CHAPTER XIV.
IN WHICH MISS FOTHERINGAY MAKES A NEW ENGAGEMENT.
Within a short period of the events above narrated, Mr. Manager Bingleywas performing his famous character of "Rolla," in "Pizarro," to a houseso exceedingly thin, that it would appear as if the part of Rolla was byno means such a favorite with the people of Chatteries as it was withthe accomplished actor himself. Scarce any body was in the theater. PoorPen had the boxes almost all to himself, and sate there lonely, withblood-shot eyes, leaning over the ledge, and gazing haggardly toward thescene, when Cora came in. When she was not on the stage he saw nothing.Spaniards and Peruvians, processions and battles, priests and virgins ofthe sun, went in and out, and had their talk, but Arthur took no note ofany one of them; and only saw Cora whom his soul longed after. He saidafterward that he wondered he had not taken a pistol to shoot her, somad was he with love, and rage, and despair; and had it not been for hismother at home, to whom he did not speak about his luckless condition,but whose silent sympathy and watchfulness greatly comforted the simplehalf heart-broken fellow, who knows but he might have done somethingdesperate, and have ended his days prematurely in front of Chatteriesjail? There he sate then, miserable, and gazing at her. And she took nomore notice of him than he did of the rest of the house.
The Fotheringay was uncommonly handsome, in a white raiment and leopardskin, with a sun upon her breast, and fine tawdry bracelets on herbeautiful glancing arms. She spouted to admiration the few words of herpart, and looked it still better. The eyes, which had overthrown Pen'ssoul, rolled and gleamed as lustrous as ever; but it was not to him thatthey were directed that night. He did not know to whom, or remark acouple of gentlemen, in the box next to him, upon whom MissFotheringay's glances were perpetually shining.
Nor had Pen noticed the extraordinary change which had taken place onthe stage a short time after entry of these two gentleman into thetheater. There were so few people in the house, that the first actof the play languished entirely, and there had been some question ofreturning the money, as upon that other unfortunate night when poor Penhad been driven away. The actors were perfectly careless about theirparts, and yawned through the dialogue, and talked loud to each otherin the intervals. Even Bingley was listless, and Mrs. B. in Elviraspoke under her breath.
How came it that all of a sudden Mrs. Bingley began to raise her voiceand bellow like a bull of Bashan? Whence was it that Bingley, flingingoff his apathy, darted about the stage and yelled like Kean? Why didGarbetts and Rowkins and Miss Rouncy try, each of them the force oftheir charms or graces, and act and swagger and scowl and spout theirvery loudest at the two gentlemen in box No. 3?
One was a quiet little man in black, with a gray head and a jollyshrewd face--the other was in all respects a splendid and remarkableindividual. He was a tall and portly gentleman with a hooked nose and aprofusion of curling brown hair and whiskers; his coat was covered withthe richest frogs-braiding and velvet. He had under-waistcoats manysplendid rings, jeweled pins and neck-chains. When he took out hisyellow pocket-hankerchief with his hand that was cased in white kids,a delightful odor of musk and bergamot was shaken through the house.He was evidently a personage of rank, and it was at him that the littleChatteries company was acting.
He was, in a word, no other than Mr. Dolphin, the great manager fromLondon, accompanied by his faithful friend and secretary Mr. WilliamMinns: without whom he never traveled. He had not been ten minutes inthe theater before his august presence there was perceived by Bingleyand the rest: and they all began to act their best and try to engage hisattention. Even Miss Fotheringay's dull heart, which was disturbed atnothing, felt perhaps a flutter, when she came in presence of the famousLondon Impresario. She had not much to do in her part, but to lookhandsome, and stand in picturesque attitudes encircling her child: andshe did this work to admiration. In vain the various actors tried to winthe favor of the great stage sultan. Pizaro never got a hand from him.Bingley yelled, and Mrs. Bingley bellowed, and the manager only tooksnuff out of his great gold box. It was only in the last scene, whenRolla comes in staggering with the infant (Bingley is not so strong ashe was, and his fourth son Master Talma Bingley is a monstrous largechild for his age)--when Rolla comes staggering with the child to Cora,who rushes forward with a shriek, and says--"O God, there's blood uponhim!"--that the London manager clapped his hands, and broke out with anenthusiastic bravo.
Then having concluded his applause, Mr. Dolphin gave his secretary aslap on the shoulder, and said "By Jove, Billy, she'll do!"
"Who taught her that dodge?" said old Billy, who was a sardonic oldgentleman--"I remember her at the Olympic, and hang me if she could sayBo to a goose."
It was little Mr. Bows in the orchestra who had taught her the 'dodge'in question. All the company heard the applause, and, as the curtainwent down, came round her, and congratulated and hated Miss Fotheringay.
