Overcome with Emotion, his Soul on the Rack, his Heart wounded andbleeding, he appeared like a lost Spirit crying out from an Abyss ofTorment. But these last Ravings of his, these final, abominable Insults,levelled against the Woman who had done so much for him, and whom heshould have been the first to protect, lashed Mr. Betterton's ire andcontempt into holy Fury.
"Ye gods in Heaven, hear him!" he cried, with an outburst of Rage atleast as great as that of the other Man. "He loves her, and talks ofDishonour, whilst I love her and only breathe of Worship! By all theDevils in Hell, my Lord Stour, I tell you that you lie!"
And before any of us there realized what he meant to do, he ran to theWindow, threw open all the Casements with such violence that the glassbroke and fell clattering down upon the gravelled place below.
"Hallo!" he called in a stentorian Voice. "Hallo, there!"
My Lord Stour, bewildered, un-understanding, tried to bluster.
"What are you doing, man?" he queried roughly. "Silence! Silence, Isay!"
But Mr. Betterton only shouted the louder.
"Hallo, there! Friends! Enemies! England! Here!"
I could hear the Tumult outside. People were running hither fromseveral directions, thinking, no doubt, that a Fire had broken out orthat Murder was being done. I could hear them assembling beneath thewindow, which was not many feet from the Ground. "Why! it's TomBetterton!" some of them said. And others added: "Hath he gone ravingmad?"
"Is any one there who knows me?" queried Mr. Betterton loudly.
"Yes! Yes!" was the ready response.
"Who is it?" he asked, peering into the darkness below.
I heard Sir William Davenant's voice give reply.
"Killigrew and I are down here, Tom. What in the Name of ---- is thematter?"
"Come round to my rooms, Davenant," Mr. Betterton replied; "and bring asmany friends with you as you can."
He was standing in the Bay of the Window, and his Figure, silhouettedagainst the Light in the Room, must have been plainly visible to thecrowd outside. That a number of People had assembled by now wasapparent by the Hum and Hubbub which came to us from below. Unable torestrain my Curiosity, I too approached the open Casements and peeredout into the Gloom. Just as I thought, quite a Crowd had collected downthere, some of whom were making ready to climb up to the Window by wayof the Gutter-pipes or the solid stems of the Ivy, whilst others weretrooping down the narrow little Alley which connects Tothill Street withthe Park at the base of Mr. Betterton's house. There was a deal oftalking, laughing and shouting. "Tom Betterton is up to some Prank," Iheard more than one Person say.
8
Perhaps You will wonder what was my Lord's Attitude during the fewminutes--it was less than five--which elapsed between the Instant whenMr. Betterton first threw open the Casements, and that when the Crowd,headed by Sir William Davenant and Mr. Killigrew, trooped down the Alleyon their Way to this House. To me he seemed at first whollyuncomprehending, like a Man who has received a Blow on the Head--just asI did from his Fist a moment ago--and before whose Eyes the Walls of theRoom, the Furniture, the People, are all swimming in an Ocean of Stars.I imagine that at one time the Thought flashed as Lightning through hisMind that this was but the culminating Outrage, wherewith his Enemymeant to pillory him and his Bride before a jeering Public. That wasthe moment when he turned to her Ladyship and, uttering a hoarse Cry,called to her by Name. She was, just then, leaning insemi-consciousness against the Angle of the Bay. She did not respond tohis Call, and Mr. Betterton, quick in his Movements, alert now like someFeline on the prowl, stepped immediately in front of Her, facing my Lordand screening Her against his Approach.
"Stand back, Man," he commanded. "Stand back, I tell You! You shallnot come nigh Her save on bended Knees, with Head bowed in the Dust,suing for Pardon in that you dared to Insult her."
Everything occurred so quickly, Movements, Events, High Words,threatening Gestures from both sides, followed one another in such rapidSuccession, that I, overcome with Agitation and the Effect of thestunning Blow which I had received, was hardly able to take it all in.Much less is it in my Power to give You a faithful Account of it all.Those five Minutes were the most spirit-stirring ones I have everexperienced throughout my Life--every Second appeared surcharged with anexciting Fluid which transported Me to supernal Regions, to Lands ofUnrealities akin to vivid Dreams.
