir Charles Pomander. Cibber bowed. + </p> + <p> + “In his dressing-room, and comes out young or old, a fop, a valet, a + lover, or a hero, with voice, mien, and every gesture to match. A grain + less than this may be good speaking, fine preaching, deep grunting, high + ranting, eloquent reciting; but I'll be hanged if it is acting!” + </p> + <p> + “Then Colley Cibber never acted,” whispered Quin to Mrs. Clive. + </p> + <p> + “Then Margaret Woffington is an actress,” said M. W.; “the fine ladies + take my Lady Betty for their sister. In Mrs. Day, I pass for a woman of + seventy; and in Sir Harry Wildair I have been taken for a man. I would + have told you that before, but I didn't know it was to my credit,” said + she, slyly, “till Mr. Cibber laid down the law.” + </p> + <p> + “Proof!” said Cibber. + </p> + <p> + “A warm letter from one lady, diamond buckles from another, and an offer + of her hand and fortune from a third; <i>rien que cela.”</i> + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cibber conveyed behind her back a look of absolute incredulity; she + divined it. + </p> + <p> + “I will not show you the letters,” continued she, “because Sir Harry, + though a rake, was a gentleman; but here are the buckles;” and she fished + them out of her pocket, capacious of such things. The buckles were gravely + inspected, they made more than one eye water, they were undeniable. + </p> + <p> + “Well, let us see what we can do for her,” said the Laureate. He tapped + his box and without a moment's hesitation produced the most execrable + distich in the language: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Now who is like Peggy, with talent at will, + A maid loved her Harry, for want of a Bill? +</pre> + <p> + “Well, child,” continued he, after the applause which follows extemporary + verses had subsided, “take <i>me</i> in. Play something to make me lose + sight of saucy Peg Woffington, and I'll give the world five acts more + before the curtain falls on Colley Cibber.” + </p> + <p> + “If you could be deceived,” put in Mr. Vane, somewhat timidly; “I think + there is no disguise through which grace and beauty such as Mrs. + Woffington's would not shine, to my eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “That is to praise my person at the expense of my wit, sir, is it not?” + was her reply. + </p> + <p> + This was the first word she had ever addressed to him. The tones appeared + so sweet to him that he could not find anything to reply for listening to + them; and Cibber resumed: + </p> + <p> + “Meantime, I will show you a real actress; she is coming here to-night to + meet me. Did ever you children hear of Ann Bracegirdle?” + </p> + <p> + “Bracegirdle!” said Mrs. Clive; “why, she has been dead this thirty years; + at least I thought so.” + </p> + <p> + “Dead to the stage. There is more heat in her ashes than in your fire, + Kate Clive! Ah! here comes her messenger,” continued he, as an ancient man + appeared with a letter in his hand. This letter Mrs. Woffington snatched + and read, and at the same instant in bounced the call-boy. “Epilogue + called,” said this urchin, in the tone of command which these small fry of + Parnassus adopt; and, obedient to his high behest, Mrs. Woffington moved + to the door, with the Bracegirdle missive in her hand, but not before she + had delivered its general contents: “The great actress will be here in a + few minutes,” said she, and she glided swiftly out of the room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + PEOPLE whose mind or manners possess any feature, and are not as devoid of + all eccentricity as half pounds of butter bought of metropolitan grocers, + are recommended not to leave a roomful of their acquaintances until the + last but one. Yes, they should always be penultimate. Perhaps Mrs. + Woffington knew this; but epilogues are stubborn things, and call-boys + undeniable. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever hear a woman whistle before?” + </p> + <p> + “Never; but I saw one sit astride on an ass in Germany!” + </p> + <p> + “The saddle was not on her husband, I hope, madam?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; the husband walked by his kinsfolk's side, and made the best of + a bad bargain, as Peggy's husband will have to.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait till some one ventures on the gay Lotharia—<i>illi aes + triplex;</i> that means he must have triple brass, Kitty.” + </p> + <p> + “I deny that, sir; since his wife will always have enough for both.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not observed the lady's brass,” said Vane, trembling with passion; + “but I observed her talent, and I noticed that whoever attacks her to her + face comes badly off.” + </p> + <p> + “Well said, sir,” answered Quin; “and I wish Kitty here would tell us why + she hates Mrs. Woffington, the best-natured woman in the theater?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't hate her, I don't trouble my head about her.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you hate her; for you never miss a cut at her!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you hate a haunch of venison, Quin?” said the lady. + </p> + <p> + “No, you little unnatural monster,” replied Quin. + </p> + <p> + “For all that, you never miss a cut at one, so hold your tongue!” + </p> + <p> + “Le beau raisonnement!” said Mr. Cibber. “James Quin, don't interfere with + nature's laws; let our ladies hate one another, it eases their minds; try + to make them Christians, and you will not convert their tempers, but spoil + your own. Peggy there hates George Anne Bellamy, because she has gaudy + silk dresses from Paris, by paying for them, as <i>she</i> could, if not + too stingy. Kitty here hates Peggy because Rich has breeched her, whereas + Kitty, who now sets up for a prude, wanted to put delicacy off and + small-clothes on in Peg's stead, that is where the Kate and Peg shoe + pinches, near the femoral artery, James. + </p> + <p> + “Shrimps have the souls of shrimps,” resumed this <i>censor castigatorque + minorum.</i> “Listen to me, and learn that really great actors are great + in soul, and do not blubber like a great school-girl because Anne Bellamy + has two yellow silk dresses from Paris, as I saw Woffington blubber in + this room, and would not be comforted; nor fume like Kitty Clive, because + Woffington has a pair of breeches and a little boy's rapier to go a + playing at acting with. When I was young, two giantesses fought for empire + upon this very stage, where now dwarfs crack and bounce like parched peas. + They played Roxana and Statira in the 'Rival Queens.' Rival queens of art + themselves, they put out all their strength. In the middle of the last act + the town gave judgment in favor of Statira. What did Roxana? Did she spill + grease on Statira's robe, as Peg Woffington would? or stab her, as I + believe Kitty here capable of doing? No! Statira was never so tenderly + killed as that night; she owned this to me. Roxana bade the theater + farewell that night, and wrote to Statira thus: I give you word for word: + 'Madam, the best judge we have has decided in your favor. I shall never + play second on a stage where I have been first so long, but I shall often + be a spectator, and methinks none will appreciate your talent more than I, + who have felt its weight. My wardrobe, one of the best in Europe, is of no + use to me; if you will honor me by selecting a few of my dresses, you will + gratify me, and I shall fancy I see myself upon the stage to greater + advantage than before.'” + </p> + <p> + “And what did Statira answer, sir?” said Mr. Vane, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “She answered thus: 'Madam, the town has often been wrong, and may have + been so last night, in supposing that I vied successfully with your merit; + but this much is certain—and here, madam, I am the best judge—that + off the stage you have just conquered me. I shall wear with pride any + dress you have honored, and shall feel inspired to great exertions by your + presence among our spectators, unless, indeed, the sense of your + magnanimity and the recollection of your talent should damp me by the + dread of losing any portion of your good opinion.'” + </p> + <p> + “What a couple of stiff old things,” said Mrs. Clive. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, madam, say not so,” cried Vane, warmly; “surely, this was the lofty + courtesy of two great minds not to be overbalanced by strife, defeat, or + victory.” + </p> + <p> + “What were their names, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Statira was the great Mrs. Oldfield. Roxana you will see here to-night.” + </p> + <p> + This caused a sensation. + </p> + <p> + Colley's reminiscences were interrupted by loud applause from the theater; + the present seldom gives the past a long hearing. + </p> + <p> + The old war-horse cocked his ears. + </p> + <p> + “It is Woffington speaking the epilogue,” said Quin. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she has got the length of their foot, somehow,” said a small actress. + </p> + <p> + “And the breadth of their hands, too,” said Pomander, waking from a nap. + </p> + <p> + “It is the depth of their hearts she has sounded,” said Vane. + </p> + <p> + In those days, if a metaphor started up, the poor thing was coursed up + hill and down dale, and torn limb from jacket; even in Parliament, a trope + was sometimes hunted from one session into another. + </p> + <p> + “You were asking me about Mrs. Oldfield, sir,” resumed Cibber, rather + peevishly. “I will own to you, I lack words to convey a just idea of her + double and complete supremacy. But the comedians of this day are + weak-strained <i>farceurs</i> compared with her, and her tragic tone was + thunder set to music. + </p> + <p> + “I saw a brigadier-general cry like a child at her Indiana; I have seen + her crying with pain herself at the wing (for she was always a great + sufferer), I have seen her then spring upon the stage as Lady Townley, and + in a moment sorrow brightened into joy: the air seemed to fill with + singing-birds, that chirped the pleasures of fashion, love and youth in + notes sparkling like diamonds and stars and prisms. She was above + criticism, out of its scope, as is the blue sky; men went not to judge + her, they drank her, and gazed at her, and were warmed at her, and + refreshed by her. The fops were awed into silence, and with their humbler + betters thanked Heaven for her, if they thanked it for anything. + </p> + <p> + “In all the crowded theater, care and pain and poverty were banished from + the memory, while Oldfield's face spoke, and her tongue flashed melodies; + the lawyer forgot his quillets; the polemic, the mote in his brother's + eye; the old maid, her grudge against the two sexes; the old man, his gray + hairs and his lost hours. And can it be, that all this which should have + been immortal, is quite—quite lost, is as though it had never been?” + he sighed. “Can it be that its fame is now sustained by me; who twang with + my poor lute, cracked and old, these feeble praises of a broken lyre: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Whose wires were golden and its heavenly air + More tunable than lark to shepherd's ear, + When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.'” + </pre> + <p> + He paused, and his eye looked back over many years. Then, with a very + different tone, he added: + </p> + <p> + “And that Jack Falstaff there must have seen her, now I think on't.” + </p> + <p> + “Only once, sir,” said Quin, “and I was but ten years old.” + </p> + <p> + “He saw her once, and he was ten years old; yet he calls Woffington a + great comedian, and my son The's wife, with her hatchet face, the greatest + tragedian he ever saw! Jemmy, what an ass you must be!” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Cibber always makes me cry, and t'other always makes me laugh,” said + Quin, stoutly, “that's why.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ce beau raisonnement</i> met no answer, but a look of sovereign + contempt. + </p> + <p> + A very trifling incident saved the ladies of the British stage from + further criticism. There were two candles in this room, one on each side; + the call-boy had entered, and, poking about for something, knocked down + and broke one of these. + </p> + <p> + “Awkward imp!” cried a velvet page. + </p> + <p> + “I'll go <i>to the Treasury</i> for another, ma'am,” said the boy pertly, + and vanished with the fractured wax. + </p> + <p> + I take advantage of the interruption to open Mr. Vane's mind to the + reader. First he had been astonished at the freedom of sarcasm these + people indulged in without quarreling; next at the non-respect of sex. + </p> + <p> + “So sex is not recognized in this community,” thought he. Then the + glibness and merit of some of their answers surprised and amused him. He, + like me, had seldom met an imaginative repartee, except in a play or a + book. “Society's” repartees were then, as they are now, the good old tree + in various dresses and veils: <i>Tu quoque, tu mentiris, vos damnemini;</i> + but he was sick and dispirited on the whole; such very bright illusions + had been dimmed in these few minutes. + </p> + <p> + She was brilliant; but her manners, if not masculine, were very daring; + and yet when she spoke to him, a stranger, how sweet and gentle her voice + was! Then it was clear nothing but his ignorance could have placed her at + the summit of her art. + </p> + <p> + Still he clung to his enthusiasm for her. He drew Pomander aside. “What a + simplicity there is in Mrs. Woffington!” said he; “the rest, male and + female, are all so affected; she is so fresh and natural. They are all + hot-house plants; she is a cowslip with the May dew on it.” + </p> + <p> + “What you take for simplicity is her refined art,” replied Sir Charles. + </p> + <p> + “No!” said Vane, “I never saw a more innocent creature!” + </p> + <p> + Pomander laughed in his face; this laugh disconcerted him more than words; + he spoke no more—he sat pensive. He was sorry he had come to this + place, where everybody knew his goddess; yet nobody admired, nobody loved, + and, alas! nobody respected her. + </p> + <p> + He was roused from his reverie by a noise; the noise was caused by Cibber + falling on Garrick, whom Pomander had maliciously quoted against all the + tragedians of Colley Cibber's day. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you,” cried the veteran, “that this Garrick has banished dignity + from the stage and given us in exchange what you and he take for fire; but + it is smoke and vapor. His manner is little, like his person, it is all + fuss and bustle. This is his idea of a tragic scene: A little fellow comes + bustling in, goes bustling about, and runs bustling out.” Here Mr. Cibber + left the room, to give greater effect to his description, but presently + returned in a mighty pother, saying: “'Give me another horse!' Well, + where's the horse? don't you see I'm waiting for him? 'Bind up my wounds!' + Look sharp now with these wounds. 'Have mercy, Heaven!' but be quick about + it, for the pit can't wait for Heaven. Bustle! bustle! bustle!” + </p> + <p> + The old dog was so irresistibly funny that the whole company were obliged + to laugh; but in the midst of their merriment Mrs. Woffington's voice was + heard at the door. + </p> + <p> + “This way, madam.” + </p> + <p> + A clear and somewhat shrill voice replied: “I know the way better than + you, child;” and a stately old lady appeared on the threshold. + </p> + <p> + “Bracegirdle,” said Mr. Cibber. + </p> + <p> + It may well be supposed that every eye was turned on this newcomer—that + Roxana for whom Mr. Cibber's story had prepared a peculiar interest. She + was dressed in a rich green velvet gown with gold fringe. Cibber + remembered it; she had played the “Eastern Queen” in it. Heaven forgive + all concerned! It was fearfully pinched in at the waist and ribs, so as to + give the idea of wood inside, not woman. + </p> + <p> + Her hair and eyebrows were iron-gray, and she had lost a front tooth, or + she would still have been eminently handsome. She was tall and straight as + a dart, and her noble port betrayed none of the weakness of age, only it + was to be seen that her hands were a little weak, and the gold-headed + crutch struck the ground rather sharply, as if it did a little + limbs'-duty. + </p> + <p> + Such was the lady who marched into the middle of the room, with a “How do, + Colley?” and, looking over the company's heads as if she did not see them, + regarded the four walls with some interest. Like a cat, she seemed to + think more of places than of folk. The page obsequiously offered her a + chair. + </p> + <p> + “Not so clean as it used to be,” said Mrs. Bracegirdle. + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately, in making this remark, the old lady graciously patted the + page's head for offering her the chair; and this action gave, with some of + the ill-constituted minds that are ever on the titter, a ridiculous + direction to a remark intended, I believe, for the paint and wanscots, + etc. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing is as it used to be,” remarked Mr. Cibber. + </p> + <p> + “All the better for everything,” said Mrs. Clive. + </p> + <p> + “We were laughing at this mighty little David, first actor of this mighty + little age.” + </p> + <p> + Now if Mr. Cibber thought to find in the newcomer an ally of the past in + its indiscriminate attack upon the present, he was much mistaken; for the + old actress made onslaught on this nonsense at once. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay,” said she, “and not the first time by many hundreds. 'Tis a + disease you have. Cure yourself, Colley. Davy Garrick pleases the public; + and in trifles like acting, that take nobody to heaven, to please all the + world, is to be great. Some pretend to higher aims, but none have 'em. You + may hide this from young fools, mayhap, but not from an old 'oman like me. + He! he! he! No, no, no—not from an old 'oman like me.” + </p> + <p> + She then turned round in her chair, and with that sudden, unaccountable + snappishness of tone to which the brisk old are subject, she snarled: “Gie + me a pinch of snuff, some of ye, do!” + </p> + <p> + Tobacco dust was instantly at her disposal. She took it with the points of + her fingers delicately, and divested the crime of half its uncleanness and + vulgarity—more an angel couldn't. + </p> + <p> + “Monstrous sensible woman, though!” whispered Quin to Clive. + </p> + <p> + “Hey, sir! what do you say, sir? for I'm a little deaf.” (Not very to + praise, it seems.) + </p> + <p> + “That your judgment, madam, is equal to the reputation of your talent.” + </p> + <p> + The words were hardly spoken before the old lady rose upright as a tower. + She then made an oblique preliminary sweep, and came down with such a + courtesy as the young had never seen. + </p> + <p> + James Quin, not to disgrace his generation, attempted a corresponding bow, + for which his figure and apoplectic tendency rendered him unfit; and while + he was transacting it, the graceful Cibber stepped gravely up, and looked + down and up the process with his glass, like a naturalist inspecting some + strange capriccio of an orang-outang. The gymnastics of courtesy ended + without back-falls—Cibber lowered his tone. + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Bracy. It is nonsense denying the young fellow's talent; + but his Othello, now, Bracy! be just—his Othello!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear! oh, dear!” cried she; “I thought it was Desdemona's little + black boy come in without the tea-kettle.” + </p> + <p> + Quin laughed uproariously. + </p> + <p> + “It made me laugh a deal more than Mr. Quin's Falstaff. Oh, dear! oh, + dear!” + </p> + <p> + “Falstaff, indeed! Snuff!” In the tone of a trumpet. + </p> + <p> + Quin secretly revoked his good opinion of this woman's sense. + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” said the page, timidly, “if you would but favor us with a + specimen of the old style—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, child, why not? Only what makes you mumble like that? but they all + do it now, I see. Bless my soul! our words used to come out like + brandy-cherries; but now a sentence is like raspberry-jam, on the stage + and off.” + </p> + <p> + Cibber chuckled. + </p> + <p> + “And why don't you men carry yourself like Cibber here?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't press that question,” said Colley dryly. + </p> + <p> + “A monstrous poor actor, though,” said the merciless old woman, in a mock + aside to the others; “only twenty shillings a week for half his life;” and + her shoulders went up to her ears—then she fell into a half reverie. + “Yes, we were distinct,” said she; “but I must own, children, we were + slow. Once, in the midst of a beautiful tirade, my lover went to sleep, + and fell against me. A mighty pretty epigram, twenty lines, was writ on't + by one of my gallants. Have ye as many of them as we used?” + </p> + <p> + “In that respect,” said the page, “we are not behind our + great-grandmothers.” + </p> + <p> + “I call that pert,” said Mrs. Bracegirdle, with the air of one drawing + scientific distinctions. “Now, is that a boy or a lady that spoke to me + last?” + </p> + <p> + “By its dress, I should say a boy,” said Cibber, with his glass; “by its + assurance, a lady!” + </p> + <p> + “There's one clever woman among ye; Peg something, plays Lothario, Lady + Betty Modish, and what not?” + </p> + <p> + “What! admire Woffington?” screamed Mrs. Clive; “why, she is the greatest + gabbler on the stage.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care,” was the reply, “there's nature about the jade. Don't + contradict me,” added she, with sudden fury; “a parcel of children.” + </p> + <p> + “No, madam,” said Clive humbly. “Mr. Cibber, will you try and prevail on + Mrs. Bracegirdle to favor us with a recitation?” + </p> + <p> + Cibber handed his cane with pomp to a small actor. Bracegirdle did the + same; and, striking the attitudes that had passed for heroic in their day, + they declaimed out of the “Rival Queens” two or three tirades, which I + graciously spare the reader of this tale. Their elocution was neat and + silvery; but not one bit like the way people speak in streets, palaces, + fields, roads and rooms. They had not made the grand discovery, which Mr. + A. Wigan on the stage, and every man of sense off it, has made in our day + and nation; namely, that the stage is a representation, not of stage, but + of life; and that an actor ought to speak and act in imitation of human + beings, not of speaking machines that have run and creaked in a stage + groove, with their eyes shut upon the world at large, upon nature, upon + truth, upon man, upon woman and upon child. + </p> + <p> + “This is slow,” cried Cibber; “let us show these young people how ladies + and gentlemen moved fifty years ago, <i>dansons.”</i> + </p> + <p> + A fiddler was caught, a beautiful slow minuet played, and a bit of “solemn + dancing” done. Certainly it was not gay, but it must be owned it was + beautiful; it was the dance of kings, the poetry of the courtly saloon. + </p> + <p> + The retired actress, however, had frisker notions left in her. “This is + slow,” cried she, and bade the fiddler play, “The wind that shakes the + barley,” an ancient jig tune; this she danced to in a style that utterly + astounded the spectators. + </p> + <p> + She showed them what fun was; her feet and her stick were all echoes to + the mad strain; out went her heel behind, and, returning, drove her four + yards forward. She made unaccountable slants, and cut them all over in + turn if they did not jump for it. Roars of inextinguishable laughter + arose, it would have made an oyster merry. Suddenly she stopped, and put + her hands to her sides, and soon after she gave a vehement cry of pain. + </p> + <p> + The laughter ceased. + </p> + <p> + She gave another cry of such agony that they were all round her in a + moment. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, help me, ladies,” screamed the poor woman, in tones as feminine as + they were heart-rending and piteous. “Oh, my back! my loins! I suffer, + gentlemen,” said the poor thing, faintly. + </p> + <p> + What was to be done? Mr. Vane offered his penknife to cut her laces. + </p> + <p> + “You shall cut my head off sooner,” cried she, with sudden energy. “Don't + pity me,” said she, sadly, “I don't deserve it;” then, lifting her eyes, + she exclaimed, with a sad air of self-reproach: “O vanity! do you never + leave a woman?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, madam!” whimpered the page, who was a good-hearted girl; “'twas your + great complaisance for us, not vanity. Oh! oh! oh!” and she began to + blubber, to make matters better. + </p> + <p> + “No, my children,” said the old lady, “'twas vanity. I wanted to show you + what an old 'oman could do; and I have humiliated myself, trying to + outshine younger folk. I am justly humiliated, as you see;” and she began + to cry a little. + </p> + <p> + “This is very painful,” said Cibber. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bracegirdle now raised her eyes (they had set her in a chair), and + looking sweetly, tenderly and earnestly on her old companion, she said to + him, slowly, gently, but impressively “Colley, at threescore years and ten + this was ill done of us! You and I are here now—for what? to cheer + the young up the hill we mounted years ago. And, old friend, if we detract + from them we discourage them. A great sin in the old!” + </p> + <p> + “Every dog his day.” + </p> + <p> + “We have had ours.” Here she smiled, then, laying her hand tenderly in the + old man's, she added, with calm solemnity: “And now we must go quietly + toward our rest, and strut and fret no more the few last minutes of life's + fleeting hour.” + </p> + <p> + How tame my cacotype of these words compared with what they were. I am + ashamed of them and myself, and the human craft of writing, which, though + commoner far, is so miserably behind the godlike art of speech: <i>“Si + ipsam audivisses!”</i> + </p> + <p> + These ink scratches, which, in the imperfection of language, we have + called words, till the unthinking actually dream they are words, but which + are the shadows of the corpses of words; these word-shadows then were + living powers on her lips, and subdued, as eloquence always does, every + heart within reach of the imperial tongue. + </p> + <p> + The young loved her, and the old man, softened and vanquished, and mindful + of his failing life, was silent, and pressed his handkerchief to his eyes + a moment; then he said: + </p> + <p> + “No, Bracy, no. Be composed, I pray you. She is right. Young people, + forgive me that I love the dead too well, and the days when I was what you + are now. Drat the woman,” continued he, half ashamed of his emotion; “she + makes us laugh, and makes us cry, just as she used.” + </p> + <p> + “What does he say, young woman?” said the old lady, dryly, to Mrs. Clive. + </p> + <p> + “He says you make us laugh, and make us cry, madam; and so you do me, I'm + sure.” + </p> + <p> + “And that's Peg Woffington's notion of an actress! Better it, Cibber and + Bracegirdle, if you can,” said the other, rising up like lightning. + </p> + <p> + She then threw Colley Cibber a note, and walked coolly and rapidly out of + the room, without looking once behind her. + </p> + <p> + The rest stood transfixed, looking at one another, and at the empty chair. + Then Cibber opened and read the note aloud. It was from Mrs. Bracegirdle: + “Playing at tric-trac; so can't play the fool in your green-room to-night. + B.” + </p> + <p> + On this, a musical ringing laugh was heard from outside the door, where + the pseudo Bracegirdle was washing the gray from her hair, and the + wrinkles from her face—ah! I wish I could do it as easily!—and + the little bit of sticking-plaster from her front tooth. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it is the Irish jade!” roared Cibber. + </p> + <p> + “Divil a less!” rang back a rich brogue; “and it's not the furst time we + put the comether upon ye, England, my jewal!” + </p> + <p> + One more mutual glance, and then the mortal cleverness of all this began + to dawn on their minds; and they broke forth into clapping of hands, and + gave this accomplished <i>mime</i> three rounds of applause; Mr. Vane and + Sir Charles Pomander leading with, “Bravo, Woffington!” + </p> + <p> + Its effect on Mr. Vane may be imagined. Who but she could have done this? + This was as if a painter should so paint a man as to deceive his species. + This was acting, but not like the acting of the stage. He was in + transports, and self-satisfaction at his own judgment mingled pleasantly + with his admiration. + </p> + <p> + In this cheerful exhibition, one joined not—Mr. Cibber. His theories + had received a shock (and we all love our theories). He himself had + received a rap—and we don't hate ourselves. + </p> + <p> + Great is the syllogism! But there is a class of arguments less vulnerable. + </p> + <p> + If A says to B, “You can't hit me, as I prove by this syllogism” (here + followeth the syllogism), “and B, <i>pour toute reponse,</i> knocks A down + such a whack that he rebounds into a sitting posture; and to him the man, + the tree, the lamp-post and the fire-escape become not clearly + distinguishable; this barbarous logic prevails against the logic in + Barbara, and the syllogism is in the predicament of Humpty Dumpty. In this + predicament was the Poet Laureate. The miscreant Proteus (could not) + escape these chains!” So the miscreant Proteus—no bad name for an + old actor—took his little cocked hat and marched, a smaller, if not + a wiser man. Some disjointed words fell from him: “Mimicry is not acting,” + etc.; and with one bitter, mowing glance at the applauders, <i>circumferens + acriter oculos,</i> he vanished in the largest pinch of snuff on record. + The rest dispersed more slowly. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane waited eagerly, and watched the door for Mrs. Woffington; but she + did not come. He then made acquaintance with good-natured Mr. Quin, who + took him upon the stage and showed him by what vulgar appliances that + majestic rise of the curtain he so admired was effected. Returning to the + green-room for his friend, he found him in animated conversation with Mrs. + Woffington. This made Vane uneasy. + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles, up to the present moment of the evening, had been unwontedly + silent, and now he was talking nineteen to the dozen, and Mrs. Woffington + was listening with an appearance of interest that sent a pang to poor + Vane's heart; he begged Mr. Quin to introduce him. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Quin introduced him. + </p> + <p> + The lady received his advances with polite composure. Mr. Vane stammered + his admiration of her Bracegirdle; but all he could find words to say was + mere general praise, and somewhat coldly received. Sir Charles, on the + contrary, spoke more like a critic. “Had you given us the stage cackle, or + any of those traditionary symptoms of old age, we should have instantly + detected you,” said he; “but this was art copying nature, and it may be + years before such a triumph of illusion is again effected under so many + adverse circumstances.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very good, Sir Charles,” was the reply. “You flatter me. It was + one of those things which look greater than they are. Nobody here knew + Bracegirdle but Mr. Cibber; Mr. Cibber cannot see well without his + glasses, and I got rid of one of the candles; I sent one of the imps of + the theater to knock it down. I know Mrs. Bracegirdle by heart. I drink + tea with her every Sunday. I had her dress on, and I gave the old boy her + words and her way of thinking; it was mere mimicry; it was nothing + compared with what I once did; but, a-hem!” + </p> + <p> + “Pray tell us!” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid I shall shock your friend. I see he is not a wicked man like + you, and perhaps does not know what good-for-nothing creatures actresses + are.” + </p> + <p> + “He is not so ignorant as he looks,” replied Sir Charles. + </p> + <p> + “That is not quite the answer I expected, Sir Charles,” replied this + lively lady; “but it serves me right for fishing on dry land. Well, then, + you must know a young gentleman courted me. I forget whether I liked him + or not; but you will fancy I hated him, for I promised to marry him. You + must understand, gentlemen, that I was sent into the world, not to act, + which I abominate, but to chronicle small beer and teach an army of little + brats their letters; so this word 'wife,' and that word 'chimney-corner,' + took possession of my mind, and a vision of darning stockings for a large + party, all my own, filled my heart, and really I felt quite grateful to + the little brute that was to give me all this, and he would have had such + a wife as men never do have, still less deserve. But one fine day that the + theater left me time to examine his manner toward me, I instantly + discovered he was deceiving me. So I had him watched, and the little brute + was going to marry another woman, and break it to me by degrees afterward, + etc. You know, Sir Charles? Ah! I see you do. + </p> + <p> + “I found her out; got an introduction to her father; went down to his + house three days before the marriage, with a little coalblack mustache, + regimentals, and what not; made up, in short, with the art of my sex, + gentlemen—and the impudence of yours. + </p> + <p> + “The first day I flirted and danced with the bride. The second I made love + to her, and at night I let her know that her intended was a villain. I + showed her letters of his; protestations, oaths of eternal fidelity to one + Peg Woffington, 'who will die,' drawled I,' if he betrays her.' + </p> + <p> + “And here, gentlemen, mark the justice of Heaven. I received a backhanded + slap: 'Peg Woffington! an actress! Oh, the villain!' cried she; 'let him + marry the little vagabond. How dare he insult me with his hand that had + been offered in such a quarter?' + </p> + <p> + “So, in a fit of virtuous indignation, the little hypocrite dismissed the + little brute; in other words, she had fallen in love with me. + </p> + <p> + “I have not had many happy hours, but I remember it was delicious to look + out of my window, and at the same moment smell the honeysuckles and see my + <i>perfide</i> dismissed under a heap of scorn and a pile of luggage he + had brought down for his wedding tour. + </p> + <p> + “I scampered up to London, laughing all the way; and when I got home, if I + remember right, I cried for two hours. How do you account for that?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope, madam,” said Vane, gravely, “it was remorse for having trifled + with that poor young lady's heart; she had never injured you.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sir, the husband I robbed her of was a brute and a villain in his + little way, and wicked and good-for-nothing, etc. He would have deceived + that poor little hypocrite, as he had this one,” pointing to herself. + </p> + <p> + “That is not what I mean; you inspired her with an attachment, never to be + forgotten. Poor lady, how many sleepless nights has she passed since then, + how many times has she strained her eyes to see her angel lover returning + to her! She will not forget in two years the love it cost you but two days + to inspire. The powerful should be merciful. Ah! I fear you have no + heart.” + </p> + <p> + These words had no sooner burst from Mr. Vane, than he was conscious of + the strange liberty he had taken, and, indeed, the bad taste he had been + guilty of; and this feeling was not lessened when he saw Mrs. Woffington + color up to the temples. Her eyes, too, glittered like basilisks; but she + said nothing, which was remarkable in her, whose tongue was the sword of a + <i>maitre d'armes.</i> + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles eyed his friend in a sly, satirical manner; he then said, + laughingly: “In two months <i>she married a third!</i> don't waste your + sympathy,” and turned the talk into another channel; and soon after, Mrs. + Woffington's maid appearing at the door, she courtesied to both gentlemen + and left the theater. Sir Charles Pomander accompanied Mr. Vane a little + way. + </p> + <p> + “What becomes of her innocence?” was his first word. + </p> + <p> + “One loses sight of it in her immense talent,” said the lover. + </p> + <p> + “She certainly is clever in all that bears upon her business,” was the + reply; “but I noticed you were a little shocked with her indelicacy in + telling us that story, and still more in having it to tell.” + </p> + <p> + “Indelicacy? No!” said Vane; “the little brute deserved it. Good Heavens! + to think that 'a little brute' might have married that angel, and actually + broke faith to lose her; it is incredible, the crime is diluted by the + absurdity.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you heard him tell the story? No? Then take my word for it, you have + not heard the facts of the case.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you are prejudiced against her?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, I like her. But I know that with all women the present + lover is an angel and the past a demon, and so on in turn. And I know that + if Satan were to enter the women of the stage, with the wild idea of + impairing their veracity, he would come out of their minds a greater liar + than he went in, and the innocent darlings would never know their + spiritual father had been at them.” + </p> + <p> + Doubtful whether this sentiment and period could be improved, Sir Charles + parted with his friend, leaving his sting in him like a friend; the + other's reflections as he sauntered home were not strictly those of a + wise, well-balanced mind; they ran in this style: + </p> + <p> + “When she said, 'Is not that to praise my person at the expense of my + wit?' I ought to have said, 'Nay, madam; could your wit disguise your + person, it would betray itself, so you would still shine confessed;' and + instead of that I said nothing!” + </p> + <p> + He then ran over in his mind all the opportunities he had had for putting + in something smart, and bitterly regretted those lost opportunities; and + made the smart things, and beat the air with them. Then his cheeks tingled + when he remembered that he had almost scolded her; and he concocted a very + different speech, and straightway repeated it in imagination. + </p> + <p> + This is lovers' pastime; I own it funny; but it is open to one objection, + this single practice of sitting upon eggs no longer chickenable, carried + to a habit, is capable of turning a solid intellect into a liquid one, and + ruining a mind's career. + </p> + <p> + We leave Mr. Vane, therefore, with a hope that he will not do it every + night; and we follow his friend to the close of our chapter. + </p> + <p> + Hey for a definition! + </p> + <p> + What is diplomacy? Is it folly in a coat that looks like sagacity? Had Sir + Charles Pomander, instead of watching Mr. Vane and Mrs. Woffington, asked + the former whether he admired the latter, and whether the latter + responded, straightforward Vane would have told him the whole truth in a + minute. Diplomacy therefore was, as it often is, a waste of time. + </p> + <p> + But diplomacy did more in this case, it <i>sapienter descendebat in + fossam;</i> it fell on its nose with gymnastic dexterity, as it generally + does, upon my word. + </p> + <p> + To watch Mrs. Woffington's face <i>vis-a-vis</i> Mr. Vane, Pomander + introduced Vane to the green-room of the Theater Royal, Covent Garden. By + this Pomander learned nothing, because Mrs. Woffington had, with a + wonderful appearance of openness, the closest face in Europe when she + chose. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, by introducing this country gentleman to this + green-room, he gave a mighty impulse and opportunity to Vane's love; an + opportunity which he forgot the timid, inexperienced Damon might otherwise + never have found. + </p> + <p> + Here diplomacy was not policy, for, as my sagacious reader has perhaps + divined, Sir Charles Pomander <i>was after her himself.</i> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + YES, Sir Charles was <i>after</i> Mrs. Woffington. I use that phrase + because it is a fine generic one, suitable to different kinds of + love-making. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane's sentiments were an inexplicable compound; but respect, + enthusiasm, and deep admiration were the uppermost. + </p> + <p> + The good Sir Charles was no enigma. He had a vacancy in his establishment—a + very high situation, too, for those who like that sort of thing—the + head of his table, his left hand when he drove in the Park, etc. To this + he proposed to promote Mrs. Woffington. She was handsome and witty, and he + liked her. But that was not what caused him to pursue her; slow, + sagacious, inevitable as a beagle. + </p> + <p> + She was celebrated, and would confer great <i>eclat</i> on him. The + scandal of possessing her was a burning temptation. Women admire celebrity + in a man; but men adore it in a woman. + </p> + <p> + “The world,” says Philip, “is a famous man; What will not women love so + taught?” + </p> + <p> + I will try to answer this question. + </p> + <p> + The women will more readily forgive disgusting physical deformity for + Fame's sake than we. They would embrace with more rapture a famous + orang-outang than we an illustrious chimpanzee; but when it comes to moral + deformity the tables are turned. + </p> + <p> + Had the queen pardoned Mr. Greenacre and Mrs. Manning, would the great + rush have been on the hero, or the heroine? Why, on Mrs. Macbeth! To her + would the blackguards have brought honorable proposals, and the gentry + liberal ones. + </p> + <p> + Greenacre would have found more female admirers than I ever shall; but the + grand stream of sexual admiration would have set Mariaward. This fact is + as dark as night; but it is as sure as the sun. + </p> + <p> + The next day “the friends” (most laughable of human substantives!) met in + the theater, and again visited the green-room; and this time Vane + determined to do himself more justice. He was again disappointed; the + actress's manner was ceremoniously polite. She was almost constantly on + the stage, and in a hurry when off it; and, when there was a word to be + got with her the ready, glib Sir Charles was sure to get it. Vane could + not help thinking it hard that a man who professed no respect for her + should thus keep the light from him; and he could hardly conceal his + satisfaction when Pomander, at night, bade him farewell for a fortnight. + Pressing business took Sir Charles into the country. + </p> + <p> + The good Sir Charles, however, could not go without leaving his sting + behind as a companion to his friend. He called on Mr. Vane and after a + short preface, containing the words “our friendship,” “old kindness,” “my + greater experience,” he gravely warned him against Mrs. Woffington. + </p> + <p> + “Not that I would say this if you could take her for what she is, and + amuse yourself with her as she will with you, if she thinks it worth her + while. But I see you have a heart, and she will make a football of it, and + torment you beyond all you have ever conceived of human anguish.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane colored high, and was about to interrupt the speaker; but he + continued: + </p> + <p> + “There, I am in a hurry. But ask Quin, or anybody who knows her history, + you will find she has had scores of lovers, and no one remains her friend + after they part.” + </p> + <p> + “Men are such villains!” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely,” was the reply; “but twenty men don't ill-use one good + woman; those are not the proportions. Adieu!” + </p> + <p> + This last hit frightened Mr. Vane, he began to look into himself; he could + not but feel that he was a mere child in this woman's hands; and, more + than that, his conscience told him that if his heart should be made a + football of it would be only a just and probable punishment. For there + were particular reasons why he, of all men, had no business to look twice + at any woman whose name was Woffington. + </p> + <p> + That night he avoided the green-room, though he could not forego the play; + but the next night he determined to stay at home altogether. Accordingly, + at five o'clock, the astounded box-keeper wore a visage of dismay—there + was no shilling for him! and Mr. Vane's nightly shilling had assumed the + sanctity of salary in his mind. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane strolled disconsolate; he strolled by the Thames, he strolled up + and down the Strand; and, finally, having often admired the wisdom of + moths in their gradual approach to what is not good for them, he strolled + into the green-room, Covent Garden, and sat down. When there he did not + feel happy. Besides, she had always been cold to him, and had given no + sign of desiring his acquaintance, still less of recognition. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane had often seen a weathercock at work, and he had heard a woman + compared to it; but he had never realized the simplicity, beauty and + justice of the simile. He was therefore surprised, as well as thrilled, + when Mrs. Woffington, so cool, ceremonious and distant hitherto, walked up + to him in the green-room with a face quite wreathed in smiles, and, + without preliminary, thanked him for all the beautiful flowers he had sent + her. + </p> + <p> + “What, Mrs. Woffington—what, you recognize me?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, and have been foolish enough to feel quite supported by the + thought I had at least one friend in the house. But,” said she, looking + down, “now you must not be angry; here are some stones that have fallen + somehow among the flowers. I am going to give you them back, because I + value flowers, so I cannot have them mixed with anything else; but don't + ask me for a flower back,” added she, seeing the color mount on his face, + “for I would not give one of them to you, or anybody.” + </p> + <p> + Imagine the effect of this on a romantic disposition like Mr. Vane's. + </p> + <p> + He told her how glad he was that she could distinguish his features amid + the crowd of her admirers; he confessed he had been mortified when he + found himself, as he thought, entirely a stranger to her. + </p> + <p> + She interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know your friend Sir Charles Pomander? No! I am almost sure you + do; well, he is a man I do not like. He is deceitful, besides he is a + wicked man. There, to be plain with you, he was watching me all that + night, the first time you came here, and, because I saw he was watching me + I would not know who you were, nor anything about you.” + </p> + <p> + “But you looked as if you had never seen me before.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I did, when I had made up my mind to,” said the actress, + naively. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Charles has left London for a fortnight, so, if he is the only + obstacle, I hope you will know me every night.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you sent me no flowers yesterday or to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “But I will to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I am sure I shall know your face again; good-by. Won't you see me in + the last act, and tell me how ill I do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” and he hurried to his box, and so the actress secured one pair + of hands for her last act. + </p> + <p> + He returned to the green-room, but she did not revisit that verdant bower. + The next night, after the usual compliments, she said to him, looking down + with a sweet, engaging air: + </p> + <p> + “I sent a messenger into the country to know about that lady.” + </p> + <p> + “What lady?” said Vane, scarcely believing his senses. + </p> + <p> + “That you were so unkind to me about.” + </p> + <p> + “I, unkind to you? what a brute I must be!” + </p> + <p> + “My meaning is, you justly rebuked me, only you should not tell an actress + she has no heart—that is always understood. Well, Sir Charles + Pomander said she married a third in two months!” + </p> + <p> + “And did she?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it was in six weeks; that man never tells the truth; and since then + she has married a fourth.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad of it!” + </p> + <p> + “So am I, since you awakened my conscience.” + </p> + <p> + Delicious flattery! and of all flattery the sweetest, when a sweet + creature does flattery, not merely utters it. + </p> + <p> + After this, Vane made no more struggles; he surrendered himself to the + charming seduction, and as his advances were respectful, but ardent and + incessant, he found himself at the end of a fortnight Mrs. Woffington's + professed lover. + </p> + <p> + They wrote letters to each other every day. On Sunday they went to church + together in the morning, and spent the afternoon in the suburbs wherever + grass was and dust was not. + </p> + <p> + In the next fortnight, poor Vane thought he had pretty well fathomed this + extraordinary woman's character. Plumb the Atlantic with an eighty-fathom + line, sir! + </p> + <p> + “She is religious,” said he, “she loves a church much better than a + playhouse, and she never laughs nor goes to sleep in church as I do. And + she is breaking me of swearing—by degrees. She says that no fashion + can justify what is profane, and that it must be vulgar as well as wicked. + And she is frankness and simplicity itself.” + </p> + <p> + Another thing that charmed him was her disinterestedness. She ordered him + to buy her a present every day, but it was never to cost above a shilling. + If an article could be found that cost exactly tenpence (a favorite sum of + hers), she was particularly pleased, and these shilling presents were + received with a flush of pleasure and brightening eyes. But when one day + he appeared with a diamond necklace, it was taken very coldly, he was not + even thanked for it, and he was made to feel, once for all, that the + tenpenny ones were the best investments toward her favor. + </p> + <p> + Then he found out that she was very prudent and rather stingy; of Spartan + simplicity in her diet, and a scorner of dress off the stage. To redeem + this she was charitable, and her charity and her economy sometimes had a + sore fight, during which she was peevish, poor little soul. + </p> + <p> + One day she made him a request. + </p> + <p> + “I can't bear you should think me worse than I am, and I don't want you to + think me better than I am.” + </p> + <p> + Vane trembled. + </p> + <p> + “But don't speak to others about me; promise, and I will promise to tell + you my whole story, whenever you are entitled to such a confidence. + </p> + <p> + “When shall I be entitled to it?” + </p> + <p> + “When I am sure you love me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you doubt that now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes! I think you love me, but I am not sure. + </p> + <p> + “Margaret, remember I have known you much longer than you have known me. + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes! Two months before we ever spoke I lived upon your face and voice. + </p> + <p> + “That is to say you looked from your box at me upon the stage, and did not + I look from the stage at you?” + </p> + <p> + “Never! you always looked at the pit, and my heart used to sink.” + </p> + <p> + “On the 17th of May you first came into that box. I noticed you a little, + the next day I noticed you a little more; I saw you fancied you liked me, + after a while I could not have played without you.” + </p> + <p> + Here was delicious flattery again, and poor Vane believed every word of + it. + </p> + <p> + As for her request and her promise, she showed her wisdom in both these. + As Sir Charles observed, it is a wonderful point gained if you allow a + woman to tell her story her own way. + </p> + <p> + How the few facts that are allowed to remain get molded and twisted out of + ugly forms into pretty shapes by those supple, dexterous fingers! + </p> + <p> + This present story cannot give the life of Mrs. Woffington, but only one + great passage therein, as do the epic and dramatic writers; but since + there was often great point in any sentences spoken on important occasions + by this lady, I will just quote her defense of herself. The reader may be + sure she did not play her weakest card; let us give her the benefit. + </p> + <p> + One day she and Kitty Clive were at it ding-dong; the green-room was full + of actors, male and female, but there were no strangers, and the ladies + were saying things which the men of this generation only think; at last + Mrs. Woffington finding herself roughly, and, as she thought, unjustly + handled, turned upon the assembly and said: “What man did ever I ruin in + all my life? Speak who can!” + </p> + <p> + And there was a dead silence. + </p> + <p> + “What woman is there here at as much as three pounds per week even, that + hasn't ruined two at the very least?” + </p> + <p> + Report says there was a dead silence again, until Mrs. Clive perked up, + and said she had only ruined one, and that was his own fault! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington declined to attach weight to this example. “Kitty Clive is + the hook without the bait,” said she; and the laugh turned, as it always + did, against Peggy's antagonist. + </p> + <p> + Thus much was speedily shown to Mr. Vane, that, whatever were Mrs. + Woffington's intentions toward him, interest had at present nothing to do + with them; indeed it was made clear that even were she to surrender her + liberty to him, it would only be as a princess, forging golden chains for + herself with her own royal hand. + </p> + <p> + Another fortnight passed to the mutual satisfaction of the lovers. To Vane + it was a dream of rapture to be near this great creature, whom thousands + admired at such a distance; to watch over her, to take her to the theater + in a warm shawl, to stand at the wing and receive her as she came radiant + from her dressing-room, to watch her from her rear as she stood like some + power about to descend on the stage, to see her falcon-like stoop upon the + said stage, and hear the burst of applause that followed, as the report + does the flash; to compare this with the spiritless crawl with which + common artists went on, tame from their first note to their last; to take + her hand when she came off, feel how her nerves were strung like a + greyhound's after a race, and her whole frame in a high even glow, with + the great Pythoness excitement of art. + </p> + <p> + And to have the same great creature leaning her head on his shoulder, and + listening with a charming complacency, while he purred to her of love and + calm delights, alternate with still greater triumphs; for he was to turn + dramatic writer, for her sake, was to write plays, a woman the hero, and + love was to inspire him, and passion supply the want of pencraft. (You + make me laugh, Mr. Vane!) + </p> + <p> + All this was heavenly. + </p> + <p> + And then with all her dash, and fire, and bravado, she was a thorough + woman. + </p> + <p> + “Margaret!” + </p> + <p> + “Ernest!” + </p> + <p> + “I want to ask you a question. Did you really cry because that Miss + Bellamy had dresses from Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “It does not seem very likely.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but tell me; did you?” + </p> + <p> + “Who said I did?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Cibber.” + </p> + <p> + “Old fool!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but did you?” + </p> + <p> + “Did I what?” + </p> + <p> + “Cry!” + </p> + <p> + “Ernest, the minx's dresses were beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt. But did you cry?” + </p> + <p> + “And mine were dirty; I don't care about gilt rags, but dirty dresses, + ugh!” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell you what?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you cry or not?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! he wants to find out whether I am a fool, and despise me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I think I should love you better. For hitherto I have seen no + weakness in you, and it makes me uncomfortable.” + </p> + <p> + “Be comforted! Is it not a weakness to like you!” + </p> + <p> + “You are free from that weakness, or you would gratify my curiosity.” + </p> + <p> + “Be pleased to state, in plain, intelligible English, what you require of + me.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to know, in one word, did you cry or not?” + </p> + <p> + “Promise to tease me no more then, and I'll tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “I promise.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't despise me?” + </p> + <p> + “Despise you! of course not.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then—I don't remember!” + </p> + <p> + On another occasion they were seated in the dusk, by the side of the canal + in the Park, when a little animal began to potter about on an adjacent + bank. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington contemplated it with curiosity and delight. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you pretty creature!” said she. “Now you are a rabbit; at least, I + think so.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Vane, innocently; “that is a rat.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! ah! ah!” screamed Mrs. Woffington, and pinched his arm. This + frightened the rat, who disappeared. She burst out laughing: “There's a + fool! The thing did not frighten me, and the name did. Depend upon it, + it's true what they say—that off the stage, I am the greatest fool + there is. I'll never be so absurd again. Ah! ah! ah! here it is again” + (scream and pinch, as before). “Do take me from this horrid place, where + monsters come from the great deep.” + </p> + <p> + And she flounced away, looking daggers askant at the place the rat had + vacated in equal terror. + </p> + <p> + All this was silly, but it pleases us men, and contrast is so charming! + This same fool was brimful of talent—and cunning, too, for that + matter. + </p> + <p> + She played late that night, and Mr. Vane saw the same creature, who dared + not stay where she was liable to a distant rat, spring upon the stage as a + gay rake, and flash out her rapier, and act valor's king to the life, and + seem ready to eat up everybody, King Fear included; and then, after her + brilliant sally upon the public, Sir Harry Wildair came and stood beside + Mr. Vane. Her bright skin, contrasted with her powdered periwig, became + dazzling. She used little rouge, but that little made her eyes two balls + of black lightning. From her high instep to her polished forehead, all was + symmetry. Her leg would have been a sculptor's glory; and the curve from + her waist to her knee was Hogarth's line itself. + </p> + <p> + She stood like Mercury new lighted on a heaven-kissing hill. She placed + her foot upon the ground, as she might put a hand upon her lover's + shoulder. We indent it with our eleven undisguised stone. + </p> + <p> + Such was Sir Harry Wildair, who stood by Mr. Vane, glittering with diamond + buckles, gorgeous with rich satin breeches, velvet coat, ruffles, <i>pictcae + vestis et auri;</i> and as she bent her long eye-fringes down on him (he + was seated), all her fiery charms gradually softened and quivered down to + womanhood. + </p> + <p> + “The first time I was here,” said Vane, “my admiration of you broke out to + Mr. Cibber; and what do you think he said?” + </p> + <p> + “That you praised me, for me to hear you. Did you?” + </p> + <p> + “Acquit me of such meanness.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me. It is just what I should have done, had I been courting an + actress.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you have not met many ingenuous spirits, dear friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Not one, my child.” + </p> + <p> + This was a phrase she often applied to him now. + </p> + <p> + “The old fellow pretended to hear what I said, too; and I am sure you did + not—did you?” + </p> + <p> + “Guess.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess not.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid I must plead guilty. An actress's ears are so quick to hear + praise, to tell you the truth, I did catch a word or two, and, 'It told, + sir—it told.'” + </p> + <p> + “You alarm me! At this rate, I shall never know what you see, hear or + think, by your face.” + </p> + <p> + “When you want to know anything, ask me, and I will tell you; but nobody + else shall learn anything, nor even you, any other way.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear the feeble tribute of praise I was paying you, when you came + in?” inquired Vane. + </p> + <p> + “No. You did not say that my voice had the compass and variety of nature, + and my movements were free and beautiful, while the others when in motion + were stilts, and coffee-pots when in repose, did you?” + </p> + <p> + “Something of the sort, I believe,” cried Vane, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “I melted from one fine statue into another, I restored the Antinous to + his true sex.—Goose!—Painters might learn their art from me + (in my dressing-room, no doubt), and orators revive at my lips the music + of Athens, that quelled mad mobs and princes drunk with victory.—Silly + fellow!—Praise was never so sweet to me,” murmured she, inclining + like a goddess of love toward him; and he fastened on two velvet lips, + that did not shun the sweet attack, but gently parted with a heavenly + sigh; while her heaving bosom and yielding frame and swimming eyes + confessed her conqueror. + </p> + <p> + That morning Mr. Vane had been dispirited, and apparently + self-discontented; but at night he went home in a state of mental + intoxication. His poetic enthusiasm, his love, his vanity, were all + gratified at once. And all these, singly, have conquered Prudence and + Virtue a million times. + </p> + <p> + She had confessed to him that she was disposed to risk her happiness on + him; she had begged him to submit to a short probation; and she had + promised, if her confidence and esteem remained unimpaired at the close of + that period—which was not to be an unhappy one—to take + advantage of the summer holidays, and cross the water with him, and forget + everything in the world with him, but love. + </p> + <p> + How was it that the very next morning clouds chased one another across his + face? Was it that men are happy but while the chase is doubtful? Was it + the letter from Pomander announcing his return, and sneeringly inquiring + whether he was still the dupe of Peg Woffington? or was it that same + mysterious disquiet which attacked him periodically, and then gave way for + a while to pleasure and her golden dreams? + </p> + <p> + The next day was to be a day of delight. He was to entertain her at his + own house; and, to do her honor, he had asked Mr. Cibber, Mr. Quin and + other actors, critics, etc. + </p> + <p> + Our friend, Sir Charles Pomander, had been guilty of two ingenuities: + first, he had written three or four letters, full of respectful + admiration, to Mrs. Woffington, of whom he spoke slightingly to Vane; + second, he had made a disingenuous purchase. + </p> + <p> + This purchase was Pompey, Mrs. Woffington's little black slave. It is a + horrid fact, but Pompey did not love his mistress. He was a little + enamored of her, as small boys are apt to be, but, on the whole, a + sentiment of hatred slightly predominated in his little black bosom. + </p> + <p> + It was not without excuse. + </p> + <p> + This lady was subject to two unpleasant companions—sorrow and + bitterness. About twice a week she would cry for two hours; and after this + class of fit she generally went abroad, and made a round of certain poor + or sick <i>proteges</i> she had, and returned smiling and cheerful. + </p> + <p> + But other twice a week she might be seen to sit upon her chair, contracted + into half her size, and looking daggers at the universe in general, the + world in particular; and on these occasions, it must be owned, she stayed + at home, and sometimes whipped Pompey. + </p> + <p> + Pompey had not the sense to reflect that he ought to have been whipped + every day, or the <i>esprit de corps</i> to be consoled by observing that + this sort of thing did his mistress good. What he felt was, that his + mistress, who did everything well, whipped him with energy and skill; it + did not take ten seconds, but still, in that brief period, Pompey found + himself dusted and polished off. + </p> + <p> + The sacred principle of justice was as strong in Mrs. Woffington as in the + rest of her sex; she had not one grain of it. When she was not in her + tantrums, the mischievous imp was as sacred from check or remonstrance as + a monkey or a lap-dog; and several female servants left the house on his + account. + </p> + <p> + But Nemesis overtook him in the way we have hinted, and it put his little + black pipe out. + </p> + <p> + The lady had taken him out of great humanity; he was fed like a game-cock, + and dressed like a Barbaric prince; and once when he was ill his mistress + watched him, and nursed him, and tended him with the same white hand that + plied the obnoxious whip; and when he died, she alone withheld her consent + from his burial, and this gave him a chance black boys never get, and he + came to again; but still these tarnation lickings “stuck in him gizzard.” + So when Sir Charles's agent proposed to him certain silver coins, cheap at + a little treachery, the ebony ape grinned till he turned half ivory, and + became a spy in the house of his mistress. + </p> + <p> + The reader will have gathered that the good Sir Charles had been quietly + in London some hours before he announced himself as <i>paulo post futurum.</i> + </p> + <p> + Diamond cut diamond; a diplomat stole this march upon an actress, and took + her black pawn. One for Pomander! (Gun.) + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + TRIPLET, the Cerberus of art, who had the first bark in this legend, and + has since been out of hearing, ran from Lambeth to Covent Garden, on + receipt of Mr. Vane's note. But ran he never so quick, he had built a + full-sized castle in the air before he reached Bow Street. + </p> + <p> + The letter hinted at an order upon his muse for amatory verse; delightful + task, cheering prospect. + </p> + <p> + Bid a man whose usual lot it is to break stones for the parish at tenpence + the cubic yard—bid such an one play at marbles with some stone taws + for half an hour per day, and pocket one pound one—bid a poor horse + who has drawn those stones about, and browsed short grass by the wayside—bid + him canter a few times round a grassy ring, and then go to his corn—in + short, bid Rosinante change with Pegasus, and you do no more than Mr. + Vane's letter held out to Triplet. + </p> + <p> + The amatory verse of that day was not up-hill work. There was a beaten + track on a dead level, and you followed it. You told the tender creature, + with a world of circumlocution, that, “without joking now,” she was a + leper, ditto a tigress, item marble. You next feigned a lucid interval, + and to be on the point of detesting your monster, but in twenty more + verses love became, as usual, stronger than reason, and you wound up your + rotten yarn thus: + </p> + <p> + You hugged a golden chain. You drew deeper into your wound a barbed shaft, + like—(any wild animal will do, no one of them is such an ass, so you + had an equal title to all). And on looking back you saw with horrible + complacency that you had inflicted one hundred locusts, five feet long, + upon oppressed humanity. + </p> + <p> + Wont to travel over acres of canvas for a few shillings, and roods of + paper on bare speculation, Triplet knew he could make a thousand a year at + the above work without thinking. + </p> + <p> + He came therefore to the box-keeper with his eyes glittering. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Vane?” + </p> + <p> + “Just gone out with a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll wait then.” + </p> + <p> + Now Mr. Vane, we know, was in the green-room, and went home by the + stage-door. The last thing he thought of was poor Triplet; the rich do not + dream how they disappoint the poor. Triplet's castle fell as many a + predecessor had. When the lights were put out, he left the theater with a + bitter sigh. + </p> + <p> + “If this gentleman knew how many sweet children I have, and what a good, + patient, suffering wife, sure he would not have chosen me to make a fool + of!” said the poor fellow to himself. + </p> + <p> + In Bow Street, he turned, and looked back upon the theater. How gloomy and + grand it loomed! + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” thought he, “if I could but conquer you; and why not? All history + shows that nothing is unconquerable except perseverance. Hannibal + conquered the Alps, and I'll conquer you,” cried Triplet, firmly. “Yes, + this visit is not lost; here I register a vow: I will force my way into + that mountain of masonry, or perish in the attempt.” + </p> + <p> + Triplet's most unpremeditated thoughts and actions often savored + ridiculously of the sublime. Then and there, gazing with folded arms on + this fortress of Thespis, the polytechnic man organized his first assault. + The next evening he made it. + </p> + <p> + Five months previously he had sent the manager three great, large + tragedies. He knew the aversion a theatrical manager has to read a + manuscript play, not recommended by influential folk; an aversion which + always has been carried to superstition. So he hit on the following + scheme: + </p> + <p> + He wrote Mr. Rich a letter; in this he told Mr. Rich that he (Triplet) was + aware what a quantity of trash is offered every week to a manager, how + disheartening it must be to read it at all, and how natural, after a + while, to read none. Therefore, he (Triplet) had provided that Mr. Rich + might economize his time, and yet not remain in ignorance of the dramatic + treasure that lay ready to his hand. + </p> + <p> + “The soul of a play,” continued Triplet, “is the plot or fable. A + gentleman of your experience can decide at once whether a plot or story is + one to take the public!” + </p> + <p> + So then he drew out, in full, the three plots. He wrote these plots in + verse! Heaven forgive us all, he really did. There were also two margins + left; on one, which was narrow, he jotted down the <i>locale</i> per page + of the most brilliant passages; on the other margin, which was as wide as + the column of the plot, he made careful drawings of the personages in the + principal dramatic situations; scrolls issued from their mouths, on which + were written the words of fire that were flowing from each in these + eruptions of the dramatic action. All was referred to pages in the + manuscripts. + </p> + <p> + “By this means, sir,” resumed the latter, “you will gut my fish in a + jiffy; permit me to recall that expression, with apologies for my freedom. + I would say, you will, in a few minutes of your valuable existence, skim + the cream of Triplet.” + </p> + <p> + This author's respect for the manager's time carried him into further and + unusual details. + </p> + <p> + “Breakfast,” said he, “is a quiet meal. Let me respectfully suggest, that + by placing one of my plots on the table, with, say, the sugar-basin upon + it (this, again, is a mere suggestion), and the play it appertains to on + your other side, you can readily judge my work without disturbing the + avocations of the day, and master a play in the twinkling of a teacup; + forgive my facetiousness. This day month, at ten of the clock, I shall + expect,” said Triplet, with sudden severity, “sir, your decision!” + </p> + <p> + Then, gliding back to the courtier, he formally disowned all special title + to the consideration he expected from Mr. Rich's well-known courtesy; + still he begged permission to remind that gentleman that he had, six years + ago, painted for him a large scene, illuminated by two great poetical + incidents: a red sun, of dimensions never seen out of doors in this or any + country; and an ocean of sand, yellower than up to that time had been + attained in art or nature; and that once, when the audience, late in the + evening, had suddenly demanded a popular song from Mr. Nokes, he + (Triplet), seeing the orchestra thinned by desertion, and nugatory by + intoxication, had started from the pit, resuscitated with the whole + contents of his snuff-box the bass fiddle, snatched the leader's violin, + and carried Mr. Nokes triumphantly through; that thunders of applause had + followed, and Mr. Nokes had kindly returned thanks <i>for both;</i> but + that he (Triplet) had hastily retired to evade the manager's + acknowledgments, preferring to wait an opportunity like the present, when + both interests could be conciliated, etc. + </p> + <p> + This letter he posted at its destination, to save time, and returned + triumphant home. He had now forgiven and almost forgotten Vane; and had + reflected that, after all, the drama was his proper walk. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said he to Mrs. Triplet, “this family is on the eve of a great + triumph!” Then, inverting that order of the grandiloquent and the homely + which he invented in our first chapter, he proceeded to say: “I have + reared in a single day a new avenue by which histrionic greatness, + hitherto obstructed, may become accessible. Wife, I think I have done the + trick at last. Lysimachus!” added he, “let a libation be poured out on so + smiling an occasion, and a burnt-offering rise to propitiate the celestial + powers. Run to the 'Sun,' you dog. Three pennyworth of ale, and a hap'orth + o' tobacco.” + </p> + <p> + Ere the month was out, I am sorry to say, the Triplets were reduced to a + state of beggary. Mrs. Triplet's health had long been failing; and, + although her duties at her little theater were light and occasional, the + manager was obliged to discharge her, since she could not be depended + upon. + </p> + <p> + The family had not enough to eat! Think of that! They were not warm at + night, and they felt gnawing and faintness often by day. Think of that! + </p> + <p> + Fortune was unjust here. The man was laughable, and a goose; and had no + genius either for writing, painting, or acting; but in that he resembled + most writers, painters, and actors of his own day and ours. He was not + beneath the average of what men call art, and it is art's antipodes—treadmill + artifice. + </p> + <p> + Other fluent ninnies shared gain, and even fame, and were called 'penmen,' + in Triplet's day. Other ranters were quietly getting rich by noise. Other + liars and humbugs were painting out o' doors indoors, and eating mutton + instead of thistles for drenched stinging-nettles, yclept trees; for + block-tin clouds; for butlers' pantry seas, and garret-conceived lakes; + for molten sugar-candy rivers; for airless atmosphere and sunless air; for + carpet nature, and cold, dead fragments of an earth all soul and living + glory to every cultivated eye but a routine painter's. Yet the man of many + such mediocrities could not keep the pot boiling. We suspect that, to + those who would rise in life, even strong versatility is a very doubtful + good, and weak versatility ruination. + </p> + <p> + At last, the bitter, weary month was gone, and Triplet's eye brightened + gloriously. He donned his best suit; and, while tying his cravat, lectured + his family. First, he complimented them upon their deportment in + adversity; hinted that moralists, not experience, had informed him + prosperity was far more trying to the character. Put them all solemnly on + their guard down to Lucy, <i>aetat</i> five, that they were <i>morituri</i> + and <i>ae,</i> and must be pleased to abstain from “insolent gladness” + upon his return. + </p> + <p> + “Sweet are the uses of adversity!” continued this cheerful monitor. “If we + had not been hard up this while, we should not come with a full relish to + meat three times a week, which, unless I am an ass (and I don't see myself + in that light),” said Triplet dryly, “will, I apprehend, be, after this + day, the primary condition of our future existence.” + </p> + <p> + “James, take the picture with you,” said Mrs. Triplet, in one of those + calm, little, desponding voices that fall upon the soul so agreeably when + one is a cock-a-hoop, and desires, with permission, so to remain. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth am I to take Mrs. Woffington's portrait for?” + </p> + <p> + “We have nothing in the house,” said the wife, blushing. + </p> + <p> + Triplet's eye glittered like a rattlesnake's. + </p> + <p> + “The intimation is eccentric,” said he. “Are you mad, Jane? Pray,” + continued he, veiling his wrath in scornful words, “is it requisite, + heroic, or judicious on the eve, or more correctly the morn, of affluence + to deposit an unfinished work of art with a mercenary relation? Hang it, + Jane! would you really have me pawn Mrs. Woffington to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “James,” said Jane steadily, “the manager may disappoint you, we have + often been disappointed; so take the picture with you. They will give you + ten shillings on it.” + </p> + <p> + Triplet was one of those who see things roseate, Mrs. Triplet lurid. + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” said the poet, “for the first time in our conjugal career, your + commands deviate so entirely from reason that I respectfully withdraw that + implicit obedience which has hitherto constituted my principal reputation. + I'm hanged if I do it, Jane!” + </p> + <p> + “Dear James, to oblige me!” + </p> + <p> + “That alters the case; you confess it is unreasonable?