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 wasby no means such a favourite with the people of Chatteris as it was withthe accomplished actor himself. Scarce anybody was in the theatre. PoorPen had the boxes almost all to himself, and sate there lonely, withbloodshot eyes, leaning over the ledge, and gazing haggardly towards 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 noteof any of them; and only saw Cora whom his soul longed after. He saidafterwards 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 Chatterisgaol? 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 himthat they were directed that night. He did not know to whom, or remarka couple 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 the entry of these two gentlemen into thetheatre. 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 Elvira spokeunder 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 Dean? 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 grey 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, jewelled pins and neck-chains. When he took out hisyellow pocket-handkerchief with his hand that was cased in white kids,a delightful odour of musk and bergamot was shaken through the house.He was evidently a personage of rank, and it was at him that the littleChatteris 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 travelled. He had not been ten minutes inthe theatre 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 favour of the great stage Sultan. Pizarro 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 strongas he 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 Chatteris theatre 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 theatre (which,if you please, and to injure no present susceptibilities and vestedinterests, we shall call the Museum Theatre) by no means prospered,and the famous Impresario found himself on the verge of ruin. The greatHubbard had acted legitimate drama for twenty nights, and failed toremunerate anybody but himself: the celebrated Mr. and Mrs. Cawdorhad come out in Mr. Rawhead's tragedy, and in their favourite roundof pieces, and had not attracted the public. Herr Garbage's lions andtigers 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 splendour 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 everybody was lookingout for the day when he should appear in the Gazette.
One of the illustrious patrons of the Museum Theatre, 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 theatre in time for the ballet, and was always received with thegreatest respect by the Manager, from whom he sometimes condescendedto receive a visit in his box. It communicated with the stage, and whenanything occurred there which particularly pleased him, when a new facemade its appearance among the coryphees, or a fair dancer executed apas with especial grace or agility, Mr. Wenham, Mr. Wagg, or some otheraide-de-camp of the noble Marquis, would be commissioned to go behindthe scenes, and express the great man's approbation, or make theinquiries 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 towards thestage--but you could know he was in the house, by the glances which allthe corps-de-ballet, and all the principal dancers, cast towards hisbox. I have seen many scores of pairs of eyes (as in the Palm Dance inthe ballet 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 Sauterelle, or Mademoiselle de Bondi (known as la petiteCaoutchoue), 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 begin to applaud. Bo
ndi, or Sauterelle, when they came downto earth, curtsied 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 scandalised, and many indignant voices were bawling outsilence 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. WaggI don't think so much cares--it's the stomach rather more than the heartwith you, eh, Wagg, my boy?"
"I like everything 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 turtle 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 tobe good-humoured by way of variety, and to do me a service. It is adelicate matter, entre nous, une affaire de coeur. There is a youngfriend of mine who is gone wild about a certain Miss Fotheringay, anactress at the theatre here, and I must own to you, as handsome a woman,and, as it appears to me, as good an actress as ever put on rouge. Shedoes Ophelia, Lady Teazle, Mrs. Haller--that sort of thing. Upon myword, she is as splendid as Georges in her best days, and as far as Iknow, utterly superior to anything 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 anything I can inreturn for your service--which I shall consider one of the greatest thatcan be done to me. Do, do this now as a good fellow, which I always saidyou 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 return amember. It is the nephew's affair, depend on it. The young one is ina 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 rose up toLord Steyne, and George Gaunt was a boy again not altogether lost.--"ButI say, she must be a fine woman from Pendennis's account. Have inDolphin, and let us hear if he knows anything 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 ofthe offending coryphees, to grasp that of the new-comer. "How do, Mr.Wenham? How's his lordship to-night? Looks uncommonly well," said themanager smiling, as if he had never been out of temper in his life; andhe was only too delighted to follow Lord Steyne's ambassador, and payhis personal respects to that great man.
The visit to Chatteris was the result of their conversation: and Mr.Dolphin wrote to his lordship from that place, and did himself thehonour to inform the Marquess of Steyne, that he had seen the lady aboutwhom his lordship had spoken, that he was as much struck by her talentsas he was by her personal appearance, and that he had made an engagementwith Miss Fotheringay, who would soon have the honour of appearingbefore a London audience, and his noble and enlightened patron theMarquess of Steyne.
Pen read the announcement of Miss Fotheringay's engagement in theChatteris 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 "Thelast night of Miss Fotheringay's engagement." Poor Pen and Sir DerbyOaks 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 one more,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 uponChatteris 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 am 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. It wasI made her. If she doesn't send for me, I shall follow her: but I knowshe'll send for me. She wants me. Some day she'll marry, and fling meover, 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.