Now Mr. Dolphin's appearance in the remote little Chatteries theater maybe accounted for in this manner. In spite of all his exertions, and theperpetual blazes of triumph, coruscations of talent, victories of goodold English comedy, which his play bills advertised, his theater (which,if you please, and to injure no present susceptibilities and vestedinterests, we shall call the Museum Theater) by no means prospered, andthe famous Impresario found himself on the verge of ruin. The greatHubbard had acted legitimate drama for twenty nights, and failed toremunerate any body but himself: the celebrated Mr. and Mrs. Cawdorhad come out in Mr. Rawhead's tragedy, and in their favorite roundof pieces, and had not attracted the public. Herr Garbage's lionsand tigers had drawn for a little time, until one of the animals hadbitten a piece out of the Herr's shoulder; when the Lord Chamberlaininterfered, and put a stop to this species of performance: and the grandLyrical Drama, though brought out with unexampled splendor and success,with Monsieur Poumons as first tenor, and an enormous orchestra, hadalmost crushed poor Dolphin in its triumphant progress: so that greatas his genius and resources were, they seemed to be at an end. He wasdragging on his season wretchedly with half salaries, small operas,feeble old comedies, and his ballet company; and every body was lookingout for the day when he should appear in the Gazette.
One of the illustrious patrons of the Museum Theater, and occupant ofthe great proscenium-box, was a gentleman whose name has been mentionedin a previous history; that refined patron of the arts, and enlightenedlover of music and the drama, the Most Noble the Marquis of Steyne. Hislordship's avocations as a statesman prevented him from attending theplayhouse very often, or coming very early. But he occasionally appearedat the theater in time for the ballet, and was always received with thegreatest respect by the manager, from whom he sometimes condescended toreceive a visit in his box. It communicated with the stage, and when anything occurred there which particularly pleased him, when a new facemade its appearance among the coryphees, or a fair dancer executed a_pas_ with especial grace or agility, Mr. Wenham, Mr. Wagg, or someother aid-de-camp of the noble marquis, would be commissioned to gobehind the scenes, and express the great man's approbation, or makethe inquiries which were prompted by his lordship's curiosity, or hisinterest in the dramatic art. He could not be seen by the audience, forLord Steyne sate modestly behind a curtain, and looked only toward thestage--but you could know he was in the house, by the glances which allthe corps-de-ballet, and all the principal dancers, cast toward his box.I have seen many scores of pairs of eyes (as in the Palm Dance in theballet of Cook at Otaheite, where no less than a hundred-and-twentylovely female savages in palm leaves and feather aprons, were made todance round Floridor as Captain Cook), ogling that box as they performedbefore it, and have often wondered to remark the presence of mind ofMademoiselle Sautarelle, or Mademoiselle de Bondi (known as la petiteCaoutchouc), who, when actually up in the air quivering like so manyshuttlecocks, always kept their lovely eyes winking at that box in whichthe great Steyne sate. Now and then you would hear a harsh voice frombehind the curtain, cry, "Brava, Brava," or a pair of white gloves wavefrom it, and b
egin to applaud. Bondi, or Sauterelle, when they came downto earth, courtesied and smiled, especially to those hands, before theywalked up the stage again, panting and happy.
One night this great prince surrounded by a few choice friends was inhis box at the Museum, and they were making such a noise and laughterthat the pit was scandalized, and many indignant voices were bawlingout silence so loudly, that Wagg wondered the police did not interfereto take the rascals out. Wenham was amusing the party in the boxwith extracts from a private letter which he had received from MajorPendennis, whose absence in the country at the full London season hadbeen remarked, and of course deplored, by his friends.
"The secret is out," said Mr. Wenham, "There's a woman in the case."
"Why d---- it, Wenham, he's your age," said the gentleman behind thecurtain.
"Pour les ames bien nees, l'amour ne compte pas le nombre des annees,"said Mr. Wenham, with a gallant air. "For my part I hope to be a victimtill I die, and to break my heart every year of my life." The meaning ofwhich sentence was, "My lord, you need not talk; I'm three years youngerthan you, and twice as well conserve."
"Wenham, you affect me," said the great man, with one of his usualoaths. "By ---- you do. I like to see a fellow preserving all theillusions of youth up to our time of life--and keeping his heart warmas yours is. Hang it, sir--it's a comfort to meet with such a generous,candid creature.--Who's that gal in the second row, with blue ribbons,third from the stage?--fine gal. Yes, you and I are sentimentalists.Wagg I don't think so much cares--it's the stomach rather more than theheart with you, eh, Wagg, my boy?"
"I like every thing that's good," said Mr. Wagg, generously. "Beauty andBurgundy, Venus and Venison. I don't say that Venus's turtles are to bedespised, because they don't cook them at the London Tavern: but--buttell us about old Pendennis, Mr. Wenham," he abruptly concluded--for hisjoke flagged just then, as he saw that his patron was not listening. Infact, Steyne's glasses were up, and he was examining some object on thestage.
"Yes, I've heard that joke about Venus's turtles and the London Tavernbefore--you begin to fail, my poor Wagg. If you don't mind I shall beobliged to have a new Jester," Lord Steyne said, laying down his glass."Go on, Wenham, about old Pendennis."