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! it is only to oblige me. + </p> + <p> + “Enough!” said Triplet, whose tongue was often a flail that fell on + friend, foe and self indiscriminately. “Allow it to be unreasonable, and I + do it as a matter of course—to please you, Jane.” + </p> + <p> + Accordingly the good soul wrapped it in green baize; but to relieve his + mind he was obliged to get behind his wife, and shrug his shoulders to + Lysimachus and the eldest girl, as who should say <i>voila bien une femme + votre mere a vous!</i> + </p> + <p> + At last he was off, in high spirits. He reached Covent Garden at half-past + ten, and there the poor fellow was sucked into our narrative whirlpool. + </p> + <p> + We must, however, leave him for a few minutes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + SIR CHARLES POMANDER was detained in the country much longer than he + expected. + </p> + <p> + He was rewarded by a little adventure. As he cantered up to London with + two servants and a post-boy, all riding on horses ordered in relays + beforehand, he came up with an antediluvian coach, stuck fast by the + road-side. Looking into the window, with the humane design of quizzing the + elders who should be there, he saw a young lady of surpassing beauty. This + altered the case; Sir Charles instantly drew bridle and offered his + services. + </p> + <p> + The lady thanked him, and being an innocent country lady, she opened those + sluices, her eyes, and two tears gently trickled down, while she told him + how eager she was to reach London, and how mortified at this delay. + </p> + <p> + The good Sir Charles was touched. He leaped his horse over a hedge, + galloped to a farm-house in sight, and returned with ropes and rustics. + These and Sir Charles's horses soon drew the coach out of some stiffish + clay. + </p> + <p> + The lady thanked him, and thanked him, and thanked him, with heightening + color and beaming eyes, and he rode away like a hero. + </p> + <p> + Before he had gone five miles he became thoughtful and self-dissatisfied, + finally his remorse came to a head; he called to him the keenest of his + servants, Hunsdon, and ordered him to ride back past the carriage, then + follow and put up at the same inn, to learn who the lady was, and whither + going; and, this knowledge gained, to ride into town full speed and tell + his master all about it. Sir Charles then resumed his complacency, and + cantered into London that same evening. + </p> + <p> + Arrived there, he set himself in earnest to cut out his friend with Mrs. + Woffington. He had already caused his correspondence with that lady to + grow warm and more tender, by degrees. Keeping a copy of his last, he + always knew where he was. Cupid's barometer rose by rule; and so he + arrived by just gradations at an artful climax, and made her in terms of + chivalrous affection, an offer of a house, etc., three hundred a year, + etc., not forgetting his heart, etc. He knew that the ladies of the stage + have an ear for flattery and an eye to the main chance. + </p> + <p> + The good Sir Charles felt sure that, however she might flirt with Vane or + others, she would not forego a position for any disinterested <i>penchant.</i> + Still, as he was a close player, he determined to throw a little cold + water on that flame. His plan, like everything truly scientific, was + simple. + </p> + <p> + “I'll run her down to him, and ridicule him to her,” resolved this + faithful friend and lover dear. + </p> + <p> + He began with Vane. He found him just leaving his own house. After the + usual compliments, some such dialogue as this took place between + Telemachus and pseudo Mentor: + </p> + <p> + “I trust you are not really in the power of this actress?” + </p> + <p> + “You are the slave of a word,” replied Vane. “Would you confound black and + white because both are colors? She is like that sisterhood in nothing but + a name. Even on the stage they have nothing in common. They are puppets—all + attitude and trick; she is all ease, grace and nature.” + </p> + <p> + “Nature!” cried Pomander. <i>“Laissez-moi tranquille.</i> They have + artifice—nature's libel. She has art—nature's counterfeit.” + </p> + <p> + “Her voice is truth told by music,” cried the poetical lover; “theirs are + jingling instruments of falsehood.” + </p> + <p> + “They are all instruments,” said the satirist; “she is rather the best + tuned and played.” + </p> + <p> + “Her face speaks in every lineament; theirs are rouged and wrinkled + masks.” + </p> + <p> + “Her mask is the best made, mounted, and moved; that is all.” + </p> + <p> + “She is a fountain of true feeling.” + </p> + <p> + “No; a pipe that conveys it without spilling or holding a drop.” + </p> + <p> + “She is an angel of talent, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “She's a devil of deception.” + </p> + <p> + “She is a divinity to worship.” + </p> + <p> + “She's a woman to fight shy of. There is not a woman in London better + known,” continued Sir Charles. “She is a fair actress on the boards, and a + great actress off them; but I can tell you how to add a new charm to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven can only do that,” said Vane, hastily. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you can. Make her blush. Ask her for the list of your predecessors.” + </p> + <p> + Vane winced visibly. He quickened his step, as if to get rid of this + gadfly. + </p> + <p> + “I spoke to Mr. Quin,” said he, at last; “and he, who has no prejudice, + paid her character the highest compliment.” + </p> + <p> + “You have paid it the highest it admits,” was the reply. “You have let it + deceive you.” Sir Charles continued in a more solemn tone: “Pray be + warned. Why is it every man of intellect loves an actress once in his + life, and no man of sense ever did it twice?” + </p> + <p> + This last hit, coming after the carte and tierce we have described, + brought an expression of pain to Mr. Vane's face. He said abruptly: + “Excuse me, I desire to be alone for half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + Machiavel bowed; and, instead of taking offense, said, in a tone full of + feeling: “Ah! I give you pain! But you are right; think it calmly over a + while, and you will see I advise you well.” + </p> + <p> + He then made for the theater, and the weakish personage he had been + playing upon walked down to the river, almost ran, in fact. He wanted to + be out of sight. + </p> + <p> + He got behind some houses, and then his face seemed literally to break + loose from confinement; so anxious, sad, fearful and bitter were the + expressions that coursed each other over that handsome countenance. + </p> + <p> + What is the meaning of these hot and cold fits? It is not Sir Charles who + has the power to shake Mr. Vane so without some help from within. <i>There + is something wrong about this man!</i> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + MACHIAVEL entered the green-room, intending to wait for Mrs. Woffington, + and carry out the second part of his plan. + </p> + <p> + He knew that weak minds cannot make head against ridicule, and with this + pickax he proposed to clear the way, before he came to grave, sensible, + business love with the lady. Machiavel was a man of talent. If he has been + a silent personage hitherto, it is merely because it was not his cue to + talk, but listen; otherwise, he was rather a master of the art of speech. + He could be insinuating, eloquent, sensible, or satirical, at will. This + personage sat in the green-room. In one hand was his diamond snuffbox, in + the other a richly laced handkerchief; his clouded cane reposed by his + side. + </p> + <p> + There was an air of success about this personage. The gentle reader, + however conceited a dog, could not see how he was to defeat Sir Charles, + who was tall, stout, handsome, rich, witty, self-sufficient, cool, + majestic, courageous, and in whom were united the advantages of a hard + head, a tough stomach, and no heart at all. + </p> + <p> + This great creature sat expecting Mrs. Woffington, like Olympian Jove + awaiting Juno. But he was mortal, after all; for suddenly the serenity of + that adamantine countenance was disturbed; his eye dilated; his grace and + dignity were shaken. He huddled his handkerchief into one pocket, his + snuff-box into another, and forgot his cane. He ran to the door in + unaffected terror. + </p> + <p> + Where are all his fine airs before a real danger? Love, intrigue, + diplomacy, were all driven from his mind; for he beheld that approaching, + which is the greatest peril and disaster known to social man. He saw a + bore coming into the room! + </p> + <p> + In a wild thirst for novelty, Pomander had once penetrated to Goodman's + Fields Theater; there he had unguardedly put a question to a carpenter + behind the scene; a seedy-black poet instantly pushed the carpenter away + (down a trap, it is thought), and answered it in seven pages, and in + continuation was so vaguely communicative, that he drove Sir Charles back + into the far west. + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles knew him again in a moment, and at sight of him bolted. They + met at the door. “Ah! Mr. Triplet!” said the fugitive, “enchanted—to + wish you good-morning!” and he plunged into the hiding-places of the + theater. + </p> + <p> + “That is a very polite gentleman!” thought Triplet. He was followed by the + call-boy, to whom he was explaining that his avocations, though numerous, + would not prevent his paying Mr. Rich the compliment of waiting all day in + his green-room, sooner than go without an answer to three important + propositions, in which the town and the arts were concerned. + </p> + <p> + “What is your name?” said the boy of business to the man of words. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Triplet,” said Triplet. + </p> + <p> + “Triplet? There is something for you in the hall,” said the urchin, and + went off to fetch it. + </p> + <p> + “I knew it,” said Triplet to himself; “they are accepted. There's a note + in the hall to fix the reading.” He then derided his own absurdity in + having ever for a moment desponded. “Master of three arts, by each of + which men grow fat, how was it possible he should starve all his days!” + </p> + <p> + He enjoyed a natural vanity for a few moments, and then came more generous + feelings. What sparkling eyes there would be in Lambeth to-day! The + butcher, at sight of Mr. Rich's handwriting, would give him credit. Jane + should have a new gown. + </p> + <p> + But when his tragedies were played, and he paid! El Dorado! His children + should be the neatest in the street. Lysimachus and Roxalana should learn + the English language, cost what it might; sausages should be diurnal; and + he himself would not be puffed up, fat, lazy. No! he would work all the + harder, be affable as ever, and, above all, never swamp the father, + husband, and honest man in the poet and the blackguard of sentiment. + </p> + <p> + Next his reflections took a business turn. + </p> + <p> + “These tragedies—the scenery? Oh, I shall have to paint it myself. + The heroes? Well, they have nobody who will play them as I should. (This + was true!) It will be hard work, all this; but then I shall be paid for + it. It cannot go on this way; I must and will be paid separately for my + branches.” + </p> + <p> + Just as he came to this resolution, the boy returned with a brown-paper + parcel, addressed to Mr. James Triplet. Triplet weighed it in his hand; it + was heavy. “How is this?” cried he. “Oh, I see,” said he, “these are the + tragedies. He sends them to me for some trifling alterations; managers + always do.” Triplet then determined to adopt these alterations, if + judicious; for, argued he, sensibly enough: “Managers are practical men; + and we, in the heat of composition, sometimes <i>(sic?)</i> say more than + is necessary, and become tedious.” + </p> + <p> + With that he opened the parcel, and looked for Mr. Rich's communication; + it was not in sight. He had to look between the leaves of the manuscripts + for it; it was not there. He shook them; it did not fall out. He shook + them as a dog shakes a rabbit; nothing! + </p> + <p> + The tragedies were returned without a word. It took him some time to + realize the full weight of the blow; but at last he saw that the manager + of the Theater Royal, Covent Garden, declined to take a tragedy by Triplet + into consideration or bare examination. + </p> + <p> + He turned dizzy for a moment. Something between a sigh and a cry escaped + him, and he sank upon a covered bench that ran along the wall. His poor + tragedies fell here and there upon the ground, and his head went down upon + his hands, which rested on Mrs. Woffington's picture. His anguish was so + sharp, it choked his breath; when he recovered it, his eye bent down upon + the picture. “Ah, Jane,” he groaned, “you know this villainous world + better than I!” He placed the picture gently on the seat (that picture + must now be turned into bread), and slowly stooped for his tragedies; they + had fallen hither and thither; he had to crawl about for them; he was an + emblem of all the humiliations letters endure. + </p> + <p> + As he went after them on all-fours, more than one tear pattered on the + dusty floor. Poor fellow! he was Triplet, and could not have died without + tingeing the death-rattle with some absurdity; but, after all, he was a + father driven to despair; a castle-builder, with his work rudely + scattered; an artist, brutally crushed and insulted by a greater dunce + than himself. + </p> + <p> + Faint, sick, and dark, he sat a moment on the seat before he could find + strength to go home and destroy all the hopes he had raised. + </p> + <p> + While Triplet sat collapsed on the bench, fate sent into the room all in + one moment, as if to insult his sorrow, a creature that seemed the goddess + of gayety, impervious to a care. She swept in with a bold, free step, for + she was rehearsing a man's part, and thundered without rant, but with a + spirit and fire, and pace, beyond the conception of our poor tame + actresses of 1852, these lines: + </p> + <p> + “Now, by the joys Which my soul still has uncontrolled pursued, I would + not turn aside from my least pleasure, Though all thy force were armed to + bar my way; But, like the birds, great Nature's happy commoners, Rifle the + sweets—” + </p> + <p> + “I beg—your par—don, sir!” holding the book on a level with + her eye, she had nearly run over “two poets instead of one.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, madam,” said Triplet, admiring, though sad, wretched, but polite, + “pray continue. Happy the hearer, and still happier the author of verses + so spoken. Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied the lady, “if you could persuade authors what we do for + them, when we coax good music to grow on barren words. Are you an author, + sir?” added she, slyly. + </p> + <p> + “In a small way, madam. I have here three trifles—tragedies.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington looked askant at them, like a shy mare. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, madam!” said Triplet, in one of his insane fits, “if I might but + submit them to such a judgment as yours?” + </p> + <p> + He laid his hand on them. It was as when a strange dog sees us go to take + up a stone. + </p> + <p> + The actress recoiled. + </p> + <p> + “I am no judge of such things,” cried she, hastily. + </p> + <p> + Triplet bit his lip. He could have killed her. It was provoking, people + would rather be hanged than read a manuscript. Yet what hopeless trash + they will read in crowds, which was manuscript a day ago. <i>Les + imbeciles!</i> + </p> + <p> + “No more is the manager of this theater a judge of such things,” cried the + outraged quill-driver, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “What! has he accepted them?” said needle-tongue. + </p> + <p> + “No, madam, he has had them six months, and see, madam, he has returned + them me without a word.” + </p> + <p> + Triplet's lip trembled. + </p> + <p> + “Patience, my good sir,” was the merry reply. “Tragic authors should + possess that, for they teach it to their audiences. Managers, sir, are + like Eastern monarchs, inaccessible but to slaves and sultanas. Do you + know I called upon Mr. Rich fifteen times before I could see him?” + </p> + <p> + “You, madam? Impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it was years ago, and he has paid a hundred pounds for each of those + little visits. Well, now, let me see, fifteen times; you must write twelve + more tragedies, and then he will read <i>one;</i> and when he has read it, + he will favor you with his judgment upon it; and when you have got that, + you will have what all the world knows is not worth a farthing. He! he! + he! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'And like the birds, gay Nature's happy commoners, + Rifle the sweets'—mum—mum—mum.” + </pre> + <p> + Her high spirits made Triplet sadder. To think that one word from this + laughing lady would secure his work a hearing, and that he dared not ask + her. She was up in the world, he was down. She was great, he was nobody. + He felt a sort of chill at this woman—all brains and no heart. He + took his picture and his plays under his arms and crept sorrowfully away. + </p> + <p> + The actress's eye fell on him as he went off like a fifth act. His Don + Quixote face struck her. She had seen it before. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” said Triplet, at the door. + </p> + <p> + “We have met before. There, don't speak, I'll tell you who you are. Yours + is a face that has been good to me, and I never forget them.” + </p> + <p> + “Me, madam!” said Triplet, taken aback. “I trust I know what is due to you + better than to be good to you, madam,” said he, in his confused way. + </p> + <p> + “To be sure!” cried she, “it is Mr. Triplet, good Mr. Triplet!” And this + vivacious dame, putting her book down, seized both Triplet's hands and + shook them. + </p> + <p> + He shook hers warmly in return out of excess of timidity, and dropped + tragedies, and kicked at them convulsively when they were down, for fear + they should be in her way, and his mouth opened, and his eyes glared. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Triplet,” said the lady, “do you remember an Irish orange-girl you + used to give sixpence to at Goodman's Fields, and pat her on the head and + give her good advice, like a good old soul as you were? She took the + sixpence.” + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” said Trip, recovering a grain of pomp, “singular as it may + appear, I remember the young person; she was very engaging. I trust no + harm hath befallen her, for methought I discovered, in spite of her + brogue, a beautiful nature in her.” + </p> + <p> + “Go along wid yer blarney,” answered a rich brogue; “an' is it the + comanther ye'd be putting on poor little Peggy?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! oh gracious!” gasped Triplet. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” was the reply; but into that “yes” she threw a whole sentence of + meaning. “Fine cha-ney oranges!” chanted she, to put the matter beyond + dispute. + </p> + <p> + “Am I really so honored as to have patted you on that queen-like head!” + and he glared at it. + </p> + <p> + “On the same head which now I wear,” replied she, pompously. “I kept it + for the convaynience hintirely, only there's more in it. Well, Mr. + Triplet, you see what time has done for me; now tell me whether he has + been as kind to you. Are you going to speak to me, Mr. Triplet?” + </p> + <p> + As a decayed hunter stands lean and disconsolate, head poked forward like + a goose's, but if hounds sweep by his paddock in full cry, followed by + horses who are what he was not, he does, by reason of the good blood that + is and will be in his heart, <i>dum spiritus hoss regit artus,</i> cock + his ears, erect his tail, and trot fiery to his extremest hedge, and look + over it, nostril distended, mane flowing, and neigh the hunt onward like a + trumpet; so Triplet, who had manhood at bottom, instead of whining out his + troubles in the ear of encouraging beauty, as a sneaking spirit would, + perked up, and resolved to put the best face upon it all before so + charming a creature of the other sex. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madam,” cried he, with the air of one who could have smacked his + lips, “Providence has blessed me with an excellent wife and four charming + children. My wife was Miss Chatterton; you remember her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes! Where is she playing now?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, madam, her health is too weak for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!—You were scene-painter. Do you still paint scenes?” + </p> + <p> + “With the pen, madam, not the brush. As the wags said, I transferred the + distemper from my canvas to my imagination.” And Triplet laughed + uproariously. + </p> + <p> + When he had done, Mrs. Woffington, who had joined the laugh, inquired + quietly whether his pieces had met with success. + </p> + <p> + “Eminent—in the closet; the stage is to come!” and he smiled + absurdly again. + </p> + <p> + The lady smiled back. + </p> + <p> + “In short,” said Triplet, recapitulating, “being blessed with health, and + more tastes in the arts than most, and a cheerful spirit, I should be + wrong, madam, to repine; and this day, in particular, is a happy one,” + added the rose colorist, “since the great Mrs. Woffington has deigned to + remember me, and call me friend.” + </p> + <p> + Such was Triplet's summary. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington drew out her memorandum-book, and took down her summary of + the crafty Triplet's facts. So easy is it for us Triplets to draw the wool + over the eyes of women and Woffingtons. + </p> + <p> + “Triplet, discharged from scene-painting; wife, no engagement; four + children supported by his pen—that is to say, starving; lose no + time!” + </p> + <p> + She closed her book; and smiled, and said: + </p> + <p> + “I wish these things were comedies instead of trash-edies, as the French + call them; we would cut one in half, and slice away the finest passages, + and then I would act in it; and you would see how the stage-door would fly + open at sight of the author.” + </p> + <p> + “O Heaven!” said poor Trip, excited by this picture. “I'll go home, and + write a comedy this moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay!” said she; “you had better leave the tragedies with me.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear madam! You will read them?” + </p> + <p> + “Ahem! I will make poor Rich read them.” + </p> + <p> + “But, madam, he has rejected them.” + </p> + <p> + “That is the first step. Reading them comes after, when it comes at all. + What have you got in that green baize?” + </p> + <p> + “In this green baize?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, in this green baize, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh madam! nothing—nothing! To tell the truth, it is an adventurous + attempt from memory. I saw you play Silvia, madam; I was so charmed, that + I came every night. I took your face home with me—forgive my + presumption, madam—and I produced this faint adumbration, which I + expose with diffidence.” + </p> + <p> + So then he took the green baize off. + </p> + <p> + The color rushed into her face; she was evidently gratified. Poor, silly + Mrs. Triplet was doomed to be right about this portrait. + </p> + <p> + “I will give you a sitting,” said she. “You will find painting dull faces + a better trade than writing dull tragedies. Work for other people's + vanity, not your own; that is the art of art. And now I want Mr. Triplet's + address.” + </p> + <p> + “On the fly-leaf of each work, madam,” replied that florid author, “and + also at the foot of every page which contains a particularly brilliant + passage, I have been careful to insert the address of James Triplet, + painter, actor, and dramatist, and Mrs. Woffington's humble, devoted + servant.” He bowed ridiculously low, and moved toward the door; but + something gushed across his heart, and he returned with long strides to + her. “Madam!” cried he, with a jaunty manner, “you have inspired a son of + Thespis with dreams of eloquence, you have tuned in a higher key a poet's + lyre, you have tinged a painter's existence with brighter colors, and—and—” + His mouth worked still, but no more artificial words would come. He sobbed + out, “and God in heaven bless you, Mrs. Woffington!” and ran out of the + room. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington looked after him with interest, for this confirmed her + suspicions; but suddenly her expression changed, she wore a look we have + not yet seen upon her—it was a half-cunning, half-spiteful look; it + was suppressed in a moment, she gave herself to her book, and presently + Sir Charles Pomander sauntered into the room. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! what, Mrs. Woffington here?” said the diplomat. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Charles Pomander, I declare!” said the actress. + </p> + <p> + “I have just parted with an admirer of yours. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could part with them all,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “A pastoral youth, who means to win La Woffington by agricultural + courtship—as shepherds woo in sylvan shades.” + </p> + <p> + “With oaten pipe the rustic maids,” quoth the Woffington, improvising. + </p> + <p> + The diplomat laughed, the actress laughed, and said, laughingly: <i>“Tell + me what he says word for word?”</i> + </p> + <p> + “It will only make you laugh.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and am I never to laugh, who provide so many laughs for you all?” + </p> + <p> + <i>“C'est juste.</i> You shall share the general merriment. Imagine a + romantic soul, who adores you for <i>your simplicity!”</i> + </p> + <p> + “My simplicity! Am I so very simple?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Sir Charles, monstrous dryly. “He says you are out of place on + the stage, and wants to take the star from its firmament, and put it in a + cottage.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not a star,” replied the Woffington, “I am only a meteor. And what + does the man think I am to do without this (here she imitated applause) + from my dear public's thousand hands?” + </p> + <p> + “You are to have this” (he mimicked a kiss) “from a single mouth, + instead.” + </p> + <p> + “He is mad! Tell me what more he says. Oh, don't stop to invent; I should + detect you; and you would only spoil this man.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed conceitedly. “I should spoil him! Well, then, he proposes to be + your friend rather than your lover, and keep you from being talked of, he! + he! instead of adding to your <i>eclat.”</i> + </p> + <p> + “And if he is your friend, why don't you tell him my real character, and + send him into the country?” + </p> + <p> + She said this rapidly and with an appearance of earnest. The diplomatist + fell into the trap. + </p> + <p> + “I do,” said he; “but he snaps his fingers at me and common sense and the + world. I really think there is only one way to get rid of him, and with + him of every annoyance.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that would be nice.” + </p> + <p> + “Delicious! I had the honor, madam, of laying certain proposals at your + feet.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes—your letter, Sir Charles. I have only just had time to run + my eye down it. Let us examine it together.” + </p> + <p> + She took out the letter with a wonderful appearance of interest, and the + diplomat allowed himself to fall into the absurd position to which she + invited him. They put their two heads together over the letter. + </p> + <p> + “'A coach, a country-house, pin-money'—and I'm so tired of houses + and coaches and pins. Oh! yes, here's something; what is this you offer + me, up in this corner?” + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles inspected the place carefully, and announced that it was “his + heart.” + </p> + <p> + “And he can't even write it!” said she. “That word is 'earth.' Ah! well, + you know best. There is your letter, Sir Charles.” + </p> + <p> + She courtesied, returned him the letter, and resumed her study of + Lothario. + </p> + <p> + “Favor me with your answer, madam,” said her suitor. + </p> + <p> + “You have it,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “Madam, I don't understand your answer,” said Sir Charles, stiffly. + </p> + <p> + “I can't find you answers and understandings, too,” was the lady-like + reply. “You must beat my answer into your understanding while I beat this + man's verse into mine. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'And like the birds, etc.'” + </pre> + <p> + Pomander recovered himself a little; he laughed with quiet insolence. + “Tell me,” said he, “do you really refuse?” + </p> + <p> + “My good soul,” said Mrs. Woffington, “why this surprise! Are you so + ignorant of the stage and the world as not to know that I refuse such + offers as yours every week of my life?” + </p> + <p> + “I know better,” was the cool reply. She left it unnoticed. + </p> + <p> + “I have so many of these,” continued she, “that I have begun to forget + they are insults.” + </p> + <p> + At this word the button broke off Sir Charles's foil. + </p> + <p> + “Insults, madam! They are the highest compliments you have left it in our + power to pay you.” + </p> + <p> + The other took the button off her foil. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” cried she, with well-feigned surprise. “Oh! I understand. To be + your mistress could be but a temporary disgrace; to be your wife would be + a lasting discredit,” she continued. “And now, sir, having played your + rival's game, and showed me your whole hand” (a light broke in upon our + diplomat), “do something to recover the reputation of a man of the world. + A gentleman is somewhere about in whom you have interested me by your lame + satire; pray tell him I am in the green-room, with no better companion + than this bad poet.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles clinched his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “I accept the delicate commission,” replied he, “that you may see how + easily the man of the world drops what the rustic is eager to pick up.” + </p> + <p> + “That is better,” said the actress, with a provoking appearance of + good-humor. “You have a woman's tongue, if not her wit; but, my good + soul,” added she, with cool <i>hauteur,</i> “remember you have something + to do of more importance than anything you can say.” + </p> + <p> + “I accept your courteous dismissal, madam,” said Pomander, grinding his + teeth. “I will send a carpenter for your swain. And I leave you.” + </p> + <p> + He bowed to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks for the double favor, good Sir Charles.” + </p> + <p> + She courtesied to the floor. + </p> + <p> + Feminine vengeance! He had come between her and her love. All very clever, + Mrs. Actress; but was it wise? + </p> + <p> + “I am revenged,” thought Mrs. Woffington, with a little feminine smirk. + </p> + <p> + “I will be revenged,” vowed Pomander, clinching his teeth. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + COMPARE a November day with a May day. They are not more unlike than a + beautiful woman in company with a man she is indifferent to or averse, and + the same woman with the man of her heart by her side. + </p> + <p> + At sight of Mr. Vane, all her coldness and <i>nonchalance</i> gave way to + a gentle complacency; and when she spoke to him, her voice, so clear and + cutting in the late <i>assaut d'armes,</i> sank of its own accord into the + most tender, delicious tone imaginable. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane and she made love. He pleased her, and she desired to please him. + My reader knows her wit, her <i>finesse,</i> her fluency; but he cannot + conceive how god-like was her way of making love. I can put a few of the + corpses of her words upon paper, but where are the heavenly tones—now + calm and convincing, now soft and melancholy, now thrilling with + tenderness, now glowing with the fiery eloquence of passion? She told him + that she knew the map of his face; that for some days past he had been + subject to an influence adverse to her. She begged him, calmly, for his + own sake, to distrust false friends, and judge her by his own heart, eyes, + and judgment. He promised her he would. + </p> + <p> + “And I do trust you, in spite of them all,” said he; “for your face is the + shrine of sincerity and candor. I alone know you.” + </p> + <p> + Then she prayed him to observe the heartlessness of his sex, and to say + whether she had done ill to hide the riches of her heart from the cold and + shallow, and to keep them all for one honest man, “who will be my friend, + I hope,” said she, “as well as my lover.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Vane, “that is my ambition.” + </p> + <p> + “We actresses,” said she, “make good the old proverb, 'Many lovers, but + few friends.' And oh, 'tis we who need a friend. Will you be mine?” + </p> + <p> + While he lived, he would. + </p> + <p> + In turn, he begged her to be generous, and tell him the way for him, + Ernest Vane, inferior in wit and address to many of her admirers, to win + her heart from them all. + </p> + <p> + This singular woman's answer is, I think, worth attention. + </p> + <p> + “Never act in my presence; never try to be eloquent, or clever; never + force a sentiment, or turn a phrase. Remember, I am the goddess of tricks. + Do not descend to competition with me and the Pomanders of the world. At + all littlenesses, you will ever be awkward in my eyes. And I am a woman. I + must have a superior to love—lie open to my eye. Light itself is not + more beautiful than the upright man, whose bosom is open to the day. Oh + yes! fear not you will be my superior, dear; for in me honesty has to + struggle against the habits of my art and life. Be simple and sincere, and + I shall love you, and bless the hour you shone upon my cold, artificial + life. Ah, Ernest!” said she, fixing on his eye her own, the fire of which + melted into tenderness as she spoke, “be my friend. Come between me and + the temptations of an unprotected life—the recklessness of a vacant + heart.” + </p> + <p> + He threw himself at her feet. He called her an angel. He told her he was + unworthy of her, but that he would try and deserve her. Then he hesitated, + and trembling he said: + </p> + <p> + “I will be frank and loyal. Had I not better tell you everything? You will + not hate me for a confession I make myself?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall like you better—oh! so much better!” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will own to you—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do not tell me you have ever loved before me! I could not bear to + hear it!” cried this inconsistent personage. + </p> + <p> + The other weak creature needed no more. + </p> + <p> + “I see plainly I never loved but you,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Let me hear that only!” cried she; “I am jealous even of the past. Say + you never loved but me. Never mind whether it is true. My child, you do + not even yet know love. Ernest, shall I make you love—as none of + your sex ever loved—with heart, and brain, and breath, and life, and + soul?” + </p> + <p> + With these rapturous words, she poured the soul of love into his eyes; he + forgot everything in the world but her; he dissolved in present happiness + and vowed himself hers forever. And she, for her part, bade him but retain + her esteem and no woman ever went further in love than she would. She was + a true epicure. She had learned that passion, vulgar in itself, is + god-like when based upon esteem. + </p> + <p> + This tender scene was interrupted by the call-boy, who brought Mrs. + Woffington a note from the manager, informing her there would be no + rehearsal. This left her at liberty, and she proceeded to take a somewhat + abrupt leave of Mr. Vane. He was endeavoring to persuade her to let him be + her companion until dinner-time (she was to be his quest), when Pomander + entered the room. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington, however, was not to be persuaded, she excused herself on + the score of a duty which she said she had to perform, and whispering as + she passed Pomander, “Keep your own counsel,” she went out rather + precipitately. + </p> + <p> + Vane looked slightly disappointed. + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles, who had returned to see whether (as he fully expected) she + had told Vane everything—and who, at that moment, perhaps, would not + have been sorry had Mrs. Woffington's lover called him to serious account—finding + it was not her intention to make mischief, and not choosing to publish his + own defeat, dropped quietly into his old line, and determined to keep the + lovers in sight, and play for revenge. He smiled and said: “My good sir, + nobody can hope to monopolize Mrs. Woffington. She has others to do + justice to besides you.” + </p> + <p> + To his surprise, Mr. Vane turned instantly round upon him, and, looking + him haughtily in the face, said: “Sir Charles Pomander, the settled + malignity with which you pursue that lady is unmanly and offensive to me, + who love her. Let our acquaintance cease here, if you please, or let her + be sacred from your venomous tongue.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles bowed stiffly, and replied, that it was only due to himself to + withdraw a protection so little appreciated. + </p> + <p> + The two friends were in the very act of separating forever, when who + should run in but Pompey, the renegade. He darted up to Sir Charles, and + said: “Massa Pomannah she in a coach, going to 10, Hercules Buildings. I'm + in a hurry, Massa Pomannah.