At one Moment, I remember seeing my Lord Stour make a rapid and furtivemovement in the direction of his Sword, which lay some little Distancefrom him on the Ground, but Mr. Betterton was quicker even than his Foe,more alert, and with one bound he had reached the Weapon, ere my Lord'sHand was nigh it, had picked it up and, with a terrific Jerk, broke itin half across his Knee. Then he threw the mangled Hilt in onedirection, the Point in another, and my Lord raised his Fists, ready,methinks, to fly at his Throat.
But, as I have already told You, dear Mistress, the whole Episode standsbut as a confused Mirage before my Mind; and through it all I seemed tosee a mere Vision of her Ladyship, pale and ethereal, leaning againstthe Angle of the Bay; one delicate Hand was clutching the heavy Curtain,drawing it around her as it were, as if in a pathetic and futile Desireto shield herself from view.
CHAPTER XVI
THE GAME OF LOVE
1
In the meanwhile, the Crowd all round the House had visibly swelled.Some People were still standing immediately beneath the Bow-window,whilst Others swarmed into Tothill Street; the foremost amongst theLatter had given a vigorous Tug at the Bell-pull, and the front Doorbeing opened for them by the bewildered Servant, they had made a noisyIrruption into the House. We could hear them clattering up the Stairs,to the Accompaniment of much Laughing and Talking, and theoft-reiterated Refrain: "Tom Betterton is up to some Prank! Hurrah!"
Some few again, more venturesome and certainly more Impudent than most,had indeed succeeded in scrambling up to the Window, and, one afteranother, Heads and Shoulders began to appear in the Framework of theopen Casements.
Her Ladyship had no doubt realized from the first that Escape becameimpossible, within two Minutes of Mr. Betterton's first Summons to thePublic. Just at first, perhaps, if my Lord had preserved his entirePresence of Mind, he might have taken her by the Hand and fled with Herout of the House, before the unruly Crowd had reached Tothill Street.But my Lord, blinded by jealous Rage, had not thought of Her quicklyenough, and now the Time was past, and he remained impotent, gaspingwith Fury, hardly conscious of his Actions. He had been literally sweptoff his Feet by Mr. Betterton's eagle-winged _coup de main_, which lefthim puzzled and the prey to a nameless Terror as to what was about tofollow.
Now, when he saw a number of Gentlemen trooping in by the Door, he couldbut stare at them in utter Bewilderment. Most of these Gallants werepersonally known to him: Sir William Davenant was in the forefront withMr. Thomas Killigrew of the King's Theatre, and the Earl of Rochesterwas with them, as well as Mr. Wycherley. I also recognized Sir CharlesSedley and old Sir John Denham, as well as my Lord Roscommon, among thecrowd.
They had all rushed in through the Door, laughing and jesting, as wasthe wont of all these gay and courtly Sparks; but at sight of the LadyBarbara, they halted. Gibes and unseemly Jokes broke upon their Lips,and for the most part their Hands went up to their Hats, and they madeher Ladyship a deep obeisance. Indeed, just then she looked more like aWraith than a living Woman, and the Light of the Candles, whichflickered wildly in the Draught, accentuated the Weirdness of herAppearance.
"What is it, Tom? What is amiss?" Sir William Davenant was thus thefirst to speak.
"We thought You were playing some Prank."
"You did call from that Window, did You not, Tom?" my Lord Rochesterinsisted.
And one or two of the Gentlemen nodded somewhat coldly to my Lord Stour.
"Yes. I did call," Mr. Betterton replied, quite firmly.
"But 'twas noWhim on my Part thus to drag You into my House. It was not so much myVoice that you heard as the Trumpet blast of Truth."
At this, my Lord Stour broke into one of those harsh, mirthless Fits ofLaughter which betokened the perturbation of his Spirit.
"The Truth!" he exclaimed with a cutting Sneer. "From You?"
"Aye! the Truth!" Mr. Betterton rejoined with perfect calm, even whilsthis Friends glanced, puzzled and inquiring, from my Lord Stour to him,and thence to her Ladyship's pale face, and even to Me. "The Truth," headded with a deep Sigh as of intense Relief; "The Truth, at Last!"