"'Dear Wenham,'--he begins," Mr. Wenham read,--"'as you have had mycharacter in your hands for the last three weeks, and no doubt have tornme to shreds, according to your custom, I think you can afford to begood-humored by way of variety, and to do me a service. It is a delicatematter, _entre nous, une affaire de coeur_. There is a young friend ofmine who is gone wild about a certain Miss Fotheringay, an actress atthe theater here, and I must own to you, as handsome a woman, and, asit appears to me, as good an actress as ever put on rouge. She doesOphelia, Lady Teazle, Mrs. Haller--that sort of thing. Upon my word,she is as splendid as Georges in her best days, and as far as I know,utterly superior to any thing we have on our scene. _I want a Londonengagement for her._ Can't you get your friend Dolphin to come and seeher--to engage her--to take her out of this place? A word from a noblefriend of ours (you understand) would be invaluable, and if you couldget the Gaunt House interest for me--I will promise _any thing_ I canin return for your service--which I shall consider as one of thegreatest _that can be done to me_. Do, do this now as a good fellow,which _I always said you were_: and, in return, command yours truly,A. Pendennis.'"
"It's a clear case," said Mr. Wenham, having read this letter; "oldPendennis is in love."
"And wants to get the woman up to London--evidently," continued Mr.Wagg.
"I should like to see Pendennis on his knees, with the rheumatism," saidMr. Wenham.
"Or accommodating the beloved object with a lock of his hair," saidWagg.
"Stuff," said the great man. "He has relations in the country, hasn'the? He said something about a nephew, whose interest could returna member. It is the nephew's affair, depend on it. The young one isin a scrape. I was myself--when I was in the fifth form at Eton--amarket-gardener's daughter--and swore I'd marry her. I was mad abouther--poor Polly!"--Here he made a pause, and perhaps the past roseup to Lord Steyne, and George Gaunt was a boy again, not altogetherlost.--"But I say, she must be a fine woman from Pendennis's account.Have in Dolphin, and let us hear if he knows any thing of her."
At this Wenham sprang out of the box, passed the servitor who waited atthe door communicating with the stage, and who saluted Mr. Wenham withprofound respect; and the latter emissary, pushing on, and familiarwith the place, had no difficulty in finding out the manager, who wasemployed, as he not unfrequently was, in swearing and cursing the ladiesof the corps-de-ballet for not doing their duty.
The oaths died away on Mr. Dolphin's lips, as soon as he saw Mr. Wenham:and he drew off the hand which was clenched in the face of one of theoffending Coryphees, to grasp that of the new comer. "How do, Mr. Wenham?How's his lordship to-night? Looks uncommonly well," said the managersmiling, as if he had never been out of temper in his life; and he wasonly too delighted to follow Lord Steyne's embassador, and pay hispersonal respects to that great man.
The visit to Chatteries was the result of their conversation: and Mr.Dolphin wrote to his lordship from that place, and did himself the honorto inform the Marquess of Steyne, that he had seen the lady about whomhis lordship had spoken, that he was as much struck by her talents as hewas by her personal appearance, and that he had made an engagement withMiss Fotheringay who would soon have the honor of appearing before aLondon audience, and his noble and enlightened patron the Marquess ofSteyne.
Pen read the announcement of Miss Fotheringay's engagement in theChatteries paper, where he had so often praised her charms. The editormade very handsome mention of her talent and beauty, and prophesied hersuccess in the metropolis. Bingley, the manager, began to advertise"The last night of Miss Fotheringay's engagement." Poor Pen and SirDerby Oaks were very constant at the play: Sir Derby in the stage-box,throwing bouquets and getting glances.--Pen in the almost desertedboxes, haggard, wretched, and lonely. Nobody cared whether MissFotheringay was going or staying except those two--and perhaps onemore, which was Mr. Bows of the orchestra.
He came out of his place one night, and went into the house to the boxwhere Pen was; and he held out his hand to him, and asked him to comeand walk. They walked down the street together: and went and sate uponChatteries bridge in the moonlight, and talked about _her_. "We may siton the same bridge," said he: "we have been in the same boat for a longtime. You are not the only man who has made a fool of himself about thatwoman. And I have less excuse than you, because I'm older and know herbetter. She has no more heart than the stone you are leaning on; and itor you or I might fall into the water, and never come up again, and shewouldn't care. Yes--she would care for me, because she wants me to teachher; and she won't be able to get on without me, and will be forced tosend for me from London. But she wouldn't if she didn't want me. She hasno heart and no head, and no sense, and no feelings, and no griefs orcares, whatever. I was going to say no pleasures--but the fact is, shedoes like her dinner, and she is pleased when people admire her."
"And you do?" said Pen, interested out of himself, and wondering at thecrabbed, homely little old man.
"It's a habit, like taking snuff, or drinking drams," said the other,"I've been taking her these five years, and can't do without, her. Itwas I made her. If she doesn't send for me, I shall follow her: but Iknow she'll send for me. She wants me. Same day she'll marry, and flingme over, as I do the end of this cigar."
The little flaming spark dropped into the water below, and disappeared;and Pen, as he rode home that night, actually thought about somebody buthimself.