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” cried Pomander. “Say that again.” + </p> + <p> + “10, Hercules Buildings, Lambeth. Me in a hurry, Massa Pomannah.” + </p> + <p> + “Faithful child, there's a guinea for thee. Fly!” + </p> + <p> + The slave flew, and, taking a short cut, caught and fastened on to the + slow vehicle in the Strand. + </p> + <p> + “It is a house of rendezvous,” said Sir Charles, half to himself, half to + Mr. Vane. He repeated in triumph: “It is a house of rendezvous.” He then, + recovering his <i>sang-froid,</i> and treating it all as a matter of + course, explained that at 10, Hercules Buildings, was a fashionable shop, + with entrances from two streets; that the best Indian scarfs and shawls + were sold there, and that ladies kept their carriages waiting an immense + time in the principal street, while they were supposed to be in the shop, + or the show-room. He then went on to say that he had only this morning + heard that the intimacy between Mrs. Woffington and a Colonel Murthwaite, + although publicly broken off for prudential reasons, was still + clandestinely carried on. She had, doubtless, slipped away to meet the + colonel. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane turned pale. + </p> + <p> + “No! I will not suspect. I will not dog her like a bloodhound,” cried he. + </p> + <p> + “I will!” said Pomander. + </p> + <p> + “You! By what right?” + </p> + <p> + “The right of curiosity. I will know whether it is you who are imposed on, + or whether you are right, and all the world is deceived in this woman.” + </p> + <p> + He ran out; but, for all his speed, when he got into the street there was + the jealous lover at his elbow. They darted with all speed into the + Strand; got a coach. Sir Charles, on the box, gave Jehu a guinea, and took + the reins—and by a Niagara of whipcord they attained Lambeth; and at + length, to his delight, Pomander saw another coach before him with a + gold-laced black slave behind it. The coach stopped; and the slave came to + the door. The shop in question was a few hundred yards distant. The adroit + Sir Charles not only stopped but turned his coach, and let the horses + crawl back toward London; he also flogged the side panels to draw the + attention of Mr. Vane. That gentleman looked through the little circular + window at the back of the vehicle, and saw a lady paying the coachman. + There was no mistaking her figure. This lady, then, followed at a distance + by her slave, walked on toward Hercules Buildings; and it was his + miserable fate to see her look uneasily round, and at last glide in at a + side door, close to the silk-mercer's shop. + </p> + <p> + The carriage stopped. Sir Charles came himself to the door. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Vane,” said he, “before I consent to go any further in this + business, you must promise me to be cool and reasonable. I abhor + absurdity; and there must be no swords drawn for this little hypocrite.” + </p> + <p> + “I submit to no dictation,” said Vane, white as a sheet. + </p> + <p> + “You have benefited so far by my knowledge,” said the other politely; “let + me, who am self-possessed, claim some influence with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me!” said poor Vane. “My ang—my sorrow that such an angel + should be a monster of deceit.” He could say no more. + </p> + <p> + They walked to the shop. + </p> + <p> + “How she peeped, this way and that,” said Pomander, “sly little Woffy! + </p> + <p> + “No! on second thoughts,” said he, “it is the other street we must + reconnoiter; and, if we don't see her there, we will enter the shop, and + by dint of this purse we shall soon untie the knot of the Woffington + riddle.” + </p> + <p> + Vane leaned heavily on his tormentor. + </p> + <p> + “I am faint,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Lean on me, my dear friend,” said Sir Charles. “Your weakness will leave + you in the next street.” + </p> + <p> + In the next street they discovered—nothing. In the shop, they found—no + Mrs. Woffington. They returned to the principal street. Vane began to hope + there was no positive evidence. Suddenly three stories up a fiddle was + heard. Pomander took no notice, but Vane turned red; this put Sir Charles + upon the scent. + </p> + <p> + “Stay!” said he. “Is not that an Irish tune?” + </p> + <p> + Vane groaned. He covered his face with his hands, and hissed out: + </p> + <p> + “It is her favorite tune.” + </p> + <p> + “Aha!” said Pomander. “Follow me!” + </p> + <p> + They crept up the stairs, Pomander in advance; they heard the signs of an + Irish orgie—a rattling jig played and danced with the inspiriting + interjections of that frolicsome nation. These sounds ceased after a + while, and Pomander laid his hand on his friend's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I prepare you,” said he, “for what you are sure to see. This woman was an + Irish bricklayer's daughter, and 'what is bred in the bone never comes out + of the flesh;' you will find her sitting on some Irishman's knee, whose + limbs are ever so much stouter than yours. You are the man of her head, + and this is the man of her heart. These things would be monstrous, if they + were not common; incredible, if we did not see them every day. But this + poor fellow, whom probably she deceives as well as you, is not to be + sacrificed like a dog to your unjust wrath; he is as superior to her as + you are to him.” + </p> + <p> + “I will commit no violence,” said Vane. “I still hope she is innocent.” + </p> + <p> + Pomander smiled, and said he hoped so too. + </p> + <p> + “And if she is what you think, I will but show her she is known, and, + blaming myself as much as her—oh yes! more than her!—I will go + down this night to Shropshire, and never speak word to her again in this + world or the next.” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” said Sir Charles. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'Le bruit est pour le fat, la plainte est pour le sot, + L'honndete homine trompe s'eloigne et ne dit mot.' +</pre> + <p> + Are you ready?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then follow me.” + </p> + <p> + Turning the handle gently, he opened the door like lightning, and was in + the room. Vane's head peered over his shoulder. She was actually there! + </p> + <p> + For once in her life, the cautious, artful woman was taken by surprise. + She gave a little scream, and turned as red as fire. But Sir Charles + surprised somebody else even more than he did poor Mrs. Woffington. + </p> + <p> + It would be impertinent to tantalize my reader, but I flatter myself this + history is not written with power enough to do that, and I may venture to + leave him to guess whom Sir Charles Pomander surprised more than he did + the actress, while I go back for the lagging sheep. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + JAMES TRIPLET, water in his eye, but fire in his heart, went home on + wings. Arrived there, he anticipated curiosity by informing all hands he + should answer no questions. Only in the intervals of a work, which was to + take the family out of all its troubles, he should gradually unfold a + tale, verging on the marvelous—a tale whose only fault was, that + fiction, by which alone the family could hope to be great, paled beside + it. He then seized some sheets of paper fished out some old dramatic + sketches, and a list of <i>dramatis personae,</i> prepared years ago, and + plunged into a comedy. As he wrote, true to his promise, he painted, + Triplet-wise, that story which we have coldly related, and made it appear, + to all but Mrs. Triplet, that he was under the tutela, or express + protection of Mrs. Woffington, who would push his fortunes until the only + difficulty would be to keep arrogance out of the family heart. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Triplet groaned aloud. “You have brought the picture home, I see,” + said she. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I have. She is going to give me a sitting.” + </p> + <p> + “At what hour, of what day?” said Mrs. Triplet, with a world of meaning. + </p> + <p> + “She did not say,” replied Triplet, avoiding his wife's eye. + </p> + <p> + “I know she did not,” was the answer. “I would rather you had brought me + the ten shillings than this fine story,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Wife!” said Triplet, “don't put me into a frame of mind in which + successful comedies are not written.” He scribbled away; but his wife's + despondency told upon the man of disappointments. Then he stuck fast; then + he became fidgety. + </p> + <p> + “Do keep those children quiet!” said the father. + </p> + <p> + “Hush, my dears,” said the mother; “let your father write. Comedy seems to + give you more trouble than tragedy, James,” added she, soothingly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” was his answer. “Sorrow comes somehow more natural to me; but for + all that I have got a bright thought, Mrs. Triplet. Listen, all of you. + You see, Jane, they are all at a sumptuous banquet, all the <i>dramatis + personae,</i> except the poet.” + </p> + <p> + Triplet went on writing, and reading his work out: “Music, sparkling wine, + massive plate, rose-water in the hand-glasses, soup, fish—shall I + have three sorts of fish? I will; they are cheap in this market. Ah! + Fortune, you wretch, here at least I am your master, and I'll make you + know it—venison,” wrote Triplet, with a malicious grin, “game, + pickles and provocatives in the center of the table; then up jumps one of + the guests, and says he—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear, I am so hungry.” + </p> + <p> + This was not from the comedy, but from one of the boys. + </p> + <p> + “And so am I,” cried a girl. + </p> + <p> + “That is an absurd remark, Lysimachus,” said Triplet with a suspicious + calmness. “How can a boy be hungry three hours after breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + “But, father, there was no breakfast for breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “Now I ask you, Mrs. Triplet,” appealed the author, “how I am to write + comic scenes if you let Lysimachus and Roxalana here put the heavy + business in every five minutes?” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive them; the poor things are hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let them be hungry in another room,” said the irritated scribe. + “They shan't cling round my pen, and paralyze it, just when it is going to + make all our fortunes; but you women,” snapped Triplet the Just, “have no + consideration for people's feelings. Send them all to bed; every man Jack + of them!” + </p> + <p> + Finding the conversation taking this turn, the brats raised a unanimous + howl. + </p> + <p> + Triplet darted a fierce glance at them. “Hungry, hungry,” cried he; “is + that a proper expression to use before a father who is sitting down here, + all gayety” (scratching wildly with his pen) “and hilarity” (scratch) “to + write a com—com—” he choked a moment; then in a very different + voice, all sadness and tenderness, he said: “Where's the youngest—where's + Lucy? As if I didn't know you are hungry.” + </p> + <p> + Lucy came to him directly. He took her on his knee, pressed her gently to + his side, and wrote silently. The others were still. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Lucy, aged five, the germ of a woman, “I am not very + hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “And I am not hungry at all,” said bluff Lysimachus, taking his sister's + cue; then going upon his own tact he added, “I had a great piece of bread + and butter yesterday!” + </p> + <p> + “Wife, they will drive me mad!” and he dashed at the paper. + </p> + <p> + The second boy explained to his mother, <i>sotto voce:</i> “Mother, he <i>made</i> + us hungry out of his book.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a beautiful book,” said Lucy. “Is it a cookery book?” + </p> + <p> + Triplet roared: “Do you hear that?” inquired he, all trace of ill-humor + gone. “Wife,” he resumed, after a gallant scribble, “I took that sermon I + wrote.” + </p> + <p> + “And beautiful it was, James. I'm sure it quite cheered me up with + thinking that we shall all be dead before so very long.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the reverend gentleman would not have it. He said it was too hard + upon sin. 'You run at the Devil like a mad bull,' said he. 'Sell it in + Lambeth, sir; here calmness and decency are before everything,' says he. + 'My congregation expect to go to heaven down hill. Perhaps the chaplain of + Newgate might give you a crown for it,' said he,” and Triplet dashed + viciously at the paper. “Ah!” sighed he, “if my friend Mrs. Woffington + would but drop these stupid comedies and take to tragedy, this house would + soon be all smiles.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh James!” replied Mrs. Triplet, almost peevishly, “how can you expect + anything but fine words from that woman? You won't believe what all the + world says. You will trust to your own good heart.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't a good heart,” said the poor, honest fellow. “I spoke like a + brute to you just now.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, James,” said the woman. “I wonder how you put up with me at + all—a sick, useless creature. I often wish to die, for your sake. I + know you would do better. I am such a weight round your neck.” + </p> + <p> + The man made no answer, but he put Lucy gently down, and went to the + woman, and took her forehead to his bosom, and held it there; and after a + while returned with silent energy to his comedy. + </p> + <p> + “Play us a tune on the fiddle, father.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, do, husband. That helps you often in your writing.” + </p> + <p> + Lysimachus brought him the fiddle, and Triplet essayed a merry tune; but + it came out so doleful, that he shook his head, and laid the instrument + down. Music must be in the heart, or it will come out of the fingers—notes, + not music. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said he; “let us be serious and finish this comedy slap off. Perhaps + it hitches because I forgot to invoke the comic muse. She must be a + black-hearted jade, if she doesn't come with merry notions to a poor + devil, starving in the midst of his hungry little ones.” + </p> + <p> + “We are past help from heathen goddesses,” said the woman. “We must pray + to Heaven to look down upon us and our children.” + </p> + <p> + The man looked up with a very bad expression on his countenance. + </p> + <p> + “You forget,” said he sullenly, “our street is very narrow, and the + opposite houses are very high.” + </p> + <p> + “James!” + </p> + <p> + “How can Heaven be expected to see what honest folk endure in so dark a + hole as this?” cried the man, fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “James,” said the woman, with fear and sorrow, “what words are these?” + </p> + <p> + The man rose and flung his pen upon the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Have we given honesty a fair trial—yes or no?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” said the woman, without a moment's hesitation; “not till we die, as + we have lived. Heaven is higher than the sky; children,” said she, lest + perchance her husband's words should have harmed their young souls, “the + sky is above the earth, and heaven is higher than the sky; and Heaven is + just.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it is so,” said the man, a little cowed by her. “Everybody says + so. I think so, at bottom, myself; but I can't see it. I want to see it, + but I can't!” cried he, fiercely. “Have my children offended Heaven? They + will starve—they will die! If I was Heaven, I'd be just, and send an + angel to take these children's part. They cried to me for bread—I + had no bread; so I gave them hard words. The moment I had done that I knew + it was all over. God knows it took a long while to break my heart; but it + is broken at last; quite, quite broken! broken! broken!” + </p> + <p> + And the poor thing laid his head upon the table, and sobbed, beyond all + power of restraint. The children cried round him, scarce knowing why; and + Mrs. Triplet could only say, “My poor husband!” and prayed and wept upon + the couch where she lay. + </p> + <p> + It was at this juncture that a lady, who had knocked gently and unheard, + opened the door, and with a light step entered the apartment; but no + sooner had she caught sight of Triplet's anguish, than, saying hastily, + “Stay, I forgot something,” she made as hasty an exit. + </p> + <p> + This gave Triplet a moment to recover himself; and Mrs. Woffington, whose + lynx eye had comprehended all at a glance, and who had determined at once + what line to take, came flying in again, saying: + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't somebody inquiring for an angel? Here I am. See, Mr. Triplet;” and + she showed him a note, which said: “Madam, you are an angel. From a + perfect stranger,” explained she; “so it must be true.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Woffington,” said Mr. Triplet to his wife. Mrs. Woffington planted + herself in the middle of the floor, and with a comical glance, setting her + arms akimbo, uttered a shrill whistle. + </p> + <p> + “Now you will see another angel—there are two sorts of them.” + </p> + <p> + Pompey came in with a basket; she took it from him. + </p> + <p> + “Lucifer, avaunt!” cried she, in a terrible tone, that drove him to the + wall; “and wait outside the door,” added she, conversationally. + </p> + <p> + “I heard you were ill, ma'am, and I have brought you some physic—black + draughts from Burgundy;” and she smiled. And, recovered from their first + surprise, young and old began to thaw beneath that witching, irresistible + smile. “Mrs. Triplet, I have come to give your husband a sitting; will you + allow me to eat my little luncheon with you? I am so hungry.” Then she + clapped her hands, and in ran Pompey. She sent him for a pie she professed + to have fallen in love with at the corner of the street. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” said Alcibiades, “will the lady give me a bit of her pie?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! you rude boy!” cried the mother. + </p> + <p> + “She is not much of a lady if she does not,” cried Mrs. Woffington. “Now, + children, first let us look at—ahem—a comedy. Nineteen <i>dramatis + personae!</i> What do you say, children, shall we cut out seven, or nine? + that is the question. You can't bring your armies into our drawing-rooms, + Mr. Dagger-and-bowl. Are you the Marlborough of comedy? Can you marshal + battalions on a turkey carpet, and make gentlefolks witty in platoons? + What is this in the first act? A duel, and both wounded! You butcher!” + </p> + <p> + “They are not to die, ma'am!” cried Triplet, deprecatingly “upon my + honor,” said he, solemnly, spreading his bands on his bosom. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I'll trust their lives with you? No! Give me a pen; this is + the way we run people through the body.” Then she wrote (“business.” + Araminta looks out of the garret window. Combatants drop their swords, put + their hands to their hearts, and stagger off O. P. and P. S.) “Now, + children, who helps me to lay the cloth?” + </p> + <p> + “I!” + </p> + <p> + “And I!” (The children run to the cupboard.) + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Triplet</i> (half rising). “Madam, I—can't think of allowing + you.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington replied: “Sit down, madam, or I must use brute force. If + you are ill, be ill—till I make you well. Twelve plates, quick! + Twenty-four knives, quicker! Forty-eight forks quickest!” She met the + children with the cloth and laid it; then she met them again and laid + knives and forks, all at full gallop, which mightily excited the bairns. + Pompey came in with the pie, Mrs. Woffington took it and set it before + Triplet. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Woffington.</i> “Your coat, Mr. Triplet, if you please.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Mr. Triplet.</i> “My coat, madam!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Woffington.</i> “Yes, off with it—there's a hole in it—and + carve.” Then she whipped to the other end of the table and stitched like + wild-fire. “Be pleased to cast your eyes on that, Mrs. Triplet. Pass it to + the lady, young gentleman. Fire away, Mr. Triplet, never mind us women. + Woffington's housewife, ma'am, fearful to the eye, only it holds + everything in the world, and there is a small space for everything else—to + be returned by the bearer. Thank you, sir.” (Stitches away like lightning + at the coat.) “Eat away, children! now is your time; when once I begin, + the pie will soon end; I do everything so quick.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Roxalana.</i> “The lady sews quicker than you, mother.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Woffington.</i> “Bless the child, don't come so near my sword-arm; the + needle will go into your eye, and out at the back of your head.” + </p> + <p> + This nonsense made the children giggle. + </p> + <p> + “The needle will be lost—the child no more—enter undertaker—house + turned topsy-turvy—father shows Woffington to the door—off she + goes with a face as long and dismal as some people's comedies—no + names—crying fine chan-ey oranges.” + </p> + <p> + The children, all but Lucy, screeched with laughter. + </p> + <p> + Lucy said gravely: + </p> + <p> + “Mother, the lady is very funny.” + </p> + <p> + “You will be as funny when you are as well paid for it.” + </p> + <p> + This just hit poor Trip's notion of humor, and he began to choke, with his + mouth full of pie. + </p> + <p> + “James, take care,” said Mrs. Triplet, sad and solemn. + </p> + <p> + James looked up. + </p> + <p> + “My wife is a good woman, madam,” said he; “but deficient in an important + particular.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, James!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear. I regret to say you have no sense of humor; nummore than a + cat, Jane.” + </p> + <p> + “What! because the poor thing can't laugh at your comedy?” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am; but she laughs at nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Try her with one of your tragedies, my lad.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure, James,” said the poor, good, lackadaisical woman, “if I don't + laugh, it is not for want of the will. I used to be a very hearty + laugher,” whined she; “but I haven't laughed this two years.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed!” said the Woffington. “Then the next two years you shall do + nothing else.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, madam!” said Triplet. “That passes the art, even of the great + comedian.” + </p> + <p> + “Does it?” said the actress, coolly. + </p> + <p> + <i>Lucy.</i> “She is not a comedy lady. You don't ever cry, pretty lady?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Woffington</i> (ironically). “Oh, of course not.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lucy</i> (confidentially). “Comedy is crying. Father cried all the time + he was writing his one.” + </p> + <p> + Triplet turned red as fire. + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue,” said he. “I was bursting with merriment. Wife, our + children talk too much; they put their noses into everything, and + criticise their own father.” + </p> + <p> + “Unnatural offspring!” laughed the visitor. + </p> + <p> + “And when they take up a notion, Socrates couldn't convince them to the + contrary. For instance, madam, all this morning they thought fit to assume + that they were starving.” + </p> + <p> + “So we were,” said Lysimachus, “until the angel came; and the devil went + for the pie.” + </p> + <p> + “There—there—there! Now, you mark my words; we shall never get + that idea out of their heads—” + </p> + <p> + “Until,” said Mrs. Woffington, lumping a huge cut of pie into Roxalana's + plate, “we put a very different idea into their stomachs.” This and the + look she cast on Mrs. Triplet fairly caught that good, though somber + personage. She giggled; put her hand to her face, and said: “I'm sure I + ask your pardon, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + It was no use; the comedian had determined they should all laugh, and they + were made to laugh. Then she rose, and showed them how to drink healths <i>a + la Francaise;</i> and keen were her little admirers to touch her glass + with theirs. And the pure wine she had brought did Mrs. Triplet much good, + too; though not so much as the music and sunshine of her face and voice. + Then, when their stomachs were full of good food, and the soul of the + grape tingled in their veins, and their souls glowed under her great + magnetic power, she suddenly seized the fiddle, and showed them another of + her enchantments. She put it on her knee, and played a tune that would + have made gout, cholic and phthisic dance upon their last legs. She played + to the eye as well as to the ear, with such a smart gesture of the bow, + and such a radiance of face as she looked at them, that whether the music + came out of her wooden shell, or her horse-hair wand, or her bright self, + seemed doubtful. They pranced on their chairs; they could not keep still. + She jumped up; so did they. She gave a wild Irish horroo. She put the + fiddle in Triplet's hand. + </p> + <p> + “The wind that shakes the barley, ye divil!” cried she. + </p> + <p> + Triplet went <i>hors de lui;</i> he played like Paganini, or an + intoxicated demon. Woffington covered the buckle in gallant style; she + danced, the children danced. Triplet fiddled and danced, and flung his + limbs in wild dislocation: the wineglasses danced; and last, Mrs. Triplet + was observed to be bobbing about on her sofa, in a monstrous absurd way, + droning out the tune, and playing her hands with mild enjoyment, all to + herself. Woffington pointed out this pantomimic soliloquy to the two boys, + with a glance full of fiery meaning. This was enough. With a fiendish + yell, they fell upon her, and tore her, shrieking, off the sofa. And lo! + when she was once launched, she danced up to her husband, and set to him + with a meek deliberation that was as funny as any part of the scene. So + then the mover of all this slipped on one side, and let the stone of + merriment—roll—and roll it did; there was no swimming, + sprawling, or irrelevant frisking; their feet struck the ground for every + note of the fiddle, pat as its echo, their faces shone, their hearts + leaped, and their poor frozen natures came out, and warmed themselves at + the glowing melody; a great sunbeam had come into their abode, and these + human motes danced in it. The elder ones recovered their gravity first, + they sat down breathless, and put their hands to their hearts; they looked + at one another, and then at the goddess who had revived them. Their first + feeling was wonder; were they the same, who, ten minutes ago, were weeping + together? Yes! ten minutes ago they were rayless, joyless, hopeless. Now + the sun was in their hearts, and sorrow and sighing were fled, as fogs + disperse before the god of day. It was magical; could a mortal play upon + the soul of man, woman and child like this? Happy Woffington! and suppose + this was more than half acting, but such acting as Triplet never dreamed + of; and to tell the honest, simple truth, I myself should not have + suspected it; but children are sharper than one would think, and + Alcibiades Triplet told, in after years, that, when they were all dancing + except the lady, he caught sight of her face—and it was quite, quite + grave, and even sad; but, as often as she saw him look at her, she smiled + at him so gayly—he couldn't believe it was the same face. + </p> + <p> + If it was art, glory be to such art so worthily applied! and honor to such + creatures as this, that come like sunshine into poor men's houses, and + tune drooping hearts to daylight and hope! + </p> + <p> + The wonder of these worthy people soon changed to gratitude. Mrs. + Woffington stopped their mouths at once. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” cried she; “if you really love me, no scenes; I hate them. Tell + these brats to kiss me, and let me go. I must sit for my picture after + dinner; it is a long way to Bloomsbury Square.” + </p> + <p> + The children needed no bidding; they clustered round her, and poured out + their innocent hearts as children only do. + </p> + <p> + “I shall pray for you after father and mother,” said one. + </p> + <p> + “I shall pray for you after daily bread,” said Lucy, “because we were <i>tho</i> + hungry till you came!” + </p> + <p> + “My poor children!” cried Woffington, and hard to grown-up actors, as she + called us, but sensitive to children, she fairly melted as she embraced + them. + </p> + <p> + It was at this precise juncture that the door was unceremoniously opened, + and the two gentlemen burst upon the scene! + </p> + <p> + My reader now guesses whom Sir Charles Pomander surprised more than he did + Mrs. Woffington. He could not for the life of him comprehend what she was + doing, and what was her ulterior object. The <i>nil admirari</i> of the + fine gentleman deserted him, and he gazed open-mouthed, like the veriest + chaw-bacon. + </p> + <p> + The actress, unable to extricate herself in a moment from the children, + stood there like Charity, in New College Chapel, while the mother kissed + her hand, and the father quietly dropped tears, like some leaden water god + in the middle of a fountain. + </p> + <p> + Vane turned hot and cold by turns, with joy and shame. Pomander's genius + came to the aid of their embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “Follow my lead,” whispered he. “What! Mrs. Woffington here!” cried he; + then he advanced business-like to Triplet. “We are aware, sir, of your + various talents, and are come to make a demand on them. I, sir, am the + unfortunate possessor of frescoes; time has impaired their indelicacy, no + man can restore it as you can.” + </p> + <p> + “Augh! sir! sir!” said the gratified goose. + </p> + <p> + “My Cupid's bows are walking-sticks, and my Venus's noses are snubbed. You + must set all that straight on your own terms, Mr. Triplet.” + </p> + <p> + “In a single morning all shall bloom again, sir! Whom would you wish them + to resemble in feature? I have lately been praised for my skill in + portraiture.” (Glancing at Mrs. Woffington.) + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Pomander, carelessly, “you need not go far for Venuses and + Cupids, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “I see, sir; my wife and children. Thank you, sir; thank you.” + </p> + <p> + Pomander stared; Mrs. Woffington laughed. + </p> + <p> + Now it was Vane's turn. + </p> + <p> + “Let me have a copy of verses from your pen. I shall have five pounds at + your disposal for them.” + </p> + <p> + “The world has found me out!” thought Triplet, blinded by his vanity.— + </p> + <p> + “The subject, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “No matter,” said Vane—“no matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course it does not matter to me,” said Triplet, with some <i>hauteur,</i> + and assuming poetic omnipotence. “Only, when one knows the subject, one + can sometimes make the verses apply better.” + </p> + <p> + “Write then, since you are so confident, upon Mrs. Woffington.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that is a subject! They shall be ready in an hour!” cried Trip, in + whose imagination Parnassus was a raised counter. He had in a teacup some + lines on Venus and Mars which he could not but feel would fit Thalia and + Croesus, or Genius and Envy, equally well. “In one hour, sir,” said + Triplet, “the article shall be executed, and delivered at your house.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington called Vane to her, with an engaging smile. A month ago he + would have hoped she would not have penetrated him and Sir Charles; but he + knew her better now. He came trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Look me in the face, Mr. Vane,” said she, gently, but firmly. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot!” said he. “How can I ever look you in the face again?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you disarm me! But I must strike you, or this will never end. Did I + not promise that, when you had earned my <i>if</i> esteem, I would tell + you—what no mortal knows—Ernest, my whole story? I delay the + confession. It will cost me so many blushes, so many tears! And yet I + hope, if you knew all, you would pity and forgive me. Meantime, did I ever + tell you a falsehood?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” + </p> + <p> + “Why doubt me then, when I tell you that I hold all your sex cheap but + you? Why suspect me of Heaven knows what, at the dictation of a heartless, + brainless fop—on the word of a known liar, like the world?” + </p> + <p> + Black lightning flashed from her glorious eyes as she administered this + royal rebuke. Vane felt what a poor creature he was, and his face showed + such burning shame and contrition, that he obtained his pardon without + speaking. + </p> + <p> + “There,” said she, kindly, “do not let us torment one another. I forgive + you. Let me make you happy, Ernest. Is that a great favor to ask? I can + make you happier than your brightest dream of happiness, if you will let + yourself be happy.” + </p> + <p> + They rejoined the others; but Vane turned his back on Pomander, and would + not look at him. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Charles,” said Mrs. Woffington gayly; for she scorned to admit the + fine gentleman to the rank of a permanent enemy, “you will be of our + party, I trust, at dinner?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no, madam; I fear I cannot give myself that pleasure to-day.” Sir + Charles did not choose to swell the triumph. “Mr. Vane, good day!” said + he, rather dryly. “Mr. Triplet—madam—your most obedient!” and, + self-possessed at top, but at bottom crestfallen, he bowed himself away. + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles, however, on descending the stair and gaining the street, + caught sight of a horseman, riding uncertainly about, and making his horse + curvet, to attract attention. + </p> + <p> + He soon recognized one of his own horses, and upon it the servant he had + left behind to dog that poor innocent country lady. The servant sprang off + his horse and touched his hat. He informed his master that he had kept + with the carriage until ten o'clock this morning, when he had ridden away + from it at Barnet, having duly pumped the servants as opportunity offered. + </p> + <p> + “Who is she?” cried Sir Charles. + </p> + <p> + “Wife of a Cheshire squire, Sir Charles,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “His name? Whither goes she in town?” + </p> + <p> + “Her name is Mrs. Vane, Sir Charles. She is going to her husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Curious!” cried Sir Charles. “I wish she had no husband. No! I wish she + came from Shropshire,” and he chuckled at the notion. + </p> + <p> + “If you please, Sir Charles,” said the man, “is not Willoughby in + Cheshire?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” cried his master; “it is in Shropshire. What! eh! Five guineas for + you if that lady comes from Willoughby in Shropshire. + </p> + <p> + “That is where she comes from then, Sir Charles, and she is going to + Bloomsbury Square.” + </p> + <p> + “How long have they been married?” + </p> + <p> + “Not more than twelve months, Sir Charles.” + </p> + <p> + Pomander gave the man ten guineas instead of five on the spot. + </p> + <p> + Reader, it was too true! Mr. Vane—the good, the decent, the + churchgoer—Mr. Vane, whom Mrs. Woffington had selected to improve + her morals—Mr. Vane was a married man! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <p> + As soon as Pomander had drawn his breath and realized this discovery, he + darted upstairs, and with all the demure calmness he could assume, told + Mr. Vane, whom he met descending, that he was happy to find his + engagements permitted him to join the party in Bloomsbury Square. He then + flung himself upon his servant's horse. + </p> + <p> + Like Iago, he saw the indistinct outline of a glorious and a most + malicious plot; it lay crude in his head and heart at present; thus much + he saw clearly, that, if he could time Mrs. Vane's arrival so that she + should pounce upon the Woffington at her husband's table, he might be + present at and enjoy the public discomfiture of a man and woman who had + wounded his vanity. Bidding his servant make the best of his way to + Bloomsbury Square, Sir Charles galloped in that direction himself, + intending first to inquire whether Mrs. Vane was arrived, and, if not, to + ride toward Islington and meet her. His plan was frustrated by an + accident; galloping round a corner, his horse did not change his leg + cleverly, and, the pavement being also loose, slipped and fell on his + side, throwing his rider upon the <i>trottoir.</i> The horse got up and + trembled violently, but was unhurt. The rider lay motionless, except that + his legs quivered on the pavement. They took him up and conveyed him into + a druggist's shop, the master of which practiced chirurgery. He had to be + sent for; and, before he could be found, Sir Charles recovered his reason, + so much so, that when the chirurgeon approached with his fleam to bleed + him, according to the practice of the day, the patient drew his sword, and + assured the other he would let out every drop of blood in his body if he + touched him. + </p> + <p> + He of the shorter but more lethal weapon hastily retreated. Sir Charles + flung a guinea on the counter, and mounting his horse rode him off rather + faster than before this accident. + </p> + <p> + There was a dead silence! + </p> + <p> + “I believe that gentleman to be the Devil!” said a thoughtful bystander. + The crowd (it was a century ago) assented <i>nem. con.</i> + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles, arrived in Bloomsbury Square, found that the whole party was + assembled. He therefore ordered his servant to parade before the door, + and, if he saw Mrs. Vane's carriage enter the Square, to let him know, if + possible, before she should reach the house. On entering he learned that + Mr. Vane and his guests were in the garden (a very fine one), and joined + them there. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vane demands another chapter, in which I will tell the reader who she + was, and what excuse her husband had for his liaison with Margaret + Woffington. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <p> + MABEL CHESTER was the beauty and toast of South Shropshire. She had + refused the hand of half the country squires in a circle of some dozen + miles, till at last Mr. Vane became her suitor. Besides a handsome face + and person, Mr. Vane had accomplishments his rivals did not possess. He + read poetry to her on mossy banks an hour before sunset, and awakened + sensibilities which her other suitors shocked, and they them. + </p> + <p> + The lovely Mabel had a taste for beautiful things, without any excess of + that severe quality called judgment. + </p> + <p> + I will explain. If you or I, reader, had read to her in the afternoon, + amid the smell of roses and eglantine, the chirp of the mavis, the hum of + bees, the twinkling of butterflies, and the tinkle of distant sheep, + something that combined all these sights, and sounds, and smells—say + Milton's musical picture of Eden, P. L., lib. 3, and after that “Triplet + on Kew,” she would have instantly pronounced in favor of “Eden”; but if <i>we</i> + had read her “Milton,” and Mr. Vane had read her “Triplet,” she would have + as unhesitatingly preferred “Kew” to “Paradise.” + </p> + <p> + She was a true daughter of Eve; the lady, who, when an angel was telling + her and her husband the truths of heaven in heaven's own music, slipped + away into the kitchen, because she preferred hearing the story at + second-hand, encumbered with digressions, and in mortal but marital + accents. + </p> + <p> + When her mother, who guarded Mabel like a dragon, told her Mr. Vane was + not rich enough, and she really must not give him so many opportunities, + Mabel cried and embraced the dragon, and said, “Oh, mother!” The dragon, + finding her ferocity dissolving, tried to shake her off, but the goose + would cry and embrace the dragon till it melted. + </p> + <p> + By and by Mr. Vane's uncle died suddenly and left him the great Stoken + Church estate, and a trunk full of Jacobuses and Queen Anne's guineas—his + own hoard and his father's—then the dragon spake comfortably and + said: “My child, he is now the richest man in Shropshire. He will not + think of you now; so steel your heart.” + </p> + <p> + Then Mabel, contrary to all expectations, did not cry; but, with flushing + cheek, pledged her life upon Ernest's love and honor: and Ernest, as soon + as the funeral, etc., left him free, galloped to Mabel, to talk of our + good fortune. The dragon had done him injustice; that was not his weak + point. So they were married! and they were very, very happy. But, one + month after, the dragon died, and that was their first grief; but they + bore it together. + </p> + <p> + And Vane was not like the other Shropshire squires. His idea of pleasure + was something his wife could share. He still rode, walked, and sat with + her, and read to her, and composed songs for her, and about her, which she + played and sang prettily enough, in her quiet, lady-like way, and in a + voice of honey dropping from the comb. Then she kept a keen eye upon him; + and, when she discovered what dishes he liked, she superintended those + herself; and, observing that he never failed to eat of a certain + lemon-pudding the dragon had originated, she always made this pudding + herself, and she never told her husband she made it. + </p> + <p> + The first seven months of their marriage was more like blue sky than brown + earth; and if any one had told Mabel that her husband was a mortal, and + not an angel, sent to her that her days and nights might be unmixed, + uninterrupted heaven, she could hardly have realized the information. + </p> + <p> + When a vexatious litigant began to contest the will by which Mr. Vane was + Lord of Stoken Church, and Mr. Vane went up to London to concert the + proper means of defeating this attack, Mrs. Vane would gladly have + compounded by giving the man two or three thousand acres or the whole + estate, if he wouldn't take less, not to rob her of her husband for a + month; but she was docile, as she was amorous; so she cried (out of sight) + a week; and let her darling go with every misgiving a loving heart could + have; but one! and that one her own heart told her was impossible. + </p> + <p> + The month rolled away—no symptom of a return. For this, Mr. Vane was + not, in fact, to blame; but, toward the end of the next month, business + became a convenient excuse. When three months had passed, Mrs. Vane became + unhappy. She thought he too must feel the separation. She offered to come + to him. He answered uncandidly. He urged the length, the fatigue of the + journey. She was silenced; but some time later she began to take a new + view of his objections. “He is so self-denying,” said she. “Dear Ernest, + he longs for me; but he thinks it selfish to let me travel so far alone to + see him.” + </p> + <p> + Full of this idea, she yielded to her love. She made her preparations, and + wrote to him, that, if he did not forbid her peremptorily, he must expect + to see her at his breakfast-table in a very few days. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane concluded this was a jest, and did not answer this letter at all. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vane started. She traveled with all speed; but, coming to a halt at + ——, she wrote to her husband that she counted on being with + him at four of the clock on Thursday. + </p> + <p> + This letter preceded her arrival by a few hours. It was put into his hand + at the same time with a note from Mrs. Woffington, telling him she should + be at a rehearsal at Covent Garden. Thinking his wife's letter would keep, + he threw it on one side into a sort of a tray; and, after a hurried + breakfast, went out of his house to the theater. He returned, as we are + aware, with Mrs. Woffington; and also, at her request, with Mr. Cibber, + for whom they had called on their way. He had forgotten his wife's letter, + and was entirely occupied with his guests. + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles Pomander joined them, and found Mr. Colander, the head + domestic of the London establishment, cutting with a pair of scissors + every flower Mrs. Woffington fancied, that lady having a passion for + flowers. + </p> + <p> + Colander, during his temporary absence from the interior, had appointed + James Burdock to keep the house, and receive the two remaining guests, + should they arrive. + </p> + <p> + This James Burdock was a faithful old country servant, who had come up + with Mr. Vane, but left his heart at Willoughby. James Burdock had for + some time been ruminating, and his conclusion was, that his mistress, Miss + Mabel (as by force of habit he called her), was not treated as she + deserved. + </p> + <p> + Burdock had been imported into Mr. Vane's family by Mabel; he had carried + her in his arms when she was a child; he had held her upon a donkey when + she was a little girl; and when she became a woman, it was he who taught + her to stand close to her horse, and give him her foot and spring while he + lifted her steadily but strongly into her saddle, and, when there, it was + he who had instructed her that a horse was not a machine, that galloping + tires it in time, and that galloping it on the hard road hammers it to + pieces. “I taught the girl,” thought James within himself. + </p> + <p> + This honest silver-haired old fellow seemed so ridiculous to Colander, the + smooth, supercilious Londoner, that he deigned sometimes to converse with + James, in order to quiz him. This very morning they had had a + conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Miss Mabel! dear heart. A twelvemonth married, and nigh six months + of it a widow, or next door.” + </p> + <p> + “We write to her, James, and entertain her replies, which are at + considerable length.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, but we don't read 'em!” said James, with an uneasy glance at the + tray. + </p> + <p> + “Invariably, at our leisure; meantime we make ourselves happy among the + wits and the sirens.” + </p> + <p> + “And she do make others happy among the poor and the ailing.” + </p> + <p> + “Which shows,” said Colander, superciliously, “the difference of tastes.” + </p> + <p> + Burdock, whose eye had never been off his mistress's handwriting, at last + took it up and said: “Master Colander, do if ye please, sir, take this + into master's dressing-room, do now?” + </p> + <p> + Colander looked down on the missive with dilating eye. “Not a bill, James + Burdock,” said he, reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + “A bill! bless ye, no. A letter from missus.” + </p> + <p> + No, the dog would not take it in to his master; and poor James, with a + sigh, replaced it in the tray. + </p> + <p> + This James Burdock, then, was left in charge of the hall by Colander, and + it so happened that the change was hardly effected before a hurried + knocking came to the street door. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay!” grumbled Burdock, “I thought it would not be long. London for + knocking and ringing all day, and ringing and knocking all night.” He + opened the door reluctantly and suspiciously, and in darted a lady, whose + features were concealed by a hood. She glided across the hall, as if she + was making for some point, and old James shuffled after her, crying: + “Stop, stop! young woman. What is your name, young woman?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, James Burdock,” cried the lady, removing her hood, “have you + forgotten your mistress?” + </p> + <p> + “Mistress! Why, Miss Mabel, I ask your pardon, madam—here, John, + Margery!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” cried Mrs. Vane. + </p> + <p> + “But where are your trunks, miss? And where's the coach, and Darby and + Joan? To think of their drawing you all the way here! I'll have 'em into + your room directly, ma'am. Miss, you've come just in time.” + </p> + <p> + “What a dear, good, stupid old thing you are, James. Where is Ernest—Mr. + Vane? James, is he well and happy? I want to surprise him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am,” said James, looking down. + </p> + <p> + “I left the old stupid coach at Islington, James. The something—pin + was loose, or I don't know what. Could I wait two hours there? So I came + on by myself; you wicked old man, you let me talk, and don't tell me how + he is.” + </p> + <p> + “Master is main well, ma'am, and thank you,” said old Burdock, confused + and uneasy. + </p> + <p> + “But is he happy? Of course he is. Are we not to meet to-day after six + months? Ah! but never mind, they <i>are</i> gone by.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord bless her!” thought the faithful old fellow. “If sitting down and + crying could help her, I wouldn't be long.” + </p> + <p> + By this time they were in the banqueting-room and at the preparations + there Mabel gave a start; she then colored. “Oh, he has invited his + friends to make acquaintance. I had rather we had been alone all this day + and to-morrow. But he must not know that. No; <i>his</i> friends are <i>my</i> + friends, and shall be too,” thought the country wife. She then glanced + with some misgiving at her traveling attire, and wished she had brought <i>one</i> + trunk with her. + </p> + <p> + “James,” said she, “where is my room? And, mind, I forbid you to tell a + soul I am come.” + </p> + <p> + “Your room, Miss Mabel?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, any room where there is looking-glass and water.” + </p> + <p> + She then went to a door which opened in fact on a short passage leading to + a room occupied by Mr. Vane himself. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” cried James. “That is master's room.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, is not master's room mistress's room, old man? But stay; is he + there?” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am; he is in the garden, with a power of fine folks.” + </p> + <p> + “They shall not see me till I have made myself a little more decent,” said + the young beauty, who knew at bottom how little comparatively the color of + her dress could affect her appearance, and she opened Mr. Vane's door and + glided in. + </p> + <p> + Burdock's first determination was, in spite of her injunction, to tell + Colander; but on reflection he argued: “And then what will they do? They + will put their heads together, and deceive us some other way. No!” thought + James, with a touch of spite, “we shall see how they will all look.” He + argued also, that, at sight of his beautiful wife, his master must come to + his senses, and the Colander faction be defeated; and perhaps, by the + mercy of Providence, Colander himself turned off. + </p> + <p> + While thus ruminating, a thundering knock at the door almost knocked him + off his legs. “There ye go again,” said he, and he went angrily to the + door. This time it was Hunsdon, who was in a desperate hurry to see his + master. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Sir Charles Pomander, my honest fellow?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “In the garden, my Jack-a-dandy!” said Burdock, furiously. + </p> + <p> + (“Honest fellow,” among servants, implies some moral inferiority.) + </p> + <p> + In the garden went Hunsdon. His master—all whose senses were playing + sentinel—saw him, and left the company to meet him. + </p> + <p> + “She is in the house, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! Go—vanish!” + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles looked into the banquet-room; the haunch was being placed on + the table. He returned with the information. He burned to bring husband + and wife together; he counted each second lost that postponed this (to + him) thrilling joy. Oh, how happy he was!—happier than the serpent + when he saw Eve's white teeth really strike into the apple! + </p> + <p> + “Shall we pay respect to this haunch, Mr. Quin?” said Vane, gayly. + </p> + <p> + “If you please, sir,” said Quin, gravely. Colander ran down a by-path with + an immense bouquet, which he arranged for Mrs. Woffington in a vase at Mr. + Vane's left hand. He then threw open the windows, which were on the French + plan, and shut within a foot of the lawn. + </p> + <p> + The musicians in the arbor struck up, and the company, led by Mr. Vane and + Mrs. Woffington, entered the room. And a charming room it was!—light, + lofty, and large—adorned in the French way with white and gold. The + table was an exact oval, and at it everybody could hear what any one said; + an excellent arrangement where ideaed guests only are admitted—which + is another excellent arrangement, though I see people don't think so. + </p> + <p> + The repast was luxurious and elegant. There was no profusion of unmeaning + dishes; each was a <i>bonne-bouche</i>—an undeniable delicacy. The + glass was beautiful, the plates silver. The flowers rose like walls from + the table; the plate massive and glorious; rose-water in the hand-glasses; + music crept in from the garden, deliciously subdued into what seemed a + natural sound. A broad stream of southern sun gushed in fiery gold through + the open window, and, like a red-hot rainbow, danced through the stained + glass above it. Existence was a thing to bask in—in such a place, + and so happy an hour! + </p> + <p> + The guests were Quin, Mrs. Clive, Mr. Cibber, Sir Charles Pomander, Mrs. + Woffington, and Messrs. Soaper and Snarl, critics of the day. This pair, + with wonderful sagacity, had arrived from the street as the haunch came + from the kitchen. Good-humor reigned; some cuts passed, but as the parties + professed wit, they gave and took. + </p> + <p> + Quin carved the haunch, and was happy; Soaper and Snarl eating the same, + and drinking Toquay, were mellowed and mitigated into human flesh. Mr. + Vane and Mrs. Woffington were happy; he, because his conscience was + asleep; and she, because she felt nothing now could shake her hold of him. + Sir Charles was in a sort of mental chuckle. His head burned, his bones + ached; but he was in a sort of nervous delight. + </p> + <p> + “Where is she?” thought he. “What will she do? Will she send her maid with + a note? How blue he will look! Or will she come herself? She is a country + wife; there must be a scene. Oh, why doesn't she come into this room? She + must know we are here! is she watching somewhere?” His brain became + puzzled, and his senses were sharpened to a point; he was all eye, ear and + expectation; and this was why he was the only one to hear a very slight + sound behind the door we have mentioned, and next to perceive a lady's + glove lying close to that door. Mabel had dropped it in her retreat. + Putting this and that together, he was led to hope and believe she was + there, making her toilet, perhaps, and her arrival at present unknown. + </p> + <p> + “Do you expect no one else?” said he, with feigned carelessness, to Mr. + Vane. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mr. Vane, with real carelessness. + </p> + <p> + “It must be so! What fortune!” thought Pomander. + </p> + <p> + <i>Soaper.</i> “Mr. Cibber looks no older than he did five years ago.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Snarl.</i> “There was no room on his face for a fresh wrinkle.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Soaper.</i> “He! he! Nay, Mr. Snarl: Mr. Cibber is like old port; the + more ancient he grows, the more delicious his perfume.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Snarl.</i> “And the crustier he gets.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Clive.</i> “Mr. Vane, you should always separate those two. Snarl, by + himself, is just supportable; but, when Soaper paves the way with his + hypocritical praise, the pair are too much; they are a two-edged sword.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Woffington.</i> “Wanting nothing but polish and point.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Vane.</i> “Gentlemen, we abandon your neighbor, Mr. Quin, to you.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Quin.</i> “They know better. If they don't keep a civil tongue in their + heads, no fat goes from here to them.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Cibber.</i> “Ah, Mr. Vane; this room is delightful; but it makes me + sad. I knew this house in Lord Longueville's time; an unrivaled gallant, + Peggy. You may just remember him, Sir Charles?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Pomander</i> (with his eye on a certain door). “Yes, yes; a gouty old + fellow.” + </p> + <p> + Cibber fired up. “I wish you may ever be like him. Oh, the beauty, the + wit, the <i>petits-soupers</i> that used to be here! Longueville was a + great creature, Mr. Vane. I have known him entertain a fine lady in this + room, while her rival was fretting and fuming on the other side of that + door.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, indeed!” said Sir Charles. + </p> + <p> + “More shame for him,” said Mr. Vane. + </p> + <p> + Here was luck! Pomander seized this opportunity of turning the + conversation to his object. With a malicious twinkle in his eye, he + inquired of Mr. Cibber what made him fancy the house had lost its virtue + in Mr. Vane's hands. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” said Cibber, peevishly, “you all want the true <i>savoir faire</i> + nowadays, because there is no <i>juste milieu,</i> young gentlemen. The + young dogs of the day are all either unprincipled heathen, like yourself, + or Amadisses, like our worthy host.” The old gentleman's face and manners + were like those of a patriarch, regretting the general decay of virtue, + not the imaginary diminution of a single vice. He concluded with a sigh + that, “The true <i>preux des dames</i> went out with the full periwig; + stab my vitals!” + </p> + <p> + “A bit of fat, Mr. Cibber?” said Quin, whose jokes were not polished. + </p> + <p> + “Jemmy, thou art a brute,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “You refuse, sir?” said Quin, sternly. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir!” said Cibber, with dignity. “I accept.” + </p> + <p> + Pomander's eye was ever on the door. + </p> + <p> + “The old are so unjust to the young,” said he. “You pretend that the + Deluge washed away iniquity, and that a rake is a fossil. What,” said he, + leaning as it were on every word, “if I bet you a cool hundred that Vane + has a petticoat in that room, and that Mrs. Woffington shall unearth her?” + </p> + <p> + The malicious dog thought this was the surest way to effect a dramatic + exposure, because if Peggy found Mabel to all appearances concealed, Peggy + would scold her, and betray herself. + </p> + <p> + “Pomander!” cried Vane, in great heat; then, checking himself, he said + coolly: “but you all know Pomander.” + </p> + <p> + “None of you,” replied that gentleman. “Bring a chair, sir,” said he, + authoritatively, to a servant; who, of course, obeyed. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clive looked at him, and thought: “There is something in this!” + </p> + <p> + “It is for the lady,” said he, coolly. Then, leaning over the table, he + said to Mrs. Woffington, with an impudent affectation of friendly + understanding: “I ran her to earth in this house not ten minutes ago. Of + course I don't know who she is! But,” smacking his lips, “a rustic + Amaryllis, breathing all May-buds and Meadowsweet.” + </p> + <p> + “Have her out, Peggy!” shouted Cibber. “I know the run—there's the + covert! Hark, forward! Ha, ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane rose, and, with a sternness that brought the old beau up with a + run, he said: “Mr. Cibber, age and infirmity are privileged; but for you, + Sir Charles—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be angry,” interposed Mrs. Woffington, whose terror was lest he + should quarrel with so practiced a swordsman. “Don't you see it is a jest! + and, as might be expected from poor Sir Charles, a very sorry one. + </p> + <p> + “A jest!” said Vane, white with rage. “Let it go no further, or it will be + earnest!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington placed her hand on his shoulder, and at that touch he + instantly yielded, and sat down. + </p> + <p> + It was at this moment, when Sir Charles found himself for the present + baffled—for he could no longer press his point, and search that + room; when the attention of all was drawn to a dispute, which, for a + moment, had looked like a quarrel; while Mrs. Woffington's hand still + lingered, as only a woman's hand can linger in leaving the shoulder of the + man she loves; it was at this moment the door opened of its own accord, + and a most beautiful woman stood, with a light step, upon the threshold! + </p> + <p> + Nobody's back was to her, except Mr. Vane's. Every eye but his was + spellbound upon her. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington withdrew her hand, as if a scorpion had touched her. + </p> + <p> + A stupor of astonishment fell on them all. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane, seeing the direction of all their eyes, slewed himself round in + his chair into a most awkward position, and when he saw the lady, he was + utterly dumfounded! But she, as soon as he turned his face her way, glided + up to him, with a little half-sigh, half-cry of joy, and taking him round + the neck, kissed him deliciously, while every eye at the table met every + other eye in turn. One or two of the men rose; for the lady's beauty was + as worthy of homage as her appearing was marvelous. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington, too astonished for emotion to take any definite shape, + said, in what seemed an ordinary tone: “Who is this lady?” + </p> + <p> + “I am his wife, madam,” said Mabel, in the voice of a skylark, and smiling + friendly on the questioner. + </p> + <p> + “It is my wife!” said Vane, like a speaking-machine; he was scarcely in a + conscious state. “It is my wife!” he repeated, mechanically. + </p> + <p> + The words were no sooner out of Mabel's mouth than two servants, who had + never heard of Mrs. Vane before, hastened to place on Mr. Vane's right + hand the chair Pomander had provided, a plate and napkin were there in a + twinkling, and the wife modestly, but as a matter of course, courtesied + low, with an air of welcome to all her guests, and then glided into the + seat her servants obsequiously placed before her. + </p> + <p> + The whole thing did not take half a minute! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <p> + MR. VANE, besides being a rich, was a magnificent man; when his features + were in repose their beauty had a wise and stately character. Soaper and + Snarl had admired and bitterly envied him. At the present moment no one of + his guests envied him—they began to realize his position. And he, a + huge wheel of shame and remorse, began to turn and whir before his eyes. + He sat between two European beauties, and, pale and red by turns, shunned + the eyes of both, and looked down at his plate in a cold sweat of + humiliation, mortification and shame. + </p> + <p> + The iron passed through Mrs. Woffington's soul. So! this was a villain, + too, the greatest villain of all—a hypocrite! She turned very faint, + but she was under an enemy's eye, and under a rival's; the thought drove + the blood back from her heart, and with a mighty effort she was Woffington + again. Hitherto her liaison with Mr. Vane had called up the better part of + her nature, and perhaps our reader has been taking her for a good woman; + but now all her dregs were stirred to the surface. The mortified actress + gulled by a novice, the wronged and insulted woman, had but two thoughts; + to defeat her rival—to be revenged on her false lover. More than one + sharp spasm passed over her features before she could master them, and + then she became smiles above, wormwood and red-hot steel below—all + in less than half a minute. + </p> + <p> + As for the others, looks of keen intelligence passed between them, and + they watched with burning interest for the <i>denouement.</i> That + interest was stronger than their sense of the comicality of all this (for + the humorous view of what passes before our eyes comes upon cool + reflection, not often at the time). + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles, indeed, who had foreseen some of this, wore a demure look, + belied by his glittering eye. He offered Cibber snuff, and the two + satirical animals grinned over the snuff-box, like a malicious old ape and + a mischievous young monkey. + </p> + <p> + The newcomer was charming; she was above the middle height, of a full, + though graceful figure, her abundant, glossy, bright brown hair glittered + here and there like gold in the light; she had a snowy brow, eyes of the + profoundest blue, a cheek like a peach, and a face beaming candor and + goodness; the character of her countenance resembled “the Queen of the + May,” in Mr. Leslie's famous picture, more than any face of our day I can + call to mind. + </p> + <p> + “You are not angry with me for this silly trick?” said she, with some + misgiving. “After all I am only two hours before my time; you know, + dearest, I said four in my letter—did I not?” + </p> + <p> + Vane stammered. What could he say? + </p> + <p> + “And you have had three days to prepare you, for I wrote, like a good + wife, to ask leave before starting; but he never so much as answered my + letter, madam.” (This she addressed to Mrs. Woffington, who smiled by main + force.) + </p> + <p> + “Why,” stammered Vane, “could you doubt? I—I—” + </p> + <p> + “No! Silence was consent, was it not? But I beg your pardon, ladies and + gentlemen, I hope you will forgive me. It is six months since I saw him—so + you understand—I warrant me you did not look for me so soon, + ladies?” + </p> + <p> + “Some of us did not look for you at all, madam,” said Mrs. Woffington. + </p> + <p> + “What, Ernest did not tell you he expected me?” + </p> + <p> + “No! He told us this banquet was in honor of a lady's first visit to his + house, but none of us imagined that lady to be his wife.” + </p> + <p> + Vane began to writhe under that terrible tongue, whose point hitherto had + ever been turned away from him. + </p> + <p> + “He intended to steal a march on us,” said Pomander, dryly; “and, with + your help, we steal one on him;” and he smiled maliciously on Mrs. + Woffington. + </p> + <p> + “But, madam,” said Mr. Quin, “the moment you did arrive, I kept sacred for + you a bit of the fat; for which, I am sure, you must be ready. Pass her + plate!” + </p> + <p> + “Not at present, Mr. Quin,” said Mr. Vane, hastily. “She is about to + retire and change her traveling-dress.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear; but, you forget, I am a stranger to your friends. Will you not + introduce me to them first?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” cried Vane, in trepidation. “It is not usual to introduce in the + <i>beau monde.”</i> + </p> + <p> + “We always introduce ourselves,” rejoined Mrs. Woffington. She rose + slowly, with her eye on Vane. He cast a look of abject entreaty on her; + but there was no pity in that curling lip and awful eye. He closed his own + eyes and waited for the blow. Sir Charles threw himself back in his chair, + and, chuckling, prepared for the explosion. Mrs. Woffington saw him, and + cast on him a look of ineffable scorn; and then she held the whole company + fluttering a long while. At length: “The Honorable Mrs. Quickly, madam,” + said she, indicating Mrs. Clive. + </p> + <p> + This turn took them all by surprise. Pomander bit his lip. + </p> + <p> + “Sir John Brute—” + </p> + <p> + “Falstaff,” cried Quin; “hang it.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir John Brute Falstaff,” resumed Mrs. Woffington. “We call him, for + brevity, Brute.” + </p> + <p> + Vane drew a long breath. “Your neighbor is Lord Foppington; a butterfly of + some standing, and a little gouty.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Charles Pomander.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” cried Mrs. Vane. “It is the good gentleman who helped us out of the + slough, near Huntingdon. Ernest, if it had not been for this gentleman, I + should not have had the pleasure of being here now.” And she beamed on the + good Pomander. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane did not rise and embrace Sir Charles. + </p> + <p> + “All the company thanks the good Sir Charles,” said Cibber, bowing. + </p> + <p> + “I see it in all their faces,” said the good Sir Charles, dryly. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington continued: “Mr. Soaper, Mr. Snarl; gentlemen who would + butter and slice up their own fathers!” + </p> + <p> + “Bless me!” cried Mrs. Vane, faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Critics!” And she dropped, as it were, the word dryly, with a sweet + smile, into Mabel's plate. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vane was relieved; she had apprehended cannibals. London they had + told her was full of curiosities. + </p> + <p> + “But yourself, madam?” + </p> + <p> + “I am the Lady Betty Modish; at your service.” + </p> + <p> + A four-inch grin went round the table. The dramatical old rascal, Cibber, + began now to look at it as a bit of genteel comedy; and slipped out his + note-book under the table. Pomander cursed her ready wit, which had + disappointed him of his catastrophe. Vane wrote on a slip of paper: “Pity + and respect the innocent!” and passed it to Mrs. Woffington. He could not + have done a more superfluous or injudicious thing. + </p> + <p> + “And now, Ernest,” cried Mabel, “for the news from Willoughby.” + </p> + <p> + Vane stopped her in dismay. He felt how many satirical eyes and ears were + upon him and his wife. “Pray go and change your dress first, Mabel,” cried + he, fully determined that on her return she should not find the present + party there. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vane cast an imploring look on Mrs. Woffington. “My things are not + come,” said she. “And, Lady Betty, I had so much to tell him, and to be + sent away;” and the deep blue eyes began to fill. + </p> + <p> + Now Mrs. Woffington was determined that this lady, who she saw was simple, + should disgust her husband by talking twaddle before a band of satirists. + So she said warmly: “It is not fair on us. Pray, madam, your budget of + country news. Clouted cream so seldom comes to London quite fresh.” + </p> + <p> + “There, you see, Ernest,” said the unsuspicious soul. “First, you must + know that Gray Gillian is turned out for a brood mare, so old George won't + let me ride her; old servants are such tyrants, my lady. And my Barbary + hen has laid two eggs; Heaven knows the trouble we had to bring her to it. + And Dame Best, that is my husband's old nurse, Mrs. Quickly, has had soup + and pudding from the Hall everyday; and once she went so far as to say it + wasn't altogether a bad pudding. She is not a very grateful woman, in a + general way, poor thing! I made it with these hands.” + </p> + <p> + Vane writhed. + </p> + <p> + “Happy pudding!” observed Mr. Cibber. + </p> + <p> + “Is this mockery, sir?” cried Vane, with a sudden burst of irritation. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; it is gallantry,” replied Cibber, with perfect coolness. + </p> + <p> + “Will you hear a little music in the garden?” said Vane to Mrs. + Woffington, pooh-poohing his wife's news. + </p> + <p> + “Not till I hear the end of Dame Bess.” + </p> + <p> + “Best, my lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Dame Best interests <i>me,</i> Mr. Vane.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, and Ernest is very fond of her, too, when he is at home. She is in + her nice new cottage, dear; but she misses the draughts that were in her + old one—they were like old friends. 'The only ones I have, I'm + thinking,' said the dear cross old thing; and there stood I, on her floor, + with a flannel petticoat in both hands, that I had made for her, and + ruined my finger. Look else, my Lord Foppington?” She extended a hand the + color of cream. + </p> + <p> + “Permit me, madam?” taking out his glasses, with which he inspected her + finger; and gravely announced to the company: “The laceration is, in fact, + discernible. May I be permitted, madam,” added he, “to kiss this fair + hand, which I should never have suspected of having ever made itself half + so useful?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, my lord!” said she, coloring slightly, “you shall, because you are so + old; but I don't say for a young gentleman, unless it was the one that + belongs to me; and he does not ask me.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mabel; pray remember we are not at Willoughby.” + </p> + <p> + “I see we are not, Ernest.” And the dove-like eyes filled brimful; and all + her innocent prattle was put an end to. + </p> + <p> + “What brutes men are,” thought Mrs. Woffington. “They are not worthy even + of a fool like this.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane once more pressed her to hear a little music in the garden; and + this time she consented. Mr. Vane was far from being unmoved by his wife's + arrival, and her true affection. But she worried him; he was anxious, + above all things, to escape from his present position, and separate the + rival queens; and this was the only way he could see to do it. He + whispered Mabel, and bade her somewhat peremptorily rest herself for an + hour after her journey, and he entered the garden with Mrs. Woffington. + </p> + <p> + Now the other gentlemen admired Mrs. Vane the most. She was new. She was + as lovely, in her way, as Peggy; and it was the young May-morn beauty of + the country. They forgave her simplicity, and even her goodness, on + account of her beauty; men are not severe judges of beautiful women. They + all solicited her to come with them, and be the queen of the garden. But + the good wife was obedient. Her lord had told her she was fatigued; so she + said she was tired. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Vane's garden will lack its sweetest and fairest flower, madam,” + cried Cibber, “if we leave you here.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, my lord, there are fairer than I.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Quin!” cried Kitty Clive; “to have to leave the alderman's walk for + the garden-walk.” + </p> + <p> + “All I regret,” said the honest glutton, stoutly, “is that I go without + carving for Mrs. Vane.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very good, Sir John; I will be more troublesome to you at + supper-time.” + </p> + <p> + When they were all gone, she couldn't help sighing. It almost seemed as if + everybody was kinder to her than he whose kindness alone she valued. “And + he must take Lady Betty's hand instead of mine,” thought she. “But that is + good breeding, I suppose. I wish there was no such thing; we are very + happy without it in Shropshire.” Then this poor little soul was ashamed of + herself, and took herself to task. “Poor Ernest,” said she, pitying the + wrongdoer, like a woman, “he was not pleased to be so taken by surprise. + No wonder; they are so ceremonious in London. How good of him not to be + angry!” Then she sighed; her heart had received a damp. His voice seemed + changed, and he did not meet her eyes with the look he wore at Willoughby. + She looked timidly into the garden. She saw the gay colors of beaux, as + well as of belles—for in these days broadcloth had not displaced + silk and velvet—glancing and shining among the trees; and she + sighed, but, presently brightening up a little, she said: “I will go and + see that the coffee is hot and clear, and the chocolate well mixed for + them.” The poor child wanted to do something to please her husband. Before + she could carry out this act of domestic virtue, her attention was drawn + to a strife of tongues in the hall. She opened the folding-doors, and + there was a fine gentleman obstructing the entrance of a somber, rusty + figure, with a portfolio and a manuscript under each arm. + </p> + <p> + The fine gentleman was Colander. The seedy personage was the eternal + Triplet, come to make hay with his five-foot rule while the sun shone. + Colander had opened the door to him, and he had shot into the hall. The + major-domo obstructed the farther entrance of such a coat. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you my master is not at home,” remonstrated the major-domo. + </p> + <p> + “How can you say so,” cried Mrs. Vane, in surprise, “when you know he is + in the garden?” + </p> + <p> + “Simpleton!” thought Colander. + </p> + <p> + “Show the gentleman in.” + </p> + <p> + “Gentleman!” muttered Colander. + </p> + <p> + Triplet thanked her for her condescension; he would wait for Mr. Vane in + the hall. “I came by appointment, madam; this is the only excuse for the + importunity you have just witnessed.” + </p> + <p> + Hearing this, Mrs. Vane dismissed Colander to inform his master. Colander + bowed loftily, and walked into the servants' hall without deigning to take + the last proposition into consideration. + </p> + <p> + “Come in here, sir,” said Mabel; “Mr. Vane will come as soon as he can + leave his company.” Triplet entered in a series of obsequious jerks. “Sit + down and rest you, sir.” And Mrs. Vane seated herself at the table, and + motioned with her white hand to Triplet to sit beside her. + </p> + <p> + Triplet bowed, and sat on the edge of a chair, and smirked and dropped his + portfolio, and instantly begged Mrs. Vane's pardon; in taking it up, he + let fall his manuscript, and was again confused; but in the middle of some + superfluous and absurd excuse his eye fell on the haunch; it straightway + dilated to an enormous size, and he became suddenly silent and absorbed in + contemplation. + </p> + <p> + “You look sadly tired, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, madam. It is a long way from Lambeth Walk, and it is passing + hot, madam.” He took his handkerchief out, and was about to wipe his brow, + but returned it hastily to his pocket. “I beg your pardon, madam,” said + Triplet, whose ideas of breeding, though speculative, were severe, “I + forgot myself.” + </p> + <p> + Mabel looked at him, and colored, and slightly hesitated. At last she + said: “I'll be bound you came in such a hurry you forgot—you mustn't + be angry with me—to have your dinner first!” + </p> + <p> + For Triplet looked like an absurd wolf—all benevolence and + starvation! + </p> + <p> + “What divine intelligence!” thought Trip. “How strange, madam,” cried he, + “you have hit it! This accounts, at once, for a craving I feel. Now you + remind me, I recollect carving for others, I did forget to remember + myself. Not that I need have forgot it to-day, madam; but, being used to + forget it, I did not remember not to forget it to-day, madam, that was + all.” And the author of this intelligent account smiled very, very, very + absurdly. + </p> + <p> + She poured him out a glass of wine. He rose and bowed; but peremptorily + refused it, with his tongue—his eye drank it. + </p> + <p> + “But you must,” persisted this hospitable lady. + </p> + <p> + “But, madam, consider I am not entitled to—Nectar, as I am a man!” + </p> + <p> + The white hand was filling his plate with partridge pie: “But, madam, you + don't consider how you overwhelm me with your—Ambrosia, as I am a + poet!” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry Mr. Vane should keep you waiting.” + </p> + <p> + “By no means, madam; it is fortunate—I mean, it procures me the + pleasure of” (here articulation became obstructed) “your society, madam. + Besides, the servants of the Muse are used to waiting. What we are not + used to is” (here the white hand filled his glass) “being waited upon by + Hebe and the Twelve Graces, whose health I have the honor “—(Deglutition). + </p> + <p> + “A poet!” cried Mabel; “oh! I am so glad! Little did I think ever to see a + living poet! Dear heart! I should not have known, if you had not told me. + Sir, I love poetry!” + </p> + <p> + “It is in your face, madam.” Triplet instantly whipped out his manuscript, + put a plate on one corner of it, and a decanter on the other, and begged + her opinion of this trifle, composed, said he, “in honor of a lady Mr. + Vane entertains to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Mrs. Vane, and colored with pleasure. How ungrateful she had + been! Here was an attention!—For, of course, she never doubted that + the verses were in honor of her arrival. + </p> + <p> + “'Bright being—'” sang out Triplet. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, sir,” said Mabel; “I think I know the lady, and it would be hardly + proper of me—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, madam!” said Triplet, solemnly; “strictly correct, madam!” And he + spread his hand out over his bosom. “Strictly!—'Blunderbuss' (my + poetical name, madam) never stooped to the taste of the town. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Bright being, thou—'” + </pre> + <p> + “But you must have another glass of wine first, and a slice of the + haunch.” + </p> + <p> + “With alacrity, madam.” He laid in a fresh stock of provisions. + </p> + <p> + Strange it was to see them side by side! <i>he,</i> a Don Quixote, with + cordage instead of lines in his mahogany face, and clothes hanging upon + him; <i>she,</i> smooth, duck-like, delicious, and bright as an opening + rose fresh with dew! + </p> + <p> + She watched him kindly, archly and demurely; and still plied him, + countrywise, with every mortal thing on the table. + </p> + <p> + But the poet was not a boa-constrictor, and even a boa-constrictor has an + end. Hunger satisfied, his next strongest feeling, simple vanity, remained + to be contented. As the last morsel went in out came: + </p> + <p> + “'Bright being, thou whose ra—'” + </p> + <p> + “No! no!” said she, who fancied herself (and not without reason) the + bright being. “Mr. Vane intended them for a surprise.” + </p> + <p> + “As you please, madam;” and the disappointed bore sighed. “But you would + have liked them, for the theme inspired me. The kindest, the most generous + of women! Don't you agree with me, madam?” + </p> + <p> + Mabel Vane opened her eyes. “Hardly, sir,” laughed she. + </p> + <p> + “If you knew her as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “I ought to know her better, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, indeed! Well, madam, now her kindness to me, for instance—a + poor devil like me. The expression, I trust, is not disagreeable to you, + madam? If so, forgive me, and consider it withdrawn.” + </p> + <p> + “La, sir! civility is so cheap, if you go to that.” + </p> + <p> + “Civility, ma'am? Why, she has saved me from despair—from + starvation, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing! Well, indeed, sir, you looked—you looked—what a + shame! and you a poet.” + </p> + <p> + “From an epitaph to an epic, madam.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment a figure looked in upon them from the garden, but retreated + unobserved. It was Sir Charles Pomander, who had slipped away, with the + heartless and malicious intention of exposing the husband to the wife, and + profiting by her indignation and despair. Seeing Triplet, he made an + extemporaneous calculation that so infernal a chatterbox could not be ten + minutes in her company without telling her everything, and this would + serve his turn very well. He therefore postponed his purpose, and strolled + away to a short distance. + </p> + <p> + Triplet justified the baronet's opinion. Without any sort of sequency he + now informed Mrs. Vane that the benevolent lady was to sit to him for her + portrait. + </p> + <p> + Here was a new attention of Ernest's. How good he was, and how wicked and + ungrateful she! + </p> + <p> + “What! are you a painter too?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + “From a house front to an historical composition, madam.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what a clever man! And so Ernest commissioned you to paint a + portrait?” + </p> + <p> + “No, madam; for that I am indebted to the lady herself.” + </p> + <p> + “The lady herself?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madam; and I expected to find her here. Will you add to your + kindness by informing me whether she has arrived? Or she is gone—” + </p> + <p> + “Who, sir? (Oh, dear! not my portrait! Oh, Ernest!)” + </p> + <p> + “Who, madam!” cried Triplet; “why, Mrs. Woffington!” + </p> + <p> + “She is not here,” said Mrs. Vane, who remembered all the names perfectly + well. “There is one charming lady among our guests, her face took me in a + moment; but she is a titled lady. There is no Mrs. Woffington among them.” + </p> + <p> + “Strange!” replied Triplet; “she was to be here; and, in fact, that is why + I expedited these lines in her honor.” + </p> + <p> + “In <i>her</i> honor, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madam. Allow me: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Brights being, thou whose radiant brow—'” + </pre> + <p> + “No! no! I don't care to hear them now, for I don't know the lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, madam, but at least you have seen her act?” + </p> + <p> + “Act! you don't mean all this is for an actress?” + </p> + <p> + <i>“An</i> actress? <i>The</i> actress! And you have never seen her act? + What a pleasure you have to come! To see her act is a privilege; but to + act with her, as <i>I</i> once did! But she does not remember that, nor + shall I remind her, madam,” said Triplet sternly. “On that occasion I was + hissed, owing to circumstances which, for the credit of our common nature, + I suppress.” + </p> + <p> + “What! are you an actor too? You are everything.” + </p> + <p> + “And it was in a farce of my own, madam, which, by the strangest + combination of accidents, was damned!” + </p> + <p> + “A play-writer? Oh, what clever men there are in the world—in + London, at least! He is a play-writer, too. I wonder my husband comes not. + Does Mr. Vane—does Mr. Vane admire this actress?” said she, + suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Vane, madam, is a gentleman of taste,” said he, pompously. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” said the lady, languidly, “she is not here.” Triplet took the + hint and rose. “Good-by,” said she, sweetly; and thank you kindly for your + company. + </p> + <p> + “Triplet, madam—James Triplet, of 10, Hercules Buildings, Lambeth. + Occasional verses, odes, epithalamia, elegies, dedications, squibs, + impromptus and hymns executed with spirit, punctuality and secrecy. + Portraits painted, and instruction in declamation, sacred, profane and + dramatic. The card, madam” (and he drew it as doth a theatrical fop his + rapier) “of him who, to all these qualifications adds a prouder still—that + of being, + </p> + <p> + “Madam, + </p> + <p> + “Your humble, devoted and grateful servant, + </p> + <p> + “JAMES TRIPLET.” + </p> + <p> + He bowed in a line from his right shoulder to his left toe, and moved off. + But Triplet could not go all at one time out of such company; he was given + to return in real life, he had played this trick so often on the stage. He + came back, exuberant with gratitude. + </p> + <p> + “The fact is, madam,” said he, “strange as it may appear to you, a kind + hand has not so often been held out to me, that I should forget it, + especially when that hand is so fair and gracious. May I be permitted, + madam—you will impute it to gratitude rather than audacity—I—I—” + (whimper), “madam” (with sudden severity), “I am gone!” + </p> + <p> + These last words he pronounced with the right arm at an angle of + forty-five degrees, and the fingers pointing horizontally. The stage had + taught him this grace also. In his day, an actor who had three words to + say, such as, “My lord's carriage is waiting,” came on the stage with the + right arm thus elevated, delivered his message in the tones of a falling + dynasty, wheeled like a soldier, and retired with the left arm pointing to + the sky and the right hand extended behind him like a setter's tail. + </p> + <p> + Left to herself, Mabel was uneasy. “Ernest is so warm-hearted.” This was + the way she put it even to herself. He admired her acting and wished to + pay her a compliment. “What if I carried him the verses?” She thought she + should surely please him by showing she was not the least jealous or + doubtful of him. The poor child wanted so to win a kind look from her + husband; but ere she could reach the window Sir Charles Pomander had + entered it. + </p> + <p> + Now Sir Charles was naturally welcome to Mrs. Vane; for all she knew of + him was, that he had helped her on the road to her husband. + </p> + <p> + <i>Pomander.</i> “What, madam! all alone here as in Shropshire?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Mabel.</i> “For the moment, sir.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Pomander.</i> “Force of habit. A husband with a wife in Shropshire is + so like a bachelor.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Mabel.</i> “Sir!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Pomander.</i> “And our excellent Ernest is such a favorite!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Mabel.</i> “No wonder, sir!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Pomander.</i> “Few can so pass from the larva state of country squire + to the butterfly nature of beau.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Mabel.</i> “Yes” (sadly), “I find him changed.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Pomander.</i> “Changed! Transformed. He is now the prop of the + 'Cocoa-Tree,' the star of Ranelagh, the Lauzun of the green-room.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Mabel.</i> “The green-room! Where is that? You mean kindly, sir; but + you make me unhappy.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Pomander.</i> “The green-room, my dear madam, is the bower where houris + put off their wings, and goddesses become dowdies; where Lady Macbeth + weeps over her lap-dog, dead from repletion; and Belvidera soothes her + broken heart with a dozen of oysters. In a word, it is the place where + actors and actresses become men and women, and act their own parts with + skill, instead of a poet's clumsily.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Mabel.</i> “Actors! actresses! Does Mr. Vane frequent such—” + </p> + <p> + <i>Pomander.</i> “He has earned in six months a reputation many a fine + gentleman would give his ears for. Not a scandalous journal his initials + have not figured in; not an actress of reputation gossip has not given him + for a conquest.” + </p> + <p> + “How dare you say this to me?” cried Mrs. Vane, with a sudden flash of + indignation, and then the tears streamed over her lovely cheeks; and even + a Pomander might have forborne to torture her so; but Sir Charles had no + mercy. + </p> + <p> + “You would be sure to learn it,” said he; “and with malicious additions. + It is better to hear the truth from a friend.” + </p> + <p> + “A friend? He is no friend to a house who calumniates the husband to the + wife. Is it the part of a friend to distort dear Ernest's kindliness and + gayety into ill morals; to pervert his love of poetry and plays into an + unworthy attachment to actors and—oh!” and the tears would come. But + she dried them, for now she hated this man; with all the little power of + hatred she had, she detested him. “Do you suppose I did not know Mrs. + Woffington was to come to us to-day?” cried she, struggling passionately + against her own fears and Sir Charles's innuendoes. + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried he; “you recognized her? You detected the actress of all + work under the airs of Lady Betty Modish?” + </p> + <p> + “Lady Betty Modish!” cried Mabel. “That good, beautiful face!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Sir Charles, “I see you did not. Well, Lady Betty was Mrs. + Woffington!” + </p> + <p> + “Whom my husband, I know, had invited here to present her with these + verses, which I shall take him for her;” and her poor little lip trembled. + “Had the visit been in any other character, as you are so base, so cruel + as to insinuate (what have I done to you that you kill me so, you wicked + gentleman?), would he have chosen the day of my arrival?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if he knew you were coming,” was the cool reply. + </p> + <p> + “And he did know—I wrote to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” said Pomander, fairly puzzled. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vane caught sight of her handwriting on the tray, and darted to it, + and seized her letter, and said, triumphantly: + </p> + <p> + “My last letter, written upon the road—see!” + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles took it with surprise, but, turning it in his hand, a cool, + satirical smile came to his face. He handed it back, and said, coldly: + </p> + <p> + “Read me the passage, madam, on which you argue.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Mrs. Vane turned the letter in her hand, and her eye became instantly + glazed; the seal was unbroken! She gave a sharp cry of agony, like a + wounded deer. She saw Pomander no longer; she was alone with her great + anguish. “I had but my husband and my God in the world,” cried she. “My + mother is gone. My God, have pity on me! my husband does not love me.” + </p> + <p> + The cold villain was startled at the mighty storm his mean hand had + raised. This creature had not only more feeling, but more passion, than a + hundred libertines. He muttered some villain's commonplaces; while this + unhappy young lady raised her hands to heaven, and sobbed in a way very + terrible to any manly heart. + </p> + <p> + “He is unworthy you,” muttered Pomander. “He has forfeited your love. He + has left you nothing but revenge. Be comforted. Let me, who have learned + already to adore you—” + </p> + <p> + “So,” cried she, turning on him in a moment (for, on some points, woman's + instinct is the lightning of wisdom), “this, sir, was your object? I may + no longer hold a place in my husband's heart; but I am mistress of his + house. Leave it, sir! and never return to it while I live.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles, again discomfited, bowed reverentially. “Your wish shall ever + be respected by me, madam! But here they come. Use the right of a wife. + Conceal yourself in that high chair. See, I turn it; so that they cannot + see you. At least you will find I have but told you the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” cried Mabel, violently. “I will not spy upon my husband at the + dictation of his treacherous friend.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles vanished. He was no sooner gone than Mrs. Vane crouched, + trembling, and writhing with jealousy, in the large, high-backed chair. + She heard her husband and the <i>soi-disant</i> Lady Betty Modish enter. + During their absence, Mrs. Woffington had doubtless been playing her cards + with art; for it appeared that a reconciliation was now taking place. The + lady, however, was still cool and distant. It was poor Mabel's fate to + hear these words: “You must permit me to go alone, Mr. Vane. I insist upon + leaving this house alone.” + </p> + <p> + On this, he whispered to her. + </p> + <p> + She answered: “You are not justified.” + </p> + <p> + “I can explain all,” was his reply. “I am ready to renounce credit, + character, all the world for you.” + </p> + <p> + They passed out of the room before the unhappy listener could recover the + numbing influence of these deadly words. + </p> + <p> + But the next moment she started wildly up, and cried as one drowning cries + vaguely for help: “Ernest! oh, no—no! you cannot use me so! Ernest—husband! + Oh, mother! mother!” + </p> + <p> + She rose, and would have made for the door, but nature had been too + cruelly tried. At the first step she could no longer see anything; and the + next moment, swooning dead away, she fell back insensible, with her head + and shoulders resting on the chair. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> + <p> + MR. VANE was putting Mrs. Woffington into her chair, when he thought he + heard his name cried. He bade that lady a mournful farewell, and stepped + back into his own hall. He had no sooner done so than he heard a voice, + the accent of which alarmed him, though he distinguished no word. He + hastily crossed the hall and flew into the banquet-room. Coming rapidly in + at the folding-doors he almost fell over his wife, lying insensible half + upon the floor and half upon the chair. When he saw her pale and + motionless, a terrible misgiving seized him; he fell on his knees. + </p> + <p> + “Mabel, Mabel!” cried he, “my love! my innocent wife! Oh, God! what have I + done? Perhaps it is the fatigue—perhaps she has fainted.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is not the fatigue!” screamed a voice near him. It was old James + Burdock, who, with his white hair streaming and his eye gleaming with + fire, shook his fist in his master's face—“no, it is not the + fatigue, you villain! It is you who have killed her, with your jezebels + and harlots, you scoundrel!” + </p> + <p> + “Send the women here, James, for God's sake!” cried Mr. Vane, not even + noticing the insult he had received from a servant. He stamped furiously, + and cried for help. The whole household was round her in a moment. They + carried her to bed. + </p> + <p> + The remorse-stricken man, his own knees trembling under him, flew, in an + agony of fear and self-reproach, for a doctor! + </p> + <p> + <i>A doctor?</i> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. + </h2> + <p> + DURING the garden scene, Mr. Vane had begged Mrs. Woffington to let him + accompany her. She peremptorily refused, and said in the same breath she + was going to Triplet, in Hercules Buildings, to have her portrait + finished. + </p> + <p> + Had Mr. Vane understood the sex, he would not have interpreted her refusal + to the letter; when there was a postscript, the meaning of which was so + little enigmatical. + </p> + <p> + Some three hours after the scene we have described, Mrs. Woffington sat in + Triplet's apartment; and Triplet, palette in hand, painted away upon her + portrait. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington was in that languid state which comes to women after their + hearts have received a blow. She felt as if life was ended, and but the + dregs of existence remained; but at times a flood of bitterness rolled + over her, and she resigned all hope of perfect happiness in this world—all + hope of loving and respecting the same creature; and at these moments she + had but one idea—to use her own power, and bind her lover to her by + chains never to be broken; and to close her eyes, and glide down the + precipice of the future. + </p> + <p> + “I think you are master of this art,” said she, very languidly, to + Triplet, “you paint so rapidly.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madam,” said Triplet, gloomily; and painted on. “Confound this + shadow!” added he; and painted on. + </p> + <p> + His soul, too, was clouded. Mrs. Woffington, yawning in his face, had told + him she had invited all Mr. Vane's company to come and praise his work; + and ever since that he had been <i>morne et silencieux.</i> + </p> + <p> + “You are fortunate,” continued Mrs. Woffington, not caring what she said; + “it is so difficult to make execution keep pace with conception.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am;” and he painted on. + </p> + <p> + “You are satisfied with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Anything but, ma'am;” and he painted on. + </p> + <p> + “Cheerful soul!—then I presume it is like?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit, ma'am;” and he painted on. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington stretched. + </p> + <p> + “You can't yawn, ma'am—you can't yawn.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I can. You are such good company;” and she stretched again. + </p> + <p> + “I was just about to catch the turn of the lip,” remonstrated Triplet. + </p> + <p> + “Well, catch it—it won't run away.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll try, ma'am. A pleasant half-hour it will be for me, when they all + come here like cits at a shilling ordinary—each for his cut.” + </p> + <p> + “At a sensitive goose!” + </p> + <p> + “That is as may be, madam. Those critics flay us alive!” + </p> + <p> + “You should not hold so many doors open to censure.” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am. Head a little more that way. I suppose you <i>can't</i> sit + quiet, ma'am?—then never mind!” (This resignation was intended as a + stinging reproach.) “Mr. Cibber, with his sneering snuff-box! Mr. Quin, + with his humorous bludgeon! Mrs. Clive, with her tongue! Mr. Snarl, with + his abuse! And Mr. Soaper, with his praise!—arsenic in treacle I + call it! But there, I deserve it all! For look on this picture, and on + this!” + </p> + <p> + “Meaning, I am painted as well as my picture!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, no, no! But to turn from your face, madam—on which the + lightning of expression plays, continually—to this stony, + detestable, dead daub!—I could—And I will, too! Imposture! + dead caricature of life and beauty, take that!” and he dashed his + palette-knife through the canvas. “Libelous lie against nature and Mrs. + Woffington, take that!” and he stabbed the canvas again; then, with sudden + humility: “I beg your pardon, ma'am,” said he, “for this apparent outrage, + which I trust you will set down to the excitement attendant upon failure. + The fact is, I am an incapable ass, and no painter! Others have often + hinted as much; but I never observed it myself till now!” + </p> + <p> + “Right through my pet dimple!” said Mrs. Woffington, with perfect <i>nonchalance.</i> + “Well, now I suppose I may yawn, or do what I like?” + </p> + <p> + “You may, madam,” said Triplet, gravely. “I have forfeited what little + control I had over you, madam.” + </p> + <p> + So they sat opposite each other, in mournful silence. At length the + actress suddenly rose. She struggled fiercely against her depression, and + vowed that melancholy should not benumb her spirits and her power. + </p> + <p> + “He ought to have been here by this time,” said she to herself. “Well, I + will not mope for him. I must do something. Triplet,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Madam.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “No, madam.” + </p> + <p> + She sat gently down again, and leaned her head on her hand, and thought. + She was beautiful as she thought!—her body seemed bristling with + mind! At last, her thoughtful gravity was illumined by a smile. She had + thought out something <i>excogitaverat.</i> + </p> + <p> + “Triplet, the picture is quite ruined!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madam. And a coach-load of criticism coming!” + </p> + <p> + “Triplet, we actors and actresses have often bright ideas.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma am.” + </p> + <p> + “When we take other people's!” + </p> + <p> + “He, he!” went Triplet. “Those are our best, madam!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, I have got a bright idea.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't say so, ma'am!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be a brute, dear!” said the lady gravely. + </p> + <p> + Triplet stared! + </p> + <p> + “When I was in France, taking lessons of Dumesnil, one of the actors of + the Theatre Francais had his portrait painted by a rising artist. The + others were to come and see it. They determined, beforehand, to mortify + the painter and the sitter, by abusing the work in good set terms. But + somehow this got wind, and the patients resolved to be the physicians. + They put their heads together, and contrived that the living face should + be in the canvas, surrounded by the accessories; these, of course, were + painted. Enter the actors, who played their little prearranged farce; and, + when they had each given the picture a slap, the picture rose and laughed + in their faces, and discomfited them! By the by, the painter did not stop + there; he was not content with a short laugh, he laughed at them five + hundred years!” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious, Mrs. Woffington!” + </p> + <p> + “He painted a picture of the whole thing; and as his work is immortal, + ours an April snow-flake, he has got tremendously the better of those rash + little satirists. Well, Trip, what is sauce for the gander is sauce for + the goose; so give me the sharpest knife in the house.” + </p> + <p> + Triplet gave her a knife, and looked confused, while she cut away the face + of the picture, and by dint of scraping, cutting, and measuring, got her + face two parts through the canvas. She then made him take his brush and + paint all round her face, so that the transition might not be too abrupt. + Several yards of green baize were also produced. This was to be disposed + behind the easel, so as to conceal her. + </p> + <p> + Triplet painted here, and touched and retouched there. While thus + occupied, he said, in his calm, resigned way: “It won't do, madam. I + suppose you know that?” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing,” was the reply: “life is a guess. I don't think we could + deceive Roxalana and Lucy this way, because their eyes are without colored + spectacles; but, when people have once begun to see by prejudices and + judge by jargon what can't be done with them? Who knows? do you? I don't; + so let us try.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, madam; my brush touched your face.” + </p> + <p> + “No offense, sir; I am used to that. And I beg, if you can't tone the rest + of the picture up to me, that you will instantly tone me down to the rest. + Let us be in tune, whatever it costs, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I will avail myself of the privilege, madam, but sparingly. Failure, + which is certain, madam, will cover us with disgrace.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing is certain in this life, sir, except that you are a goose. It + succeeded in France; and England can match all Europe for fools. Besides, + it will be well done. They say Davy Garrick can turn his eyes into bottled + gooseberries. Well, Peg Woffington will turn hers into black currants. + Haven't you done? I wonder they have not come. Make haste!” + </p> + <p> + “They will know by its beauty I never did it.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a sensible remark, Trip. But I think they will rather argue + backward; that, as you did it, it cannot be beautiful, and so cannot be + me. Your reputation will be our shield.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, madam, now you mention it, they are like enough to take that + ground. They despise all I do; if they did not—” + </p> + <p> + “You would despise them.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the pair were startled by the sound of a coach. Triplet + turned as pale as ashes. Mrs. Woffington had her misgivings; but, not + choosing to increase the difficulty, she would not let Triplet, whose + self-possession she doubted, see any sign of emotion in her. + </p> + <p> + “Lock the door,” said she, firmly, “and don't be silly. Now hold up my + green baize petticoat, and let me be in a half-light. Now put that table + and those chairs before me, so that they can't come right up to me; and, + Triplet, don't let them come within six yards, if you can help it. Say it + is unfinished, and so must be seen from a focus.” + </p> + <p> + “A focus! I don't know what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “No more do I; no more will they, perhaps; and if they don't they will + swallow it directly. Unlock the door. Are they coming?” + </p> + <p> + “They are only at the first stair.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Triplet, your face is a book, where one may read strange matters. For + Heaven's sake, compose yourself. Let all the risk lie in one countenance. + Look at me, sir. Make your face like the Book of Daniel in a Jew's back + parlor. Volto Sciolto is your cue.” + </p> + <p> + “Madam, madam, how your tongue goes! I hear them on the stairs. Pray don't + speak!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what we are going to do?” continued the tormenting Peggy. “We + are going to weigh goose's feathers! to criticise criticism, Trip—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! hush!” + </p> + <p> + A grampus was heard outside the door, and Triplet opened it. There was + Quin leading the band. + </p> + <p> + “Have a care, sir,” cried Triplet; “there is a hiatus the third step from + the door.” + </p> + <p> + “A <i>gradus ad Parnassum</i> a wanting,” said Mr. Cibber. + </p> + <p> + Triplet's heart sank. The hole had been there six months, and he had found + nothing witty to say about it, and at first sight Mr. Cibber had done its + business. And on such men he and his portrait were to attempt a + preposterous delusion. Then there was Snarl, who wrote critiques on + painting, and guided the national taste. The unlucky exhibitor was in a + cold sweat. He led the way, like a thief going to the gallows. + </p> + <p> + “The picture being unfinished, gentlemen,” said he, “must, if you would do + me justice, be seen from a—a focus; must be judged from here, I + mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Where, sir?” said Mr. Cibber. + </p> + <p> + “About here, sir, if you please,” said poor Triplet faintly. + </p> + <p> + “It looks like a finished picture from here,” said Mrs. Clive. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madam,” groaned Triplet. + </p> + <p> + They all took up a position, and Triplet timidly raised his eyes along + with the rest. He was a little surprised. The actress had flattened her + face! She had done all that could be done, and more than he had conceived + possible, in the way of extracting life and the atmosphere of expression + from her countenance. She was “dead still!” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. Triplet fluttered. At last some of them spoke as + follows: + </p> + <p> + <i>Soaper.</i> “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Quin.</i> “Ho!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Clive.</i> “Eh!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Cibber.</i> “Humph!” + </p> + <p> + These interjections are small on paper, but as the good creatures uttered + them they were eloquent; there was a cheerful variety of dispraise + skillfully thrown into each of them. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” continued Soaper, with his everlasting smile. + </p> + <p> + Then the fun began. + </p> + <p> + “May I be permitted to ask whose portrait this is?” said Mr. Cibber slyly. + </p> + <p> + “I distinctly told you, it was to be Peg Woffington's,” said Mrs. Clive. + “I think you might take my word.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you act as truly as you paint?” said Quin. + </p> + <p> + “Your fame runs no risk from me, sir!” replied Triplet. + </p> + <p> + “It is not like Peggy's beauty! Eh?” rejoined Quin. + </p> + <p> + “I can't agree with you,” cried Kitty Clive. “I think it a very pretty + face; and not at all like Peg Woffington's.” + </p> + <p> + “Compare paint with paint,” said Quin. “Are you sure you ever saw down to + Peggy's real face?” + </p> + <p> + Triplet had seen with alarm that Mr. Snarl spoke not; many satirical + expressions crossed his face, but he said nothing. Triplet gathered from + this that he had at once detected the trick. “Ah!” thought Triplet, “he + means to quiz them, as well as expose me. He is hanging back; and, in + point of fact, a mighty satirist like Snarl would naturally choose to quiz + six people rather than two.” + </p> + <p> + “Now I call it beautiful!” said the traitor Soaper. “So calm and + reposeful; no particular expression.” + </p> + <p> + “None whatever,” said Snarl. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said Triplet, “does it never occur to you that the fine arts + are tender violets, and cannot blow when the north winds—” + </p> + <p> + “Blow!” inserted Quin. + </p> + <p> + “Are so cursed cutting?” continued Triplet. + </p> + <p> + “My good sir, I am never cutting!” smirked Soaper. “My dear Snarl,” whined + he, “give us the benefit of your practiced judgment. Do justice to this + ad-mirable work of art,” drawled the traitor. + </p> + <p> + “I will!” said Mr. Snarl; and placed himself before the picture. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth will he say?” thought Triplet. “I can see by his face he + has found us out.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Snarl delivered a short critique. Mr. Snarl's intelligence was not + confined to his phrases; all critics use intelligent phrases and + philosophical truths. But this gentleman's manner was very intelligent; it + was pleasant, quiet, assured, and very convincing. Had the reader or I + been there, he would have carried us with him, as he did his hearers; and + as his successors carry the public with them now. + </p> + <p> + “Your brush is by no means destitute of talent, Mr. Triplet,” said Mr. + Snarl. “But you are somewhat deficient, at present, in the great + principles of your art; the first of which is a loyal adherence to truth. + Beauty itself is but one of the forms of truth, and nature is our finite + exponent of infinite truth.” + </p> + <p> + His auditors gave him a marked attention. They could not but acknowledge + that men who go to the bottom of things like this should be the best + instructors. + </p> + <p> + “Now, in nature, a woman's face at this distance—ay, even at this + short distance—melts into the air. There is none of that sharpness; + but, on the contrary, a softness of outline.” He made a lorgnette of his + two hands; the others did so too, and found they saw much better—oh, + ever so much better! “Whereas yours,” resumed Snarl, “is hard; and, + forgive me, rather tea-board like. Then your <i>chiaro scuro,</i> my good + sir, is very defective; for instance, in nature, the nose, intercepting + the light on one side the face, throws, of necessity, a shadow under the + eye. Caravaggio, Venetians generally, and the Bolognese masters, do + particular justice to this. No such shade appears in this portrait.” + </p> + <p> + “'Tis so, stop my vitals!” observed Colley Cibber. And they all looked, + and, having looked, wagged their heads in assent—as the fat, white + lords at Christie's waggle fifty pounds more out for a copy of Rembrandt, + a brown levitical Dutchman, visible in the pitch-dark by some sleight of + sun Newton had not wit to discover. + </p> + <p> + Soaper dissented from the mass. + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear Snarl, if there are no shades, there are lights, loads of + lights.” + </p> + <p> + “There are,” replied Snarl; “only they are impossible, that is all. You + have, however,” concluded he, with a manner slightly supercilious, + “succeeded in the mechanical parts; the hair and the dress are well, Mr. + Triplet; but your Woffington is not a woman, not nature.” + </p> + <p> + They all nodded and waggled assent; but this sagacious motion was arrested + as by an earthquake. + </p> + <p> + The picture rang out, in the voice of a clarion, an answer that outlived + the speaker: “She's a woman! for she has taken four men in! She's nature! + for a fluent dunce doesn't know her when he sees her!” + </p> + <p> + Imagine the tableau! It was charming! Such opening of eyes and mouths! + Cibber fell by second nature into an attitude of the old comedy. And all + were rooted where they stood, with surprise and incipient mortification, + except Quin, who slapped his knee, and took the trick at its value. + </p> + <p> + Peg Woffington slipped out of the green baize, and, coming round from the + back of the late picture, stood in person before them; while they looked + alternately at her and at the hole in the canvas. She then came at each of + them in turn, <i>more dramatico.