He stood in the centre of the Room, with one Hand resting upon the Desk,his Eyes fixed fearlessly upon the Sea of Faces before him. Not theslightest Tremor marred the perfect Harmony of his Voice, or the firmpoise of his manly Figure. You know as well as I do, dear Mistress, themarvellous Magnetism of Mr. Betterton's Personality, the Way he hath ofcommanding the Attention of a Crowd, whenever he chooseth to speak.Think of him then, dear Lady, with Head thrown back, his exquisite Voicerising and falling in those subtle and impressive Cadences wherewith heis wont to hold an Audience enthralled. Of a truth, no experiencedManager in Stage-Craft could have devised so thrilling an Effect, as thePicture which Mr. Betterton--the greatest Actor of this or of anyTime--presented at that Moment, standing alone, facing the Crowd whichwas thrilled into deadly Silence, and with the wraith-like Figure ofthat exquisitely beautiful Woman as a Foil to his own self-possessed,virile Appearance.
"Gentlemen," he began, with slow, even Emphasis, "I pray you bear withme; for what I have to say will take some time in telling. Awhile agohis Lordship of Stour put upon me such an Insult as the Mind of Man canhardly conceive. Then, on the Pretence that I was not a born Gentlemanas he was, he refused me Satisfaction by the Sword. For this I hated himand swore that I would be even with him, that I would exact from hisArrogance, Outrage for Outrage, and Infamy for Infamy." He then turnedto my Lord Stour and spoke to him directly. "You asked me just now, myLord, if my Revenge was satisfied. My answer to that is: not yet! Notuntil I see You on Your bended Knees here, before these Gentlemen--myFriends and Yours--receiving from the miserable Mountebank whom youmocked, the pitiful cur whom You thrashed, that which you hold--orshould hold--more precious than all the Treasures of this earth: yourHonour and the good Name of the Lady who honours You with her Love!Gentlemen!" he went on, and once more faced the Crowd. "You know theAspersions which have been cast on my Lord Stour's Loyalty. Rumourshave been current that the late aborted Conspiracy was betrayed by himto the Countess of Castlemaine, and that She obtained his Pardon, whilstall or most of his Associates were driven into Exile or perished on theScaffold. Well, Gentlemen, 'twas I who begged for my Lord's pardon fromthe Countess of Castlemaine. His Degradation, his Obloquy, was theRevenge which I had studiously planned. Nay! I pray you, hear me untothe End," he continued, as a loud Murmur of Horror and of Indignationfollowed on this Self-Accusation. "My Lord Stour is no Traitor, save toHer whom he loves and whom in his Thoughts he hath dared to outrage.The Lady Barbara Wychwoode deigned to plead with me for the Man whom shehonoured with her Love. She pleaded with me this afternoon, in thePark, in sight of many Passers-by; but I in my Obstinacy and Arrogancewould not, God forgive me, listen to her."
He paused, and I could see the beads of Perspiration glittering upon hisForehead, white now like Italian Alabaster. They all stood before him,subdued and silent. Think of Sir William Davenant, dear Mistress, andhis affection for Mr. Betterton; think of my Lord Roscommon and of SirCharles Sedley and his Lordship of Rochester, whose Admiration for Mr.Betterton's Talent was only equalled by their Appreciation for HisWorth! It was before them all, before all these fastidious Gentlemen,that the great and sensitive Artist had elected to humble his Pride tothe dust.
But you shall judge.
"Gentlemen," Mr. Betterton went on after a brief while; "We all knowthat Love is a Game at which one always cheats. I loved the LadyBarbara Wychwoode. I had the presumption to dream of her as my futureWife. Angered at her Scorn of my Suit, I cheated her into coming hereto-night, luring her with the Hope that I would consent to right the Manfor whose sake she was willing to risk so much, for whom she was readyto sacrifice even her fair Name. Now I have learned to my hurt thatLove, the stern little god, will not be trifled with. When we try tocheat him, he cheats us worse at the last; and if he makes Kings of us,he leaves us Beggars in the End. When my Lord Stour, burning withsacrilegious jealousy, made irruption into my Room, the Lady Barbara hadjust succeeded in wringing from me an Avowal which proclaimed hisIntegrity and my Shame. She was about to leave me, humbled and crushedin my Pride, she herself pure and spotless as the Lilies, unapproachableas the Stars."
2
Mr. Betterton had ceased speaking for some time; nevertheless, Silenceprofound reigned in the dark, wainscotted Room for many seconds afterthe final echo of that perfect Voice had ceased to reverberate. Indeed,dear Mistress, I can assure You that, though there were at least fiftyPersons present in the Room, including those unknown to Me who wereswarming around the Framework of the Casements, you might have heard theproverbial Pin drop just then. A tense Expression rested on every Face.Can You wonder that I scanned them all with the Eagerness born of myLove for the great Artist, who had thus besmirched his own fair Name inorder to vindicate that of his bitterest Foe? That I read Condemnationof my Friend in many a Glance, I'll not deny, and this cut me to theQuick.