</i> + </p> + <p> + “A pretty face, and not like Woffington. I owe you two, Kate Clive.” + </p> + <p> + “Who ever saw Peggy's real face? Look at it now if you can without + blushing, Mr. Quin.” + </p> + <p> + Quin, a good-humored fellow, took the wisest view of his predicament, and + burst into a hearty laugh. + </p> + <p> + “For all this,” said Mr. Snarl, peevishly, “I maintain, upon the + unalterable principles of art—” At this they all burst into a roar, + not sorry to shift the ridicule. “Goths!” cried Snarl, fiercely. + “Good-morning, ladies and gentlemen,” cried Mr. Snarl, <i>avec intention,</i> + “I have a criticism to write of last night's performance.” The laugh died + away to a quaver. “I shall sit on your pictures one day, Mr. Brush.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't sit on them with your head downward, or you'll addle them,” said + Mr. Brush, fiercely. This was the first time Triplet had ever answered a + foe. Mrs. Woffington gave him an eloquent glance of encouragement. He + nodded his head in infantine exultation at what he had done. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Soaper,” said Mr. Snarl. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Soaper lingered one moment to say: “You shall always have my good + word, Mr. Triplet.” + </p> + <p> + “I will try—and not deserve it, Mr. Soaper,” was the prompt reply. + </p> + <p> + “Serve 'em right,” said Mr. Cibber, as soon as the door had closed upon + them; “for a couple of serpents, or rather one boa-constrictor. Soaper + slavers, for Snarl to crush. But we were all a little too hard on Triplet + here; and, if he will accept my apology—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, sir,” said Triplet, half trembling, but driven on by looks from Mrs. + Woffington, “'Cibber's Apology' is found to be a trifle wearisome.” + </p> + <p> + “Confound his impertinence!” cried the astounded laureate. “Come along, + Jemmy.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sir,” said Quin, good-humoredly, “we must give a joke and take a + joke. And when he paints my portrait—which he shall do—” + </p> + <p> + “The bear from Hockley Hole shall sit for the head!” + </p> + <p> + “Curse his impudence!” roared Quin. “I'm at your service, Mr. Cibber,” + added he, in huge dudgeon. + </p> + <p> + Away went the two old boys. + </p> + <p> + “Mighty well!” said waspish Mrs. Clive. “I did intend you should have + painted Mrs. Clive. But after this impertinence—” + </p> + <p> + “You will continue to do it yourself, ma'am!” + </p> + <p> + This was Triplet's hour of triumph. His exultation was undignified, and + such as is said to precede a fall. He inquired gravely of Mrs. Woffington, + whether he had or had not shown a spirit. Whether he had or had not fired + into each a parting shot, as they sheered off. To repair which, it might + be advisable for them to put into friendly ports. + </p> + <p> + “Tremendous!” was the reply. “And when Snarl and Soaper sit on your next + play, they won't forget the lesson you have given them.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be sworn they won't!” chuckled Triplet. But, reconsidering her + words, he looked blank, and muttered: “Then perhaps it would have been + more prudent to let them alone!” + </p> + <p> + “Incalculably more prudent!” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you set me on, madam?” said Triplet, reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + “Because I wanted amusement, and my head ached,” was the cool answer, + somewhat languidly given. + </p> + <p> + “I defy the coxcombs!” cried Triplet, with reviving spirit. “But real + criticism I respect, honor, and bow to. Such as yours, madam; or such as + that sweet lady's at Mr. Vane's would have been; or, in fact, anybody's + who appreciates me. Oh, madam, I wanted to ask you, was it not strange + your not being at Mr. Vane's, after all, to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “I was at Mr. Vane's, Triplet.” + </p> + <p> + “You were? Why, I came with my verses, and she said you were not there! I + will go fetch the verses.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! Who said I was not there?” + </p> + <p> + “Did I not tell you? The charming young lady who helped me with her own + hand to everything on the table. What wine that gentleman possesses!” + </p> + <p> + “Was it a young lady, Triplet?” + </p> + <p> + “Not more than two-and-twenty, I should say. + </p> + <p> + “In a traveling-dress?” + </p> + <p> + “I could not see her dress, madam, for her beauty—brown hair, blue + eyes, charming in conversation—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! What did she tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “She told me, madam—Ahem!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what did you tell her? And what did she answer?” + </p> + <p> + “I told her that I came with verses for you, ordered by Mr. Vane. That he + admired you. I descanted, madam, on your virtues, which had made him your + slave.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said Mrs. Woffington, encouraging him with a deceitful smile. + “Tell me all you told her.” + </p> + <p> + “That you were sitting to me for your portrait, the destination of which + was not doubtful. That I lived at 10, Hercules Buildings.” + </p> + <p> + “You told that lady all this?” + </p> + <p> + “I give my honor. She was so kind, I opened my heart to her. But tell me + now, madam,” said Triplet, joyously dancing round the Woffington volcano, + “do you know this charming lady?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I congratulate you, madam. An acquaintance worthy even of you; and there + are not many such. Who is she, madam?” continued Triplet, lively with + curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Vane,” was the quiet, grim answer. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Vane? His mother? No—am I mad? His sister! Oh, I see, his—” + </p> + <p> + “His wife!” + </p> + <p> + “His wife! Why, then, Mr. Vane's married?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, look there!—Oh, look here now! Well, but, good Heavens! she + wasn't to know you were there, perhaps?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “But then I let the cat out of the bag?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But, good gracious! there will be some serious mischief!” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt of it.” + </p> + <p> + “And it is all my fault?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I've played the deuce with their married happiness?” + </p> + <p> + “Probably.” + </p> + <p> + “And ten to one if you are not incensed against me too?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington replied by looking him in the face, and turning her back + upon him. She walked hastily to the window, threw it open, and looked out + of it, leaving poor Triplet to very unpleasant reflections. She was so + angry with him she dared not trust herself to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Just my luck,” thought he. “I had a patron and a benefactress; I have + betrayed them both.” Suddenly an idea struck him. “Madam,” said he, + timorously, “see what these fine gentlemen are! What business had he, with + a wife at home, to come and fall in love with you? I do it forever in my + plays—I am obliged—they would be so dull else; but in <i>real</i> + life to do it is abominable.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget, sir,” replied Mrs. Woffington, without moving, “that I am an + actress—a plaything for the impertinence of puppies and the + treachery of hypocrites. Fool! to think there was an honest man in the + world, and that he had shone on me!” + </p> + <p> + With these words she turned, and Triplet was shocked to see the change in + her face. She was pale, and her black, lowering brows were gloomy and + terrible. She walked like a tigress to and fro, and Triplet dared not + speak to her. Indeed she seemed but half conscious of his presence. He + went for nobody with her. How little we know the people we eat and go to + church and flirt with! Triplet had imagined this creature an incarnation + of gayety, a sportive being, the daughter of smiles, the bride of mirth; + needed but a look at her now to see that her heart was a volcano, her + bosom a boiling gulf of fiery lava. She walked like some wild creature; + she flung her hands up to heaven with a passionate despair, before which + the feeble spirit of her companion shrank and cowered; and, with quivering + lips and blazing eyes, she burst into a torrent of passionate bitterness. + </p> + <p> + “But who is Margaret Woffington,” she cried, “that she should pretend to + honest love, or feel insulted by the proffer of a stolen regard? And what + have we to do with homes, or hearts, or firesides? Have we not the + playhouse, its paste diamonds, its paste feelings, and the loud applause + of fops and sots—hearts?—beneath loads of tinsel and paint? + Nonsense! The love that can go with souls to heaven—such love for + us? Nonsense! These men applaud us, cajole us, swear to us, flatter us; + and yet, forsooth, we would have them respect us too.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear benefactress,” said Triplet, “they are not worthy of you.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought this man was not all dross; from the first I never felt his + passion an insult. Oh, Triplet! I could have loved this man—really + loved him! and I longed so to be good. Oh, God! oh, God!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank Heaven, you don't love him!” cried Triplet, hastily. “Thank Heaven + for that!” + </p> + <p> + “Love him? Love a man who comes to me with a silly second-hand affection + from his insipid baby-face, and offers me half, or two-thirds, or a third + of his worthless heart? I hate him! and her! and all the world!” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I call a very proper feeling,” said poor Triplet, with a + weak attempt to soothe her. “Then break with him at once, and all will be + well.” + </p> + <p> + “Break with him? Are you mad? No! Since he plays with the tools of my + trade I shall fool him worse than he has me. I will feed his passion full, + tempt him, torture him, play with him, as the angler plays a fish upon his + hook. And, when his very life depends on me, then by degrees he shall see + me cool, and cool, and freeze into bitter aversion. Then he shall rue the + hour he fought with the Devil against my soul, and played false with a + brain and heart like mine!” + </p> + <p> + “But his poor wife? You will have pity on her?” + </p> + <p> + “His wife! Are wives' hearts the only hearts that throb, and burn, and + break? His wife must defend herself. It is not from me that mercy can come + to her, nor from her to me. I loathe her, and I shall not forget that you + took her part. Only, if you are her friend, take my advice, don't you + assist her. I shall defeat her without that. Let her fight <i>her</i> + battle, and <i>I</i> mine. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, madam! she cannot fight; she is a dove.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a fool! What do you know about women? You were with her five + minutes, and she turned you inside out. My life on it, while I have been + fooling my time here, she is in the field, with all the arts of our sex, + simplicity at the head of them.” + </p> + <p> + Triplet was making a futile endeavor to convert her to his view of her + rival, when a knock suddenly came to his door. A slovenly girl, one of his + own neighbors, brought him a bit of paper, with a line written in pencil. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis from a lady, who waits below,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington went again to the window, and there she saw getting out of + a coach, and attended by James Burdock, Mabel Vane, who had sent up her + name on the back of an old letter. + </p> + <p> + “What shall I do?” said Triplet, as soon as he recovered the first + stunning effects of this <i>contretemps.</i> To his astonishment, Mrs. + Woffington bade the girl show the lady upstairs. The girl went down on + this errand. + </p> + <p> + “But <i>you</i> are here,” remonstrated Triplet. “Oh, to be sure, you can + go into the other room. There is plenty of time to avoid her,” said + Triplet, in a very natural tremor. “This way, madam!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington stood in the middle of the room like a statue. + </p> + <p> + “What does she come here for?” said she, sternly. “You have not told me + all.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” cried poor Triplet, in dismay; “and I think the Devil + brings her here to confound me. For Heaven's sake, retire! What will + become of us all? There will be murder, I know there will!” + </p> + <p> + To his horror, Mrs. Woffington would not move. “You are on her side,” said + she slowly, with a concentration of spite and suspicion. She looked + frightful at this moment. “All the better for me,” added she, with a world + of female malignity. + </p> + <p> + Triplet could not make head against this blow; he gasped, and pointed + piteously to the inner door. “No; I will know two things: the course she + means to take, and the terms you two are upon.” + </p> + <p> + By this time Mrs. Vane's light foot was heard on the stair, and Triplet + sank into a chair. “They will tear one another to pieces,” said he. + </p> + <p> + A tap came to the door. + </p> + <p> + He looked fearfully round for the woman whom jealousy had so speedily + turned from an angel to a fiend; and saw with dismay that she had actually + had the hardihood to slip round and enter the picture again. She had not + quite arranged herself when her rival knocked. + </p> + <p> + Triplet dragged himself to the door. Before he opened it, he looked + fearfully over his shoulder, and received a glance of cool, bitter, deadly + hostility, that boded ill both for him and his visitor. Triplet's + apprehensions were not unreasonable. His benefactress and this sweet lady + were rivals! + </p> + <p> + Jealousy is a dreadful passion, it makes us tigers. The jealous always + thirst for blood. At any moment when reason is a little weaker than usual, + they are ready to kill the thing they hate, or the thing they love. + </p> + <p> + Any open collision between these ladies would scatter ill consequences all + round. Under such circumstances, we are pretty sure to say or do something + wicked, silly, or unreasonable. But what tortured Triplet more than + anything was his own particular notion that fate doomed him to witness a + formal encounter between these two women, and of course an encounter of + such a nature as we in our day illustrate by “Kilkenny cats.” + </p> + <p> + To be sure Mrs. Vane had appeared a dove, but doves can peck on certain + occasions, and no doubt she had a spirit at bottom. Her coming to him + proved it. And had not the other been a dove all the morning and + afternoon? Yet, jealousy had turned her to a fiend before his eyes. Then + if (which was not probable) no collision took place, what a situation was + his! Mrs. Woffington (his buckler from starvation) suspected him, and + would distort every word that came from Mrs. Vane's lips. + </p> + <p> + Triplet's situation was, in fact, that of AEneas in the storm. + </p> + <p> + “Olim et haec meminisse juvabit—” “But, while present, such things + don't please any one a bit.” + </p> + <p> + It was the sort of situation we can laugh at, and see the fun of it six + months after, if not shipwrecked on it at the time. + </p> + <p> + With a ghastly smile the poor quaking hypocrite welcomed Mrs. Vane, and + professed a world of innocent delight that she had so honored his humble + roof. + </p> + <p> + She interrupted his compliments, and begged him to see whether she was + followed by a gentleman in a cloak. + </p> + <p> + Triplet looked out of the window. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Charles Pomander!” gasped he. + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles was at the very door. If, however, he had intended to mount + the stairs he changed his mind, for he suddenly went off round the corner + with a businesslike air, real or fictitious. + </p> + <p> + “He is gone, madam,” said Triplet. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vane, the better to escape detection or observation, wore a thick + mantle and a hood that concealed her features. Of these Triplet + debarrassed her. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, madam;” and he hastily drew a chair so that her back was to the + picture. + </p> + <p> + She was pale, and trembled a little. She hid her face in her hands a + moment, then, recovering her courage, “she begged Mr. Triplet to pardon + her for coming to him. He had inspired her with confidence,” she said; “he + had offered her his services, and so she had come to him, for she had no + other friend to aid her in her sore distress.” She might have added, that + with the tact of her sex she had read Triplet to the bottom, and came to + him, as she would to a benevolent, muscular old woman. + </p> + <p> + Triplet's natural impulse was to repeat most warmly his offers of service. + He did so; and then, conscious of the picture, had a misgiving. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Mr. Triplet,” began Mrs. Vane, “you know this person, Mrs. + Woffington?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madam,” replied Triplet, lowering his eyes, “I am honored by her + acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + “You will take me to the theater where she acts?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madam; to the boxes, I presume?” + </p> + <p> + “No! oh, no! How could I bear that? To the place where the actors and + actresses are.” + </p> + <p> + Triplet demurred. This would be courting that very collision, the dread of + which even now oppressed him. + </p> + <p> + At the first faint sign of resistance she began to supplicate him, as if + he was some great, stern tyrant. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you must not, you cannot refuse me. You do not know what I risk to + obtain this. I have risen from my bed to come to you. I have a fire here!” + She pressed her hand to her brow. “Oh, take me to her!” + </p> + <p> + “Madam, I will do anything for you. But be advised; trust to my knowledge + of human nature. What you require is madness. Gracious Heavens! you two + are rivals, and when rivals meet there's murder or deadly mischief.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! if you knew my sorrow, you would not thwart me. Oh, Mr. Triplet! + little did I think you were as cruel as the rest.” So then this cruel + monster whimpered out that he should do any folly she insisted upon. + “Good, kind Mr. Triplet!” said Mrs. Vane. “Let me look in your face? Yes, + I see you are honest and true. I will tell you all.” Then she poured in + his ear her simple tale, unadorned and touching as Judah's speech to + Joseph. She told him how she loved her husband; how he had loved her; how + happy they were for the first six months; how her heart sank when he left + her; how he had promised she should join him, and on that hope she lived. + “But for two months he had ceased to speak of this, and I grew heart-sick + waiting for the summons that never came. At last I felt I should die if I + did not see him; so I plucked up courage and wrote that I must come to + him. He did not forbid me, so I left our country home. Oh, sir! I cannot + make you know how my heart burned to be by his side. I counted the hours + of the journey; I counted the miles. At last I reached his house; I found + a gay company there. I was a little sorry, but I said: 'His friends shall + be welcome, right welcome. He has asked them to welcome his wife.'” + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing!” muttered Triplet. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Triplet! they were there to do honor to ——, and the + wife was neither expected nor desired. There lay my letters with their + seals unbroken. I know all <i>his</i> letters by heart, Mr. Triplet. The + seals unbroken—unbroken! Mr. Triplet.” + </p> + <p> + “It is abominable!” cried Triplet fiercely. “And she who sat in my seat—in + his house, and in his heart—was this lady, the actress you so + praised to me?” + </p> + <p> + “That lady, ma'am,” said Triplet, “has been deceived as well as you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am convinced of it,” said Mabel. + </p> + <p> + “And it is my painful duty to tell you, madam, that, with all her talents + and sweetness, she has a fiery temper; yes, a very fiery temper,” + continued Triplet, stoutly, though with an uneasy glance in a certain + direction; “and I have reason to believe she is angry, and thinks more of + her own ill-usage than yours. Don't you go near her. Trust to my knowledge + of the sex, madam; I am a dramatic writer. Did you ever read the 'Rival + Queens'?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought not. Well, madam, one stabs the other, and the one that is + stabbed says things to the other that are more biting than steel. The + prudent course for you is to keep apart, and be always cheerful, and + welcome him with a smile—and—have you read 'The Way to keep + him'?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mr. Triplet,” said Mabel, firmly, “I cannot feign. Were I to attempt + talent and deceit, I should be weaker than I am now. Honesty and right are + all my strength. I will cry to her for justice and mercy. And if I cry in + vain, I shall die, Mr. Triplet, that is all.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't cry, dear lady,” said Triplet, in a broken voice. + </p> + <p> + “It is impossible!” cried she, suddenly. “I am not learned, but I can read + faces. I always could, and so could my Aunt Deborah before me. I read you + right, Mr. Triplet, and I have read her too. Did not my heart warm to her + among them all? There is a heart at the bottom of all her acting, and that + heart is good and noble.” + </p> + <p> + “She is, madam! she is! and charitable too. I know a family she saved from + starvation and despair. Oh, yes! she has a heart—to feel for the <i>poor,</i> + at all events.” + </p> + <p> + “And am I not the poorest of the poor?” cried Mrs. Vane. “I have no father + nor mother, Mr. Triplet; my husband is all I have in the world—all I + <i>had,</i> I mean.” + </p> + <p> + Triplet, deeply affected himself, stole a look at Mrs. Woffington. She was + pale; but her face was composed into a sort of dogged obstinacy. He was + disgusted with her. “Madam,” said he, sternly, “there is a wild beast more + cruel and savage than wolves and bears; it is called 'a rival,' and don't + you get in its way.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment, in spite of Triplet's precaution, Mrs. Vane, casting her + eye accidentally round, caught sight of the picture, and instantly started + up, crying, “She is there!” Triplet was thunderstruck. “What likeness!” + cried she, and moved toward the supposed picture. + </p> + <p> + “Don't go to it!” cried Triplet, aghast; “the color is wet.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped; but her eye and her very soul dwelt upon the supposed + picture; and Triplet stood quaking. “How like! It seems to breathe. You + are a great painter, sir. A glass is not truer.” + </p> + <p> + Triplet, hardly knowing what he said, muttered something about “critics + and lights and shades.” + </p> + <p> + “Then they are blind!” cried Mabel, never for a moment removing her eye + from the object. “Tell me not of lights and shades. The pictures I see + have a look of paint; but yours looks like life. Oh, that she were here, + as this <i>wonderful</i> image of hers is. I would speak to her. I am not + wise or learned; but orators never pleaded as I would plead to her for my + Ernest's heart.” Still her eye glanced upon the picture; and I suppose her + heart realized an actual presence, though her judgment did not; for by + some irresistible impulse she sank slowly down and stretched her clasped + hands toward it, while sobs and words seemed to break direct from her + bursting heart. “Oh, yes! you are beautiful, you are gifted, and the eyes + of thousands wait upon your very word and look. What wonder that he, + ardent, refined, and genial, should lay his heart at your feet? And I have + nothing but my love to make him love me. I cannot take him from you. Oh, + be generous to the weak! Oh, give him back to me! What is one heart more + to you? You are so rich, and I am so poor, that without his love I have + nothing, and can do nothing but sit me down and cry till my heart breaks. + Give him back to me, beautiful, terrible woman! for, with all your gifts, + you cannot love him as his poor Mabel does; and I will love you longer + perhaps than men can love. I will kiss your feet, and Heaven above will + bless you; and I will bless you and pray for you to my dying day. Ah! it + is alive! I am frightened! I am frightened!” She ran to Triplet and seized + his arm. “No!” cried she, quivering close to him; “I'm not frightened, for + it was for me she—Oh, Mrs. Woffington!” and, hiding her face on Mr. + Triplet's shoulder, she blushed, and wept, and trembled. + </p> + <p> + What was it had betrayed Mrs. Woffington? <i>A tear!</i> + </p> + <p> + During the whole of this interview (which had taken a turn so unlooked for + by the listener) she might have said with Beatrice, “What fire is in mine + ears?” and what self-reproach and chill misgiving in her heart too. She + had passed through a hundred emotions, as the young innocent wife told her + sad and simple story. But, anxious now above all things to escape without + being recognized—for she had long repented having listened at all, + or placed herself in her present position—she fiercely mastered her + countenance; but, though she ruled her features, she could not rule her + heart. And when the young wife, instead of inveighing against her, came to + her as a supplicant, with faith in her goodness, and sobbed to her for + pity, a big tear rolled down her cheek, and proved her something more than + a picture or an actress. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vane, as we have related, screamed and ran to Triplet. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington came instantly from her frame, and stood before them in a + despairing attitude, with one hand upon her brow. For a single moment her + impulse was to fly from the apartment, so ashamed was she of having + listened, and of meeting her rival in this way; but she conquered this + feeling, and, as soon as she saw Mrs. Vane too had recovered some + composure, she said to Triplet, in a low but firm voice: + </p> + <p> + “Leave us, sir. No living creature must hear what I say to this lady!” + </p> + <p> + Triplet remonstrated, but Mrs. Vane said, faintly: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, good Mr. Triplet, I would rather you left me.” + </p> + <p> + Triplet, full of misgivings, was obliged to retire. + </p> + <p> + “Be composed, ladies,” said he piteously. “Neither of you could help it;” + and so he entered his inner room, where he sat and listened nervously, for + he could not shake off all apprehension of a personal encounter. + </p> + <p> + In the room he had left there was a long, uneasy silence. Both ladies were + greatly embarrassed. It was the actress who spoke first. All trace of + emotion, except a certain pallor, was driven from her face. She spoke with + very marked courtesy, but in tones that seemed to freeze as they dropped + one by one from her mouth. + </p> + <p> + “I trust, madam, you will do me the justice to believe I did not know Mr. + Vane was married?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it!” said Mabel, warmly. “I feel you are as good as you are + gifted.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Vane, I am not!” said the other, almost sternly. “You are deceived!” + </p> + <p> + “Then Heaven have mercy on me! No! I am not deceived, you pitied me. You + speak coldly now; but I know your face and your heart—you pity me!” + </p> + <p> + “I do respect, admire, and pity you,” said Mrs. Woffington, sadly; “and I + could consent nevermore to communicate with your—with Mr. Vane.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Mabel; “Heaven will bless you! But will you give me back his + heart?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I do that?” said Mrs. Woffington, uneasily; she had not bargained + for this. + </p> + <p> + “The magnet can repel as well as attract. Can you not break your own + spell? What will his presence be to me, if his heart remain behind?” + </p> + <p> + “You ask much of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! I do.” + </p> + <p> + “But I could do even this.” She paused for breath. “And perhaps if you, + who have not only touched my heart, but won my respect, were to say to me, + 'Do so,' I should do it.” Again she paused, and spoke with difficulty; for + the bitter struggle took away her breath. “Mr. Vane thinks better of me + than I deserve. I have—only—to make him believe me—worthless—worse + than I am—and he will drop me like an adder—and love you + better, far better—for having known—admired—and despised + Margaret Woffington.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Mabel, “I shall bless you every hour of my life.” Her + countenance brightened into rapture at the picture, and Mrs. Woffington's + darkened with bitterness as she watched her. + </p> + <p> + But Mabel reflected. “Rob you of your good name?” said this pure creature. + “Ah, Mabel Vane! you think but of yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, madam,” said Mrs. Woffington, a little touched by this + unexpected trait; “but some one must suffer here, and—” + </p> + <p> + Mabel Vane interrupted her. “This would be cruel and base,” said she + firmly. “No woman's forehead shall be soiled by me. Oh, madam! beauty is + admired, talent is adored; but virtue is a woman's crown. With it, the + poor are rich; without it, the rich are poor. It walks through life + upright, and never hides its head for high or low.” + </p> + <p> + Her face was as the face of an angel now; and the actress, conquered by + her beauty and her goodness, actually bowed her head and gently kissed the + hand of the country wife whom she had quizzed a few hours ago. + </p> + <p> + Frailty paid this homage to virtue! + </p> + <p> + Mabel Vane hardly noticed it; her eye was lifted to heaven, and her heart + was gone there for help in a sore struggle. + </p> + <p> + “This would be to assassinate you; no less. And so, madam,” she sighed, + “with God's help, I do refuse your offer; choosing rather, if needs be, to + live desolate, but innocent—many a better than I hath lived so—ay! + if God wills it, to die, with my hopes and my heart crushed, but my hands + unstained; for so my humble life has passed.” + </p> + <p> + How beautiful, great, and pure goodness is! It paints heaven on the face + that has it; it wakens the sleeping souls that meet it. + </p> + <p> + At the bottom of Margaret Woffington's heart lay a soul, unknown to the + world, scarce known to herself—a heavenly harp, on which ill airs of + passion had been played—but still it was there, in tune with all + that is true, pure, really great and good. And now the flush that a great + heart sends to the brow, to herald great actions, came to her cheek and + brow. + </p> + <p> + “Humble!” she cried. “Such as you are the diamonds of our race. You angel + of truth and goodness, you have conquered!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! yes! Thank God, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “What a fiend I must be could I injure you! The poor heart we have both + overrated shall be yours again, and yours for ever. In my hands it is + painted glass; in the luster of a love like yours it may become a + priceless jewel.” She turned her head away and pondered a moment, then + suddenly offered to Mrs. Vane her hand with nobleness and majesty; “Can + you trust me?” The actress too was divinely beautiful now, for her good + angel shone through her. + </p> + <p> + “I could trust you with my life!” was the reply. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Ah! if I might call you friend, dear lady, what would I not +do—suffer—resign—to be worthy that title!” + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“No, not friend!” cried the warm, innocent Mabel; “sister! I will call +you sister. I have no sister.” + + “Sister!” said Mrs. Woffington. “Oh, do not mock me! Alas! you do not +know what you say. That sacred name to me, from lips so pure as yours. +Mrs. Vane,” said she, timidly, “would you think me presumptuous if I +begged you to—to let me kiss you?” + + The words were scarce spoken before Mrs. Vane's arms were wreathed round +her neck, and that innocent cheek laid sweetly to hers. +</pre> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington strained her to her bosom, and two great hearts, whose + grandeur the world, worshiper of charlatans, never discovered, had found + each other out and beat against each other. A great heart is as quick to + find another out as the world is slow. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woffington burst into a passion of tears and clasped Mabel tighter + and tighter in a half-despairing way. Mabel mistook the cause, but she + kissed her tears away. + </p> + <p> + “Dear sister,” said she, “be comforted. I love you. My heart warmed to you + the first moment I saw you. A woman's love and gratitude are something. + Ah! you will never find me change. This is for life, look you.” + </p> + <p> + “God grant it!” cried the other poor woman. “Oh, it is not that, it is not + that; it is because I am so little worthy of this. It is a sin to deceive + you. I am not good like you. You do not know me!” + </p> + <p> + “You do not know yourself if you say so!” cried Mabel; and to her hearer + the words seemed to come from heaven. “I read faces,” said Mabel. “I read + yours at sight, and you are what I set you down; and nobody must breathe a + word against you, not even yourself. Do you think I am blind? You are + beautiful, you are good, you are my sister, and I love you!” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forgive me!” thought the other. “How can I resign this angel's + good opinion? Surely Heaven sends this blessed dew to my parched heart!” + And now she burned to make good her promise and earn this virtuous wife's + love. She folded her once more in her arms, and then, taking her by the + hand, led her tenderly into Triplet's inner room. She made her lie down on + the bed, and placed pillows high for her like a mother, and leaned over + her as she lay, and pressed her lips gently to her forehead. Her fertile + brain had already digested a plan, but she had resolved that this pure and + candid soul should take no lessons of deceit. “Lie there,” said she, “till + I open the door: then join us. Do you know what I am going to do? I am not + going to restore you your husband's heart, but to show you it never really + left you. You read faces; well, I read circumstances. Matters are not as + you thought,” said she, with all a woman's tact. “I cannot explain, but + you will see.” She then gave Mrs. Triplet peremptory orders not to let her + charge rise from the bed until the preconcerted signal. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vane was, in fact, so exhausted by all she had gone through that she + was in no condition to resist. She cast a look of childlike confidence + upon her rival, and then closed her eyes, and tried not to tremble all + over and listen like a frightened hare. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + It is one great characteristic of genius to do great things with little + things. Paxton could see that so small a matter as a greenhouse could be + dilated into a crystal palace, and with two common materials—glass + and iron—he raised the palace of the genii; the brightest idea and + the noblest ornament added to Europe in this century—the koh-i-noor + of the west. Livy's definition of Archimedes goes on the same ground. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Peg Woffington was a genius in her way. On entering Triplet's studio her + eye fell upon three trifles—Mrs. Vane's hood and mantle, the back of + an old letter, and Mr. Triplet. (It will be seen how she worked these + slight materials.) On the letter was written in pencil simply these two + words, “Mabel Vane.” Mrs. Woffington wrote above these words two more, + “Alone and unprotected.” She put this into Mr. Triplet's hand, and bade + him take it down stairs and give it Sir Charles Pomander, whose retreat, + she knew, must have been fictitious. “You will find him round the corner,” + said she, “or in some shop that looks this way.” While uttering these + words she had put on Mrs. Vane's hood and mantle. + </p> + <p> + No answer was returned, and no Triplet went out of the door. + </p> + <p> + She turned, and there he was kneeling on both knees close under her. + </p> + <p> + “Bid me jump out of that window, madam; bid me kill those two gentlemen, + and I will not rebel. You are a great lady, a talented lady; you have been + insulted, and no doubt blood will flow. It ought—it is your due; but + that innocent lady, do not compromise her!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Triplet, you need not kneel to me. I do not wish to force you to + render me a service. I have no right to dictate to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear!” cried Triplet, “don't talk in that way. I owe you my life, but + I think of your own peace of mind, for you are not one to be happy if you + injure the innocent!” He rose suddenly, and cried: “Madam, promise me not + to stir till I come back!” + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “To bring the husband to his wife's feet, and so save one angel from + despair, and another angel from a great crime.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose you are wiser than I,” said she. “But, if you are in + earnest, you had better be quick, for somehow I am rather changeable about + these people.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't help that, madam, it is your sex; you are an angel. May I be + permitted to kiss your hand? you are all goodness and gentleness at + bottom. I fly to Mr. Vane, and we will be back before you have time to + repent, and give the Devil the upper hand again, my dear, good, sweet + lady!” + </p> + <p> + Away flew Triplet, all unconscious that he was not Mrs. Woffington's + opponent, but puppet. He ran, he tore, animated by a good action, and + spurred by the notion that he was in direct competition with the fiend for + the possession of his benefactress. He had no sooner turned the corner + than Mrs. Woffington, looking out of the window, observed Sir Charles + Pomander on the watch, as she had expected. She remained at the window + with Mrs. Vane's hood on, until Sir Charles's eye in its wanderings + lighted on her, and then, dropping Mrs. Vane's letter from the window, she + hastily withdrew. + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles eagerly picked it up. His eye brightened when he read the + short contents. With a self-satisfied smile he mounted the stair. He found + in Triplet's house a lady who seemed startled at her late hardihood. She + sat with her back to the door, her hood drawn tightly down, and wore an + air of trembling consciousness. Sir Charles smiled again. He knew the sex, + at least he said so. (It is an assertion often ventured upon.) Accordingly + Sir Charles determined to come down from his height, and court nature and + innocence in their own tones. This he rightly judged must be the proper + course to take with Mrs. Vane. He fell down with mock ardor upon one knee. + </p> + <p> + The supposed Mrs. Vane gave a little squeak. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Mrs. Vane,” cried he, “be not alarmed; loveliness neglected, and + simplicity deceived, insure respect as well as adoration. Ah!” (A sigh.) + </p> + <p> + “Oh, get up, sir; do, please. Ah!” (A sigh.) + </p> + <p> + “You sigh, sweetest of human creatures. Ah! why did not a nature like + yours fall into hands that would have cherished it as it deserves? Had + Heaven bestowed on me this hand, which I take—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, please, sir—” + </p> + <p> + “With the profoundest respect, would I have abandoned such a treasure for + an actress?—a Woffington! as artificial and hollow a jade as ever + winked at a side box!” + </p> + <p> + “Is she, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Notorious, madam. Your husband is the only man in London who does not see + through her. How different are you! Even I, who have no taste for + actresses, found myself revived, refreshed, ameliorated by that engaging + picture of innocence and virtue you drew this morning; yourself the bright + and central figure. Ah, dear angel! I remember all your favorites, and + envy them their place in your recollections. Your Barbary mare—” + </p> + <p> + “Hen, sir! + </p> + <p> + “Of course I meant hen; and Gray Gillian, his old nurse—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, no! she is the mare, sir. He! he! he!” + </p> + <p> + “So she is. And Dame—Dame—” + </p> + <p> + “Best!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I knew it. You see how I remember them all. And all carry me back to + those innocent days which fleet too soon—days when an angel like you + might have weaned me from the wicked pleasures of the town, to the placid + delights of a rural existence!” + </p> + <p> + “Alas, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “You sigh. It is not yet too late. I am a convert to you; I swear it on + this white hand. Ah! how can I relinquish it, pretty fluttering prisoner?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, please—” + </p> + <p> + “Stay a while.” + </p> + <p> + “No! please, sir—” + </p> + <p> + “While I fetter thee with a worthy manacle.” Sir Charles slipped a diamond + ring of great value upon his pretty prisoner. + </p> + <p> + “La, sir, how pretty!” cried innocence. + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles then undertook to prove that the luster of the ring was faint, + compared with that of the present wearer's eyes. This did not suit + innocence; she hung her head and fluttered, and showed a bashful + repugnance to look her admirer in the face. Sir Charles playfully + insisted, and Mrs. Woffington was beginning to be a little at a loss, when + suddenly voices were heard upon the stairs. + </p> + <p> + <i>“My husband!”</i> cried the false Mrs. Vane, and in a moment she rose + and darted into Triplet's inner apartment. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane and Mr. Triplet were talking earnestly as they came up the stair. + It seems the wise Triplet had prepared a little dramatic scene for his own + refreshment, as well as for the ultimate benefit of all parties. He had + persuaded Mr. Vane to accompany him by warm, mysterious promises of a + happy <i>denouement;</i> and now, having conducted that gentleman as far + as his door, he was heard to say: + </p> + <p> + “And now, sir, you shall see one who waits to forget grief, suspicion—all, + in your arms. Behold!” and here he flung the door open. + </p> + <p> + “The devil!” + </p> + <p> + “You flatter me!” said Pomander, who had had time to recover his <i>aplomb,</i> + somewhat shaken, at first, by Mr. Vane's inopportune arrival. + </p> + <p> + Now it is to be observed that Mr. Vane had not long ago seen his wife + lying on her bed, to all appearance incapable of motion. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane, before Triplet could recover his surprise, inquired of Pomander + why he had sent for him. “And what,” added he, “is the grief, suspicion, I + am, according to Mr. Triplet, to forget in your arms?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane added this last sentence in rather a testy manner. + </p> + <p> + “Why, the fact is—” began Sir Charles, without the remotest idea of + what the fact was going to be. + </p> + <p> + “That Sir Charles Pomander—” interrupted Triplet. + </p> + <p> + “But Mr. Triplet is going to explain,” said Sir Charles, keenly. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, sir; be yours the pleasing duty. But, now I think of it,” resumed + Triplet, “why not tell the simple truth? it is not a play! She I brought + you here to see was not Sir Charles Pomander; but—” + </p> + <p> + “I forbid you to complete the name!” cried Pomander. + </p> + <p> + “I command you to complete the name!” cried Vane. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, gentlemen! how can I do both?” remonstrated Triplet. + </p> + <p> + “Enough, sir!” cried Pomander. “It is a lady's secret. I am the guardian + of that lady's honor.” + </p> + <p> + “She has chosen a strange guardian of her honor!” said Vane bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen!” cried poor Triplet, who did not at all like the turn things + were taking, “I give you my word, she does not even know of Sir Charies's + presence here!” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” cried Vane, furiously. “Man alive! who are you speaking of?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Vane.” + </p> + <p> + “My wife!” cried Vane, trembling with anger and jealousy. “She here! and + with this man?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” cried Triplet. “With me, with me! Not with him, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Boaster!” cried Vane, contemptuously. “But that is a part of your + profession!” + </p> + <p> + Pomander, irritated, scornfully drew from his pocket the ladies' joint + production, which had fallen at his feet from Mrs. Woffington's hand. He + presented this to Mr. Vane, who took it very uneasily; a mist swam before + his eyes as he read the words: “Alone and unprotected—Mabel Vane.” + He had no sooner read these words, than he found he loved his wife; when + he tampered with his treasure, he did not calculate on another seeking it. + </p> + <p> + This was Pomander's hour of triumph! He proceeded coolly to explain to Mr. + Vane, that, Mrs. Woffington having deserted him for Mr. Vane, and Mr. Vane + his wife for Mrs. Woffington, the bereaved parties had, according to + custom, agreed to console each other. + </p> + <p> + This soothing little speech was interrupted by Mr. Vane's sword flashing + suddenly out of its sheath; while that gentleman, white with rage and + jealousy, bade him instantly take to his guard, or be run through the body + like some noxious animal. + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles drew his sword, and, in spite of Triplet's weak interference, + half a dozen passes were rapidly exchanged, when suddenly the door of the + inner room opened, and a lady in a hood pronounced, in a voice which was + an excellent imitation of Mrs. Vane's, the word, “False!” + </p> + <p> + The combatants lowered their points. + </p> + <p> + “You hear, sir!” cried Triplet. + </p> + <p> + “You see, sir!” said Pomander. + </p> + <p> + “Mabel!—wife!” cried Mr. Vane, in agony. “Oh, say this is not true! + Oh, say that letter is a forgery! Say, at least, it was by some treachery + you were lured to this den of iniquity! Oh, speak!” + </p> + <p> + The lady silently beckoned to some person inside. + </p> + <p> + “You know I loved you—you know how bitterly I repent the infatuation + that brought me to the feet of another!” + </p> + <p> + The lady replied not, though Vane's soul appeared to hang upon her answer. + But she threw the door open and there appeared another lady, the real Mrs. + Vane. Mrs. Woffington then threw off her hood, and, to Sir Charles + Pomander's consternation, revealed the features of that ingenious person, + who seemed born to outwit him. + </p> + <p> + “You heard that fervent declaration, madam?” said she to Mrs. Vane. “I + present to you, madam, a gentleman who regrets that he mistook the real + direction of his feelings. And to you, sir,” continued she, with great + dignity, “I present a lady who will never mistake either her feelings or + her duty.” + </p> + <p> + “Ernest! dear Ernest!” cried Mrs. Vane, blushing as if she was the + culprit. And she came forward all love and tenderness. + </p> + <p> + Her truant husband kneeled at her feet of course. No! he said, rather + sternly, “How came you here, Mabel?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Vane,” said the actress, “fancied you had mislaid that weathercock, + your heart, in Covent Garden, and that an actress had seen in it a fit + companion for her own, and had feloniously appropriated it. She came to me + to inquire after it.” + </p> + <p> + “But this letter, signed by you?” said Vane, still addressing Mabel. + </p> + <p> + “Was written by me on a paper which accidentally contained Mrs. Vane's + name. The fact is, Mr. Vane—I can hardly look you in the face—I + had a little wager with Sir Charles here; his diamond ring—which you + may see has become my diamond ring”—a horrible wry face from Sir + Charles—“against my left glove that I could bewitch a country + gentleman's imagination, and make him think me an angel. Unfortunately the + owner of his heart appeared, and, like poor Mr. Vane, took our play for + earnest. It became necessary to disabuse her and to open your eyes. Have I + done so?” + </p> + <p> + “You have, madam,” said Vane, wincing at each word she said. But at last, + by a mighty effort, he mastered himself, and, coming to Mrs. Woffington + with a quivering lip, he held out his hand suddenly in a very manly way. + “I have been the dupe of my own vanity,” said he, “and I thank you for + this lesson.” Poor Mrs. Woffington's fortitude had well-nigh left her at + this. + </p> + <p> + “Mabel,” he cried, “is this humiliation any punishment for my folly? any + guaranty for my repentance? Can you forgive me?” + </p> + <p> + “It is all forgiven, Ernest. But, oh, you are mistaken.” She glided to + Mrs. Woffington. “What do we not owe you, sister?” whispered she. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing! that word pays all,” was the reply. She then slipped her address + into Mrs. Vane's hand, and, courtesying to all the company, she hastily + left the room. + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles Pomander followed; but he was not quick enough. She got a + start, and purposely avoided him, and for three days neither the public + nor private friends saw this poor woman's face. + </p> + <p> + Mr. and Mrs. Vane prepared to go also; but Mrs. Vane would thank good Mr. + Triplet and Mrs. Triplet for their kindness to her. + </p> + <p> + Triplet the benevolent blushed, was confused and delighted; but suddenly, + turning somewhat sorrowful, he said: “Mr. Vane, madam, made use of an + expression which caused a momentary pang. He called this a den of + iniquity. Now this is my studio! But never mind.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Vane asked his pardon for so absurd an error, and the pair left + Triplet in all the enjoyment which does come now and then to an honest + man, whether this dirty little world will or not. + </p> + <p> + A coach was called and they went home to Bloomsbury. Few words were said; + but the repentant husband often silently pressed this angel to his bosom, + and the tears which found their way to her beautiful eyelashes were tears + of joy. + </p> + <p> + This weakish, and consequently villainous, though not ill-disposed person + would have gone down to Willoughby that night; but his wife had great good + sense. She would not take her husband off, like a school-boy caught out of + bounds. She begged him to stay while she made certain purchases; but, for + all that, her heart burned to be at home. So in less than a week after the + events we have related they left London. + </p> + <p> + Meantime, every day Mrs. Vane paid a quiet visit to Mrs. Woffington (for + some days the actress admitted no other visitor), and was with her but two + hours before she left London. On that occasion she found her very sad. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never see you again in this world,” said she; “but I beg of you + to write to me, that my mind may be in contact with yours.” + </p> + <p> + She then asked Mabel, in her half-sorrowful, half-bitter way, how many + months it would be ere she was forgotten. + </p> + <p> + Mabel answered by quietly crying. So then they embraced; and Mabel assured + her friend she was not one of those who change their minds. “It is for + life, dear sister; it is for life,” cried she. + </p> + <p> + “Swear this to me,” said the other, almost sternly. “But no. I have more + confidence in that candid face and pure nature than in a human being's + oath. If you are happy, remember you owe me something. If you are unhappy, + come to me, and I will love you as men cannot love.” + </p> + <p> + Then vows passed between them, for a singular tie bound these two women; + and then the actress showed a part at least of her sore heart to her new + sister; and that sister was surprised and grieved, and pitied her truly + and deeply, and they wept on each other's neck; and at last they were fain + to part. They parted; and true it was, they never met again in this world. + They parted in sorrow; but when they meet again, it shall be with joy. + </p> + <p> + Women are generally such faithless, unscrupulous and pitiless humbugs in + their dealings with their own sex—which, whatever they may say, they + despise at heart—that I am happy to be able to say, Mrs. Vane proved + true as steel. She was a noble-minded, simple-minded creature; she was + also a constant creature. Constancy is a rare, a beautiful, a godlike + virtue. + </p> + <p> + Four times every year she wrote a long letter to Mrs. Woffington; and + twice a year, in the cold weather, she sent her a hamper of country + delicacies that would have victualed a small garrison. And when her sister + left this earthly scene—a humble, pious, long-repentant Christian—Mrs. + Vane wore mourning for her, and sorrowed over her; but not as those who + cannot hope to meet again. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + My story as a work of art—good, bad or indifferent—ends with + that last sentence. If a reader accompanies me further, I shall feel + flattered, and he does so at his own risk. + </p> + <p> + My reader knows that all this befell long ago. That Woffington is gay, and + Triplet sad, no more. That Mabel's, and all the bright eyes of that day, + have long been dim, and all its cunning voices hushed. Judge then whether + I am one of those happy story-tellers who can end with a wedding. No! this + story must wind up, as yours and mine must—to-morrow—or + to-morrow—or to-morrow! when our little sand is run. + </p> + <p> + Sir Charles Pomander lived a man of pleasure until sixty. He then became a + man of pain; he dragged the chain about eight years, and died miserably. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cibber not so much died as “slipped his wind”—a nautical + expression that conveys the idea of an easy exit. He went off, quiet and + genteel. He was past eighty, and had lived fast. His servant called him at + seven in the morning. “I will shave at eight,” said Mr. Cibber. John + brought the hot water at eight; but his master had taken advantage of this + interval in his toilet to die!—to avoid shaving? + </p> + <p> + Snarl and Soaper conducted the criticism of their day with credit and + respectability until a good old age, and died placidly a natural death, + like twaddle, sweet or sour. + </p> + <p> + The Triplets, while their patroness lived, did pretty well. She got a + tragedy of his accepted at her theater. She made him send her a copy, and + with her scissors cut out about half; sometimes thinning, sometimes + cutting bodily away. But, lo! the inherent vanity of Mr. Triplet came out + strong. Submissively, but obstinately, he fought for the discarded + beauties. Unluckily, he did this one day that his patroness was in one of + her bitter humors. So she instantly gave him back his manuscript, with a + sweet smile owned herself inferior in judgment to him, and left him + unmolested. + </p> + <p> + Triplet breathed freely; a weight was taken off him. The savage steel (he + applied this title to the actress's scissors) had spared his <i>purpurei + panni.</i> He was played, pure and intact, a calamity the rest of us + grumbling escape. + </p> + <p> + But it did so happen that the audience were of the actress's mind, and + found the words too exuberant, and the business of the play too scanty in + proportion. At last their patience was so sorely tried that they supplied + one striking incident to a piece deficient in facts. They gave the manager + the usual broad hint, and in the middle of Triplet's third act a huge veil + of green baize descended upon “The Jealous Spaniard.” + </p> + <p> + Failing here, Mrs. Woffington contrived often to befriend him in his other + arts, and moreover she often sent Mr. Triplet what she called a snug + investment, a loan of ten pounds, to be repaid at Doomsday, with interest + and compound interest, according to the Scriptures; and, although she + laughed, she secretly believed she was to get her ten pounds back, double + and treble. And I believe so too. + </p> + <p> + Some years later Mrs. Triplet became eventful. She fell ill, and lay a + dying; but one fine morning, after all hope had been given up, she + suddenly rose and dressed herself. She was quite well in body now, but + insane. + </p> + <p> + She continued in this state a month, and then, by God's mercy, she + recovered her reason; but now the disease fell another step, and lighted + upon her temper—a more athletic vixen was not to be found. She had + spoiled Triplet for this by being too tame, so when the dispensation came + they sparred daily. They were now thoroughly unhappy. They were poor as + ever, and their benefactress was dead, and they had learned to snap. A + speculative tour had taken this pair to Bristol, then the second city in + England. They sojourned in the suburbs. + </p> + <p> + One morning the postman brought a letter for Triplet, who was showing his + landlord's boy how to plant onions. (N. B.—Triplet had never planted + an onion, but he was one of your <i>a priori</i> gentlemen, and could show + anybody how to do anything.) Triplet held out his hand for the letter, but + the postman held out his hand for a half crown first. Trip's profession + had transpired, and his clothes inspired diffidence. Triplet appealed to + his good feeling. + </p> + <p> + He replied with exultation, “That he had none left.” (A middle-aged + postman, no doubt.) + </p> + <p> + Triplet then suddenly started from entreaty to King Cambyses' vein. In + vain! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Triplet came down, and essayed the blandishments of the softer sex. + In vain! And, as there were no assets, the postman marched off down the + road. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Triplet glided after him like an assassin, beckoning on Triplet, who + followed, doubtful of her designs. Suddenly (truth compels me to relate + this) she seized the obdurate official from behind, pinned both his arms + to his side, and with her nose furiously telegraphed her husband. + </p> + <p> + He, animated by her example, plunged upon the man and tore the letter from + his hand and opened it before his eyes. + </p> + <p> + It happened to be a very windy morning, and when he opened the letter an + inclosure, printed on much finer paper, was caught into the air and went + down the wind. Triplet followed in kangaroo leaps, like a dancer making a + flying exit. + </p> + <p> + The postman cried on all good citizens for help. Some collected and + laughed at him; Mrs. Triplet explaining that they were poor, and could not + pay half a crown for the freight of half an ounce of paper. She held him + convulsively until Triplet reappeared. + </p> + <p> + That gentleman on his return was ostentatiously calm and dignified. “You + are, or were, in perturbation about half a crown,” said he. “There, sir, + is a twenty-pound note, oblige me with nineteen pounds seventeen shillings + and sixpence. Should your resources be unequal to such a demand, meet me + at the 'Green Cat and Brown Frogs,' after dinner, when you shall receive + your half-crown, and drink another upon the occasion of my sudden + accession to unbounded affluence.” + </p> + <p> + The postman was staggered by the sentence and overawed by the note, and + chose the “Cat and Frogs,” and liquid half-crown. + </p> + <p> + Triplet took his wife down the road and showed her the letter and + inclosure. The letter ran thus: + </p> + <p> + “SIR—We beg respectfully to inform you that our late friend and + client, James Triplet, Merchant, of the Minories, died last August, + without a will, and that you are his heir. + </p> + <p> + “His property amounts to about twenty thousand pounds, besides some + reversions. Having possessed the confidence of your late uncle we should + feel honored and gratified if you should think us worthy to act + professionally for yourself. + </p> + <p> + “We inclose twenty pounds, and beg you will draw upon us as far as five + thousand pounds, should you have immediate occasion. + </p> + <p> + “We are, sir, + </p> + <p> + “Your humble servants, + </p> + <p> + “JAMES AND JOHN ALLMITT.” + </p> + <p> + It was some time before these children of misfortune could realize this + enormous stroke of compensation; but at last it worked its way into their + spirits, and they began to sing, to triumph, and dance upon the king's + highway. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Triplet was the first to pause, and take better views. “Oh, James!” + she cried, “we have suffered much! we have been poor, but honest, and the + Almighty has looked upon us at last!” + </p> + <p> + Then they began to reproach themselves. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, James! I have been a peevish woman—an ill wife to you, this + many years!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” cried Triplet, with tears in his eyes. “It is I who have been + rough and brutal. Poverty tried us too hard; but we were not like the rest + of them—we were always faithful to the altar. And the Almighty has + seen us, though we often doubted it.” + </p> + <p> + “I never doubted that, James.” + </p> + <p> + So then the poor things fell on their knees upon the public road, and + thanked God. If any man had seen them, he would have said they were mad. + Yet madder things are done every day by gentlemen with faces as grave as + the parish bull's. And then they rose and formed their little plans. + </p> + <p> + Triplet was for devoting four-fifths to charity, and living like a prince + on the remainder. But Mrs. Triplet thought the poor were entitled to no + more than two-thirds, and they themselves ought to bask in a third, to + make up for what they had gone through; and then suddenly she sighed, and + burst into tears. “Lucy! Lucy!” sobbed she. + </p> + <p> + Yes, reader, God had taken little Lucy! And her mother cried to think all + this wealth and comfort had come too late for her darling child. + </p> + <p> + “Do not cry. Lucy is richer, a thousand times, than you are, with your + twenty thousand pounds.” + </p> + <p> + Their good resolutions were carried out, for a wonder. Triplet lived for + years, the benefactor of all the loose fish that swim in and round + theaters; and, indeed, the unfortunate seldom appealed to him in vain. He + now predominated over the arts, instead of climbing them. In his latter + day he became an oracle, as far as the science of acting was concerned; + and, what is far more rare, he really got to know <i>something</i> about + it. This was owing to two circumstances: first, he ceased to run blindfold + in a groove behind the scenes; second, he became a frequenter of the first + row of the pit, and that is where the whole critic, and two-thirds of the + true actor, is made. + </p> + <p> + On one point, to his dying day, his feelings guided his judgment. He never + could see an actress equal to his Woffington. Mrs. Abington was grace + personified, but so was Woffington, said the old man: and Abington's voice + is thin, Woffington's was sweet and mellow. When Jordan rose, with her + voice of honey, her dewy freshness, and her heavenly laugh, that melted in + along with her words, like the gold in the quartz, Triplet was obliged to + own her the goddess of beautiful gayety; but still he had the last word: + “Woffington was all <i>she</i> is, except her figure. Woffington was a + Hebe; your Nell Jordan is little better than a dowdy.” + </p> + <p> + Triplet almost reached the present century. He passed through great + events, but they did not excite him; his eye was upon the arts. When + Napoleon drew his conquering sword on England, Triplet's remark was: “Now + we shall be driven upon native talent, thank Heaven!” The storms of Europe + shook not Triplet. The fact is, nothing that happened on the great stage + of the world seemed real to him. He believed in nothing where there was no + curtain visible. But even the grotesque are not good in vain. Many an eye + was wet round his dying bed, and many a tear fell upon his grave. He made + his final exit in the year of grace 1799. And I, who laugh at him, would + leave this world to-day to be with him; for I am tossing at sea—he + is in port. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + A straightforward character like Mabel's becomes a firm character with + years. Long ere she was forty, her hand gently but steadily ruled + Willoughby House, and all in it. She and Mr. Vane lived very happily; he + gave her no fresh cause for uneasiness. Six months after their return, she + told him what burned in that honest heart of hers, the truth about Mrs. + Woffington. The water rushed to his eyes, but his heart was now wholly his + wife's; and gratitude to Mrs. Woffington for her noble conduct was the + only sentiment awakened. + </p> + <p> + “You must repay her, dearest,” said he. “I know you love her, and until + to-day it gave me pain; now it gives me pleasure. We owe her much.” + </p> + <p> + The happy, innocent life of Mabel Vane is soon summed up. Frank as the + day, constant as the sun, pure as the dew, she passed the golden years + preparing herself and others for a still brighter eternity. At home, it + was she who warmed and cheered the house, and the hearth, more than all + Christmas fires. Abroad, she shone upon the poor like the sun. She led her + beloved husband by the hand to Heaven. She led her children the same road; + and she was leading her grandchildren when the angel of death came for + her; and she slept in peace. + </p> + <p> + Many remember her. For she alone, of all our tale, lived in this present + century; but they speak of her as “old Madam Vane”—her whom we knew + so young and fresh. + </p> + <p> + She lies in Willoughby Church—her mortal part; her spirit is with + the spirits of our mothers and sisters, reader, that are gone before us; + with the tender mothers, the chaste wives, the loyal friends, and the just + women of all ages. + </p> + <p> + RESURGET. + </p> + <p> + I come to her last, who went first; but I could not have stayed by the + others, when once I had laid my darling asleep. It seemed for a while as + if the events of our tale did her harm; but it was not so in the end. + </p> + <p> + Not many years afterward, she was engaged by Mr. Sheridan, at a very heavy + salary, and went to Dublin. Here the little girl, who had often carried a + pitcher on her head down to the Liffey, and had played Polly Peachum in a + booth, became a lion; dramatic, political and literary, and the center of + the wit of that wittiest of cities. + </p> + <p> + But the Dublin ladies and she did not coalesce. They said she was a + naughty woman, and not fit for them morally. She said they had but two + topics, “silks and scandal,” and were unfit for her intellectually. + </p> + <p> + This was the saddest part of her history. But it is darkest just before + sunrise. She returned to London. Not long after, it so happened that she + went to a small church in the city one Sunday afternoon. The preacher was + such as we have often heard; but not so this poor woman, in her day of + sapless theology, ere John Wesley waked the snoring church. Instead of + sending a dry clatter of morality about their ears, or evaporating the + Bible in the thin generalities of the pulpit, this man drove God's truths + home to the hearts of men and women. In his hands the divine virtues were + thunderbolts, not swans' down. With good sense, plain speaking, and a + heart yearning for the souls of his brethren and his sisters, he stormed + the bosoms of many; and this afternoon, as he reasoned like Paul of + righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come, sinners trembled—and + Margaret Woffington was of those who trembled. + </p> + <p> + After this day, she came ever to the narrow street where shone this house + of God; and still new light burst upon her heart and conscience. Here she + learned why she was unhappy; here she learned how alone she could be + happy; here she learned to know herself; and, the moment she knew herself, + she abhorred herself, and repented in dust and ashes. + </p> + <p> + This strong and straightforward character made no attempt to reconcile two + things that an average Christian would have continued to reconcile. Her + interest fell in a moment before her new sense of right. She flung her + profession from her like a poisonous weed. + </p> + <p> + Long before this, Mrs. Vane had begged her to leave the stage. She had + replied, that it was to her what wine is to weak stomachs. “But,” added + she, “do not fear that I will ever crawl down hill, and unravel my own + reputation; nor will I ever do as I have seen others—stand groaning + at the wing, to go on giggling and come off gasping. No! the first night + the boards do not spring beneath my feet, and the pulse of the public beat + under my hand, I am gone! Next day, at rehearsal, instead of Woffington, a + note will come, to tell the manager that henceforth Woffington is herself—at + Twickenham, or Richmond, or Harrow-on-the-Hill, far from his dust, his + din, and his glare—quiet, till God takes her. Amid grass, and + flowers, and charitable deeds.” + </p> + <p> + This day had not come. It was in the zenith of her charms and her fame + that she went home one night after a play, and never entered a theater, by + the front door or back door, again. She declined all leave-taking and + ceremony. + </p> + <p> + “When a publican shuts up shop and ceases to diffuse liquid poison, he + does not invite the world to put up the shutters; neither will I. Actors + overrate themselves ridiculously,” added she; “I am not of that importance + to the world, nor the world to me. I fling away a dirty old glove instead + of soiling my fingers filling it with more guineas, and the world loses in + me, what? another old glove, full of words; half of them idle, the rest + wicked, untrue, silly, or impure. <i>Rougissons, taisons-nous, et + partons.”</i> + </p> + <p> + She now changed her residence, and withdrew politely from her old + associates, courting two classes only, the good and the poor. She had + always supported her mother and sister; but now charity became her system. + The following is characteristic: + </p> + <p> + A gentleman who had greatly admired this dashing actress met one day, in + the suburbs, a lady in an old black silk gown and a gray shawl, with a + large basket on her arm. She showed him its contents—worsted + stockings of prodigious thickness—which she was carrying to some of + her <i>proteges.</i> + </p> + <p> + “But surely that is a waste of your valuable time,” remonstrated her + admirer. “Much better buy them.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my good soul,” replied the representative of Sir Harry Wildair, “you + can't buy them. Nobody in this wretched town can knit worsted hose except + Woffington.” + </p> + <p> + Conversions like this are open to just suspicion, and some did not fail to + confound her with certain great sinners, who have turned austere + self-deceivers when sin smiled no more. But this was mere conjecture. The + facts were clear, and speaking to the contrary. This woman left folly at + its brightest, and did not become austere. On the contrary, though she + laughed less, she was observed to smile far oftener than before. She was a + humble and penitent, but cheerful, hopeful Christian. + </p> + <p> + Another class of detractors took a somewhat opposite ground. They accused + her of bigotry for advising a young female friend against the stage as a + business. But let us hear herself. This is what she said to the girl: + </p> + <p> + “At the bottom of my heart, I always loved and honored virtue. Yet the + tendencies of the stage so completely overcame my good sentiments that I + was for years a worthless woman. It is a situation of uncommon and + incessant temptation. Ask yourself, my child, whether there is nothing + else you can do, but this. It is, I think, our duty and our wisdom to fly + temptation whenever we can, as it is to resist it when we cannot escape + it.” + </p> + <p> + Was this the tone of bigotry? + </p> + <p> + Easy in fortune, penitent, but cheerful, Mrs. Woffington had now but one + care—to efface the memory of her former self, and to give as many + years to purity and piety as had gone to folly and frailty. This was not + to be! The Almighty did not permit, or perhaps I should say, did not + require this. + </p> + <p> + Some unpleasant symptoms had long attracted her notice, but in the bustle + of her profession had received little attention. She was now persuaded by + her own medical attendant to consult Dr. Bowdler, who had a great + reputation, and had been years ago an acquaintance and an admirer. He + visited her, he examined her by means little used in that day, and he saw + at once that her days were numbered. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Bowdler's profession and experience had not steeled his heart as they + generally do and must do. He could not tell her this sad news, so he asked + her for pen and paper, and said, I will write a prescription to Mr. + ——. He then wrote, not a prescription, but a few lines, + begging Mr. —— to convey the cruel intelligence by degrees, + and with care and tenderness. “It is all we can do for her,” said he. + </p> + <p> + He looked so grave while writing the supposed prescription, that it + unluckily occurred to Mrs. Woffington to look over him. She stole archly + behind him, and, with a smile on her face—read her death warrant. + </p> + <p> + It was a cruel stroke! A gasping sigh broke from her. At this Dr. Bowdler + looked up, and to his horror saw the sweet face he had doomed to the tomb + looking earnestly and anxiously at him, and very pale and grave. He was + shocked, and, strange to say, she, whose death-warrant he had signed, ran + and brought him a glass of wine, for he was quite overcome. Then she gave + him her hand in her own sweet way, and bade him not grieve for her, for + she was not afraid to die, and had long learned that “life is a walking + shadow, a poor, poor player, who frets and struts his hour upon the stage, + and then is heard no more.” + </p> + <p> + But no sooner was the doctor gone than she wept bitterly. Poor soul! she + had set her heart upon living as many years to God as she had to the + world, and she had hoped to wipe out her former self. + </p> + <p> + “Alas!” she said to her sister, “I have done more harm than I can ever + hope to good now; and my long life of folly and wickedness will be + remembered—will be what they call famous; my short life of + repentance who will know, or heed, or take to profit?” + </p> + <p> + But she soon ceased to repine. She bowed to the will of Heaven, and set + her house in order, and awaited her summons. The tranquillity of her life + and her courageous spirit were unfavorable to the progress of disease, and + I am glad to say she was permitted to live nearly three years after this, + and these three years were the happiest period of her whole life. Works of + piety and love made the days eventful. She was at home now—she had + never been at home in folly and loose living. All her bitterness was gone + now, with its cause. + </p> + <p> + Reader, it was with her as it is with many an autumn day; clouds darken + the sun, rain and wind sweep over all—till day declines. But then + comes one heavenly hour, when all ill things seem spent. There is no more + wind, no more rain. The great sun comes forth—not fiery bright + indeed, but full of tranquil glory, and warms the sky with ruby waves, and + the hearts of men with hope, as, parting with us for a little space, he + glides slowly and peacefully to rest. + </p> + <p> + So fared it with this humble, penitent, and now happy Christian. + </p> + <p> + A part of her desire was given her. She lived long enough to read a firm + recantation of her former self, to show the world a great repentance, and + to leave upon indelible record one more proof, what alone is true wisdom, + and where alone true joys are to be found. + </p> + <p> + She endured some physical pain, as all must who die in their prime. But + this never wrung a sigh from her great heart; and within she had the peace + of God, which passes all understanding. + </p> + <p> + I am not strong enough to follow her to her last hour; nor is it needed. + Enough that her own words came true. When the great summons came, it found + her full of hope, and peace, and joy; sojourning, not dwelling, upon + earth; far from dust and din and vice; the Bible in her hand, the Cross in + her heart; quiet; amid grass, and flowers, and charitable deeds. + </p> + <p> + “NON OMNEM MORITURAM.” <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Peg Woffington, by Charles Reade + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PEG WOFFINGTON *** + +***** This file should be named 3670-h.htm or 3670-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/7/3670/ + +Produced by James Rusk, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + </body> +</html> |