True! Mr. Betterton's Scheme of Vengeance had been reprehensible ifmeasured by the high Standards of Christian Forbearance. But rememberhow he had been wronged, not once, but repeatedly; and even when I sawthe Frown on my Lord Roscommon's brow, the Look of Stern Reproof in SirCharles Sedley's Face, there arose before mine Eyes the Vision of thegreat and sensitive Artist, of the high-souled Gentleman, staggeringbeneath the Blows dealt by a band of hired Ruffians at the Bidding ofthis young Coxcomb, whose very Existence was as naught in the Eyes ofthe cultured World beside the Genius of the inimitable Mr. Betterton.
I said that the Silence was tense. Meseemed that no one dared to breakit. Even those idly Curious who had swarmed up the Rainpipes of thisHouse in order to witness one of Tom Betterton's Pranks, felt awed bythe Revelation of this Drama of a great Man's Soul. Indeed, the Silencebecame presently oppressive. I, for one, felt a great Buzzing in mineEars. The Lights from the Candles assumed weird and phantasmagoricProportions till they seared my aching Eyes.
Then slowly my Lord Stour approached her Ladyship, sank on his Kneesbefore Her and raised the Hem of her Robe to his Lips. A sob broke fromher Throat; she tried to smother it by pressing her Handkerchief intoher Mouth. It took Her a second or two to regain her Composure. ButBreeding and Pride came to her Aid. I saw the stiffening of her Figure,the studied and deliberate Movement wherewith She readjusted her Mantleand her Veil.
My Lord Stour was still on his Knees. At a sign from her Ladyship herose. He held out his left Arm and she placed her right Hand on it,then together they went out of the Room. The Crowd of Gentlemen partedin order to make way for the Twain, then when they had gone through,some of the Gentlemen followed them immediately; others lingered forawhile, hesitating. Sir William Davenant, Mr. Killigrew, my LordRochester, all of Mr. Betterton's Friends, appeared at first inclined toremain in order to speak with him. They even did me the Honour ofconsulting me with a Look, asking of my Experience of the great Actorwhether they should stay. I slowly shook my Head, and they wisely actedon my Advice. I knew that my Friend would wish to be alone. He, soreserved, so proud, had laid his Soul bare before the Public, who waswont to belaud and to applaud him. The Humiliation and the Effort musthave been a terrible Strain, which only Time and Solitude couldeffectually cure.
He had scarce moved from his Position beside the Desk, still stood therewith one slender Hand resting upon it, his Gaze fixed vaguely upon theDoor through which his Friends were slowly filing out.
Within two minutes or les
s after the Departure of my Lord Stour and herLadyship, the last of the Crowd of Gentlemen and of Idlers had gone.Anon I went across the Room and closed the Door behind them. When Iturned again, I saw that the knot of quidnuncs no longer filled theCasements, and a protracted hum of Voices, a crackling of Ivy twigs andgeneral sound of Scrimmage and of Scrambling outside the Window,proclaimed the Fact that even they had had the Sense and the Discretionto retire quietly from this Spot, hallowed by the Martyrdom of a greatMan's Soul.
3
Thus I was left alone with my Friend.
He had drawn his habitual Chair up to the Desk and sat down. Just for afew Moments he rested both his Elbows on the Desk and buried his Face inhis Hands. Then, with that familiar, quick little Sigh of His, He drewthe Candles closer to him and, taking up a Book, he began to read.
I knew what it was that he was reading, or, rather, studying. He hadbeen absorbed in the Work many a time before now, and had expressed hisardent Desire to give public Readings of it one day when it wascompleted. It was the opening Canto of a great Epic Poem, themanuscript of which had been entrusted to Mr. Betterton for Perusal bythe author, Mr. John Milton, who had but lately been liberated fromprison through the untiring Efforts of Sir William Davenant on hisbehalf. Mr. Milton hoped to complete the Epic in the next half-dozenyears. Its Title is "Paradise Lost."
I remained standing beside the open Window, loath to close it as the Airwas peculiarly soft and refreshing. Below me, in the Park, the idle,chattering Crowd had already dispersed. From far away, I still couldhear the sweet, sad Strains of the amorous Song, and through theStillness of the Evening, the Words came to mine Ear, wafted on theBreeze: