Peg Woffington

  CHAPTER II.

  PEOPLE whose mind or manners possess any feature, and are not as devoidof all eccentricity as half pounds of butter bought of metropolitangrocers, are recommended not to leave a roomful of their acquaintancesuntil the last but one. Yes, they should always be penultimate. PerhapsMrs. Woffington knew this; but epilogues are stubborn things, andcall-boys undeniable.

  "Did you ever hear a woman whistle before?"

  "Never; but I saw one sit astride on an ass in Germany!"

  "The saddle was not on her husband, I hope, madam?"

  "No, sir; the husband walked by his kinsfolk's side, and made the bestof a bad bargain, as Peggy's husband will have to."

  "Wait till some one ventures on the gay Lotharia--_illi aes triplex;_that means he must have triple brass, Kitty."

  "I deny that, sir; since his wife will always have enough for both."

  "I have not observed the lady's brass," said Vane, trembling withpassion; "but I observed her talent, and I noticed that whoever attacksher to her face comes badly off."

  "Well said, sir," answered Quin; "and I wish Kitty here would tell uswhy she hates Mrs. Woffington, the best-natured woman in the theater?"

  "I don't hate her, I don't trouble my head about her."

  "Yes, you hate her; for you never miss a cut at her!"

  "Do you hate a haunch of venison, Quin?" said the lady.

  "No, you little unnatural monster," replied Quin.

  "For all that, you never miss a cut at one, so hold your tongue!"

  "Le beau raisonnement!" said Mr. Cibber. "James Quin, don't interferewith nature's laws; let our ladies hate one another, it eases theirminds; try to make them Christians, and you will not convert theirtempers, but spoil your own. Peggy there hates George Anne Bellamy,because she has gaudy silk dresses from Paris, by paying for them, as_she_ could, if not too stingy. Kitty here hates Peggy because Rich hasbreeched her, whereas Kitty, who now sets up for a prude, wanted to putdelicacy off and small-clothes on in Peg's stead, that is where the Kateand Peg shoe pinches, near the femoral artery, James.

  "Shrimps have the souls of shrimps," resumed this _censor castigatorqueminorum._ "Listen to me, and learn that really great actors are great insoul, and do not blubber like a great school-girl because Anne Bellamyhas two yellow silk dresses from Paris, as I saw Woffington blubberin 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 togo a playing at acting with. When I was young, two giantesses foughtfor empire upon this very stage, where now dwarfs crack and bounce likeparched peas. They played Roxana and Statira in the 'Rival Queens.'Rival queens of art themselves, they put out all their strength. In themiddle of the last act the town gave judgment in favor of Statira. Whatdid Roxana? Did she spill grease on Statira's robe, as Peg Woffingtonwould? or stab her, as I believe Kitty here capable of doing? No!Statira was never so tenderly killed as that night; she owned this tome. Roxana bade the theater farewell that night, and wrote to Statirathus: I give you word for word: 'Madam, the best judge we have hasdecided in your favor. I shall never play second on a stage where I havebeen first so long, but I shall often be a spectator, and methinks nonewill appreciate your talent more than I, who have felt its weight. Mywardrobe, one of the best in Europe, is of no use to me; if you willhonor me by selecting a few of my dresses, you will gratify me, andI shall fancy I see myself upon the stage to greater advantage thanbefore.'"

  "And what did Statira answer, sir?" said Mr. Vane, eagerly.

  "She answered thus: 'Madam, the town has often been wrong, and may havebeen so last night, in supposing that I vied successfully with yourmerit; but this much is certain--and here, madam, I am the bestjudge--that off the stage you have just conquered me. I shall wearwith pride any dress you have honored, and shall feel inspired to greatexertions by your presence among our spectators, unless, indeed, thesense of your magnanimity and the recollection of your talent shoulddamp me by the dread of losing any portion of your good opinion.'"

  "What a couple of stiff old things," said Mrs. Clive.

  "Nay, madam, say not so," cried Vane, warmly; "surely, this was thelofty courtesy of two great minds not to be overbalanced by strife,defeat, or victory."

  "What were their names, sir?"

  "Statira was the great Mrs. Oldfield. Roxana you will see hereto-night."

  This caused a sensation.

  Colley's reminiscences were interrupted by loud applause from thetheater; the present seldom gives the past a long hearing.

  The old war-horse cocked his ears.

  "It is Woffington speaking the epilogue," said Quin.

  "Oh, she has got the length of their foot, somehow," said a smallactress.

  "And the breadth of their hands, too," said Pomander, waking from a nap.

  "It is the depth of their hearts she has sounded," said Vane.

  In those days, if a metaphor started up, the poor thing was coursed uphill and down dale, and torn limb from jacket; even in Parliament, atrope was sometimes hunted from one session into another.

  "You were asking me about Mrs. Oldfield, sir," resumed Cibber, ratherpeevishly. "I will own to you, I lack words to convey a just idea ofher double and complete supremacy. But the comedians of this day areweak-strained _farceurs_ compared with her, and her tragic tone wasthunder set to music.

  "I saw a brigadier-general cry like a child at her Indiana; I have seenher crying with pain herself at the wing (for she was always a greatsufferer), 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 withsinging-birds, that chirped the pleasures of fashion, love and youthin notes sparkling like diamonds and stars and prisms. She was abovecriticism, out of its scope, as is the blue sky; men went not to judgeher, they drank her, and gazed at her, and were warmed at her, andrefreshed by her. The fops were awed into silence, and with theirhumbler betters thanked Heaven for her, if they thanked it for anything.

  "In all the crowded theater, care and pain and poverty were banishedfrom the memory, while Oldfield's face spoke, and her tongue flashedmelodies; the lawyer forgot his quillets; the polemic, the mote in hisbrother's eye; the old maid, her grudge against the two sexes; the oldman, his gray hairs and his lost hours. And can it be, that all thiswhich should have been immortal, is quite--quite lost, is as though ithad never been?" he sighed. "Can it be that its fame is now sustained byme; who twang with my poor lute, cracked and old, these feeble praisesof a broken lyre:

  'Whose wires were golden and its heavenly air More tunable than lark to shepherd's ear, When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.'"

  He paused, and his eye looked back over many years. Then, with a verydifferent tone, he added:

  "And that Jack Falstaff there must have seen her, now I think on't."

  "Only once, sir," said Quin, "and I was but ten years old."

  "He saw her once, and he was ten years old; yet he calls Woffingtona great comedian, and my son The's wife, with her hatchet face, thegreatest tragedian he ever saw! Jemmy, what an ass you must be!"

  "Mrs. Cibber always makes me cry, and t'other always makes me laugh,"said Quin, stoutly, "that's why."

  _Ce beau raisonnement_ met no answer, but a look of sovereign contempt.

  A very trifling incident saved the ladies of the British stage fromfurther criticism. There were two candles in this room, one on eachside; the call-boy had entered, and, poking about for something, knockeddown and broke one of these.

  "Awkward imp!" cried a velvet page.

  "I'll go _to the Treasury_ for another, ma'am," said the boy pertly, andvanished with the fractured wax.

  I take advantage of the interruption to open Mr. Vane's mind to thereader. First he had been astonished at the freedom of sarcasm thesepeople indulged in without quarreling; next at the non-respect of sex.

  "So sex is not recognized in this community," thought he. Then theglibness and merit of some of their answers surprised
and amused him.He, like me, had seldom met an imaginative repartee, except in a play ora book. "Society's" repartees were then, as they are now, the goodold tree in various dresses and veils: _Tu quoque, tu mentiris, vosdamnemini;_ but he was sick and dispirited on the whole; such verybright illusions had been dimmed in these few minutes.

  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 hervoice was! Then it was clear nothing but his ignorance could have placedher at the summit of her art.

  Still he clung to his enthusiasm for her. He drew Pomander aside. "Whata simplicity there is in Mrs. Woffington!" said he; "the rest, male andfemale, are all so affected; she is so fresh and natural. They are allhot-house plants; she is a cowslip with the May dew on it."

  "What you take for simplicity is her refined art," replied Sir Charles.

  "No!" said Vane, "I never saw a more innocent creature!"

  Pomander laughed in his face; this laugh disconcerted him more thanwords; he spoke no more--he sat pensive. He was sorry he had come tothis place, where everybody knew his goddess; yet nobody admired, nobodyloved, and, alas! nobody respected her.

  He was roused from his reverie by a noise; the noise was caused byCibber falling on Garrick, whom Pomander had maliciously quoted againstall the tragedians of Colley Cibber's day.

  "I tell you," cried the veteran, "that this Garrick has banished dignityfrom 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 isall fuss and bustle. This is his idea of a tragic scene: A little fellowcomes bustling in, goes bustling about, and runs bustling out." HereMr. Cibber left the room, to give greater effect to his description, butpresently 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 mywounds!' Look sharp now with these wounds. 'Have mercy, Heaven!' butbe quick about it, for the pit can't wait for Heaven. Bustle! bustle!bustle!"

  The old dog was so irresistibly funny that the whole company wereobliged to laugh; but in the midst of their merriment Mrs. Woffington'svoice was heard at the door.

  "This way, madam."

  A clear and somewhat shrill voice replied: "I know the way better thanyou, child;" and a stately old lady appeared on the threshold.

  "Bracegirdle," said Mr. Cibber.

  It may well be supposed that every eye was turned on this newcomer--thatRoxana for whom Mr. Cibber's story had prepared a peculiar interest.She was dressed in a rich green velvet gown with gold fringe. Cibberremembered it; she had played the "Eastern Queen" in it. Heaven forgiveall concerned! It was fearfully pinched in at the waist and ribs, so asto give the idea of wood inside, not woman.

  Her hair and eyebrows were iron-gray, and she had lost a front tooth, orshe would still have been eminently handsome. She was tall and straightas a dart, and her noble port betrayed none of the weakness of age, onlyit was to be seen that her hands were a little weak, and the gold-headedcrutch struck the ground rather sharply, as if it did a littlelimbs'-duty.

  Such was the lady who marched into the middle of the room, with a "Howdo, Colley?" and, looking over the company's heads as if she did not seethem, regarded the four walls with some interest. Like a cat, she seemedto think more of places than of folk. The page obsequiously offered hera chair.

  "Not so clean as it used to be," said Mrs. Bracegirdle.

  Unfortunately, in making this remark, the old lady graciously patted thepage's head for offering her the chair; and this action gave, with someof the ill-constituted minds that are ever on the titter, a ridiculousdirection to a remark intended, I believe, for the paint and wanscots,etc.

  "Nothing is as it used to be," remarked Mr. Cibber.

  "All the better for everything," said Mrs. Clive.

  "We were laughing at this mighty little David, first actor of thismighty little age."

  Now if Mr. Cibber thought to find in the newcomer an ally of the pastin its indiscriminate attack upon the present, he was much mistaken; forthe old actress made onslaught on this nonsense at once.

  "Ay, ay," said she, "and not the first time by many hundreds. 'Tisa disease you have. Cure yourself, Colley. Davy Garrick pleases thepublic; and in trifles like acting, that take nobody to heaven, toplease all the world, is to be great. Some pretend to higher aims, butnone have 'em. You may hide this from young fools, mayhap, but not froman old 'oman like me. He! he! he! No, no, no--not from an old 'oman likeme."

  She then turned round in her chair, and with that sudden, unaccountablesnappishness of tone to which the brisk old are subject, she snarled:"Gie me a pinch of snuff, some of ye, do!"

  Tobacco dust was instantly at her disposal. She took it with thepoints of her fingers delicately, and divested the crime of half itsuncleanness and vulgarity--more an angel couldn't.

  "Monstrous sensible woman, though!" whispered Quin to Clive.

  "Hey, sir! what do you say, sir? for I'm a little deaf." (Not very topraise, it seems.)

  "That your judgment, madam, is equal to the reputation of your talent."

  The words were hardly spoken before the old lady rose upright as atower. She then made an oblique preliminary sweep, and came down withsuch a courtesy as the young had never seen.

  James Quin, not to disgrace his generation, attempted a correspondingbow, for which his figure and apoplectic tendency rendered him unfit;and while he was transacting it, the graceful Cibber stepped gravelyup, and looked down and up the process with his glass, like a naturalistinspecting some strange capriccio of an orang-outang. The gymnastics ofcourtesy ended without back-falls--Cibber lowered his tone.

  "You are right, Bracy. It is nonsense denying the young fellow's talent;but his Othello, now, Bracy! be just--his Othello!"

  "Oh, dear! oh, dear!" cried she; "I thought it was Desdemona's littleblack boy come in without the tea-kettle."

  Quin laughed uproariously.

  "It made me laugh a deal more than Mr. Quin's Falstaff. Oh, dear! oh,dear!"

  "Falstaff, indeed! Snuff!" In the tone of a trumpet.

  Quin secretly revoked his good opinion of this woman's sense.

  "Madam," said the page, timidly, "if you would but favor us with aspecimen of the old style--"

  "Well, child, why not? Only what makes you mumble like that? but theyall do it now, I see. Bless my soul! our words used to come out likebrandy-cherries; but now a sentence is like raspberry-jam, on the stageand off."

  Cibber chuckled.

  "And why don't you men carry yourself like Cibber here?"

  "Don't press that question," said Colley dryly.

  "A monstrous poor actor, though," said the merciless old woman, in amock aside to the others; "only twenty shillings a week for half hislife;" and her shoulders went up to her ears--then she fell into a halfreverie. "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 tosleep, and fell against me. A mighty pretty epigram, twenty lines, waswrit on't by one of my gallants. Have ye as many of them as we used?"

  "In that respect," said the page, "we are not behind ourgreat-grandmothers."

  "I call that pert," said Mrs. Bracegirdle, with the air of one drawingscientific distinctions. "Now, is that a boy or a lady that spoke to melast?"

  "By its dress, I should say a boy," said Cibber, with his glass; "by itsassurance, a lady!"

  "There's one clever woman among ye; Peg something, plays Lothario, LadyBetty Modish, and what not?"

  "What! admire Woffington?" screamed Mrs. Clive; "why, she is thegreatest gabbler on the stage."

  "I don't care," was the reply, "there's nature about the jade. Don'tcontradict me," added she, with sudden fury; "a parcel of children."

  "No, madam," said Clive humbly. "Mr. Cibber, will you try and prevail onMrs. Bracegirdle to favor us with a recitation?"

  Cibber handed his cane with pomp to a small actor. Bracegirdle did thesame; and, striking the
attitudes that had passed for heroic in theirday, they declaimed out of the "Rival Queens" two or three tirades,which I graciously spare the reader of this tale. Their elocution wasneat 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 madein 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 inimitation of human beings, not of speaking machines that have run andcreaked in a stage groove, with their eyes shut upon the world at large,upon nature, upon truth, upon man, upon woman and upon child.

  "This is slow," cried Cibber; "let us show these young people how ladiesand gentlemen moved fifty years ago, _dansons."_

  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 ownedit was beautiful; it was the dance of kings, the poetry of the courtlysaloon.

  The retired actress, however, had frisker notions left in her. "This isslow," cried she, and bade the fiddler play, "The wind that shakes thebarley," an ancient jig tune; this she danced to in a style that utterlyastounded the spectators.

  She showed them what fun was; her feet and her stick were all echoes tothe mad strain; out went her heel behind, and, returning, drove her fouryards forward. She made unaccountable slants, and cut them all over inturn if they did not jump for it. Roars of inextinguishable laughterarose, it would have made an oyster merry. Suddenly she stopped, and puther hands to her sides, and soon after she gave a vehement cry of pain.

  The laughter ceased.

  She gave another cry of such agony that they were all round her in amoment.

  "Oh, help me, ladies," screamed the poor woman, in tones as feminine asthey were heart-rending and piteous. "Oh, my back! my loins! I suffer,gentlemen," said the poor thing, faintly.

  What was to be done? Mr. Vane offered his penknife to cut her laces.

  "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, liftingher eyes, she exclaimed, with a sad air of self-reproach: "O vanity! doyou never leave a woman?"

  "Nay, madam!" whimpered the page, who was a good-hearted girl; "'twasyour great complaisance for us, not vanity. Oh! oh! oh!" and she beganto blubber, to make matters better.

  "No, my children," said the old lady, "'twas vanity. I wanted to showyou what an old 'oman could do; and I have humiliated myself, tryingto outshine younger folk. I am justly humiliated, as you see;" and shebegan to cry a little.

  "This is very painful," said Cibber.

  Mrs. Bracegirdle now raised her eyes (they had set her in a chair), andlooking sweetly, tenderly and earnestly on her old companion, she saidto him, slowly, gently, but impressively "Colley, at threescore yearsand ten this was ill done of us! You and I are here now--for what? tocheer the young up the hill we mounted years ago. And, old friend, if wedetract from them we discourage them. A great sin in the old!"

  "Every dog his day."

  "We have had ours." Here she smiled, then, laying her hand tenderlyin the old man's, she added, with calm solemnity: "And now we must goquietly toward our rest, and strut and fret no more the few last minutesof life's fleeting hour."

  How tame my cacotype of these words compared with what they were. Iam ashamed of them and myself, and the human craft of writing, which,though commoner far, is so miserably behind the godlike art of speech:_"Si ipsam audivisses!"_

  These ink scratches, which, in the imperfection of language, we havecalled words, till the unthinking actually dream they are words, butwhich are the shadows of the corpses of words; these word-shadows thenwere living powers on her lips, and subdued, as eloquence always does,every heart within reach of the imperial tongue.

  The young loved her, and the old man, softened and vanquished, andmindful of his failing life, was silent, and pressed his handkerchief tohis eyes a moment; then he said:

  "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 whatyou are now. Drat the woman," continued he, half ashamed of his emotion;"she makes us laugh, and makes us cry, just as she used."

  "What does he say, young woman?" said the old lady, dryly, to Mrs.Clive.

  "He says you make us laugh, and make us cry, madam; and so you do me,I'm sure."

  "And that's Peg Woffington's notion of an actress! Better it, Cibber andBracegirdle, if you can," said the other, rising up like lightning.

  She then threw Colley Cibber a note, and walked coolly and rapidly outof the room, without looking once behind her.

  The rest stood transfixed, looking at one another, and at the emptychair. Then Cibber opened and read the note aloud. It was from Mrs.Bracegirdle: "Playing at tric-trac; so can't play the fool in yourgreen-room to-night. B."

  On this, a musical ringing laugh was heard from outside the door, wherethe pseudo Bracegirdle was washing the gray from her hair, and thewrinkles from her face--ah! I wish I could do it as easily!--and thelittle bit of sticking-plaster from her front tooth.

  "Why, it is the Irish jade!" roared Cibber.

  "Divil a less!" rang back a rich brogue; "and it's not the furst time weput the comether upon ye, England, my jewal!"

  One more mutual glance, and then the mortal cleverness of all this beganto dawn on their minds; and they broke forth into clapping of hands, andgave this accomplished _mime_ three rounds of applause; Mr. Vane and SirCharles Pomander leading with, "Bravo, Woffington!"

  Its effect on Mr. Vane may be imagined. Who but she could have donethis? This was as if a painter should so paint a man as to deceive hisspecies. This was acting, but not like the acting of the stage. Hewas in transports, and self-satisfaction at his own judgment mingledpleasantly with his admiration.

  In this cheerful exhibition, one joined not--Mr. Cibber. His theorieshad received a shock (and we all love our theories). He himself hadreceived a rap--and we don't hate ourselves.

  Great is the syllogism! But there is a class of arguments lessvulnerable.

  If A says to B, "You can't hit me, as I prove by this syllogism" (herefolloweth the syllogism), "and B, _pour toute reponse,_ knocks A downsuch a whack that he rebounds into a sitting posture; and to him theman, the tree, the lamp-post and the fire-escape become not clearlydistinguishable; this barbarous logic prevails against the logic inBarbara, and the syllogism is in the predicament of Humpty Dumpty. Inthis predicament was the Poet Laureate. The miscreant Proteus (couldnot) escape these chains!" So the miscreant Proteus--no bad name for anold actor--took his little cocked hat and marched, a smaller, if not awiser man. Some disjointed words fell from him: "Mimicry is notacting," etc.; and with one bitter, mowing glance at the applauders,_circumferens acriter oculos,_ he vanished in the largest pinch of snuffon record. The rest dispersed more slowly.

  Mr. Vane waited eagerly, and watched the door for Mrs. Woffington; butshe did not come. He then made acquaintance with good-natured Mr. Quin,who took him upon the stage and showed him by what vulgar appliancesthat majestic rise of the curtain he so admired was effected. Returningto the green-room for his friend, he found him in animated conversationwith Mrs. Woffington. This made Vane uneasy.

  Sir Charles, up to the present moment of the evening, had beenunwontedly silent, and now he was talking nineteen to the dozen, andMrs. Woffington was listening with an appearance of interest that sent apang to poor Vane's heart; he begged Mr. Quin to introduce him.

  Mr. Quin introduced him.

  The lady received his advances with polite composure. Mr. Vane stammeredhis admiration of her Bracegirdle; but all he could find words to saywas mere general praise, and somewhat coldly received. Sir Charles,on the contrary, spoke more like a critic. "Had you given us the stagecackle, or any of those traditionary symptoms of old age, we should haveinstantly detected you," said he; "but this was art copying nature,and it may be years before such a triumph of i
llusion is again effectedunder so many adverse circumstances."

  "You are very good, Sir Charles," was the reply. "You flatter me. It wasone of those things which look greater than they are. Nobody here knewBracegirdle but Mr. Cibber; Mr. Cibber cannot see well without hisglasses, and I got rid of one of the candles; I sent one of the imps ofthe theater to knock it down. I know Mrs. Bracegirdle by heart. I drinktea with her every Sunday. I had her dress on, and I gave the old boyher words and her way of thinking; it was mere mimicry; it was nothingcompared with what I once did; but, a-hem!"

  "Pray tell us!"

  "I am afraid I shall shock your friend. I see he is not a wicked manlike you, and perhaps does not know what good-for-nothing creaturesactresses are."

  "He is not so ignorant as he looks," replied Sir Charles.

  "That is not quite the answer I expected, Sir Charles," replied thislively lady; "but it serves me right for fishing on dry land. Well,then, you must know a young gentleman courted me. I forget whether Iliked him or not; but you will fancy I hated him, for I promised tomarry him. You must understand, gentlemen, that I was sent into theworld, not to act, which I abominate, but to chronicle small beer andteach an army of little brats their letters; so this word 'wife,' andthat word 'chimney-corner,' took possession of my mind, and a vision ofdarning stockings for a large party, all my own, filled my heart, andreally I felt quite grateful to the little brute that was to give me allthis, and he would have had such a wife as men never do have, still lessdeserve. But one fine day that the theater left me time to examine hismanner toward me, I instantly discovered he was deceiving me. So I hadhim watched, and the little brute was going to marry another woman, andbreak it to me by degrees afterward, etc. You know, Sir Charles? Ah! Isee you do.

  "I found her out; got an introduction to her father; went down to hishouse 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.

  "The first day I flirted and danced with the bride. The second Imade love to her, and at night I let her know that her intended was avillain. I showed her letters of his; protestations, oaths of eternalfidelity to one Peg Woffington, 'who will die,' drawled I,' if hebetrays her.'

  "And here, gentlemen, mark the justice of Heaven. I received abackhanded slap: 'Peg Woffington! an actress! Oh, the villain!' criedshe; 'let him marry the little vagabond. How dare he insult me with hishand that had been offered in such a quarter?'

  "So, in a fit of virtuous indignation, the little hypocrite dismissedthe little brute; in other words, she had fallen in love with me.

  "I have not had many happy hours, but I remember it was delicious tolook out of my window, and at the same moment smell the honeysuckles andsee my _perfide_ dismissed under a heap of scorn and a pile of luggagehe had brought down for his wedding tour.

  "I scampered up to London, laughing all the way; and when I got home, ifI remember right, I cried for two hours. How do you account for that?"

  "I hope, madam," said Vane, gravely, "it was remorse for having trifledwith that poor young lady's heart; she had never injured you."

  "But, sir, the husband I robbed her of was a brute and a villain in hislittle way, and wicked and good-for-nothing, etc. He would have deceivedthat poor little hypocrite, as he had this one," pointing to herself.

  "That is not what I mean; you inspired her with an attachment, never tobe forgotten. Poor lady, how many sleepless nights has she passed sincethen, how many times has she strained her eyes to see her angel loverreturning to her! She will not forget in two years the love it cost youbut two days to inspire. The powerful should be merciful. Ah! I fear youhave no heart."

  These words had no sooner burst from Mr. Vane, than he was conscious ofthe strange liberty he had taken, and, indeed, the bad taste he had beenguilty of; and this feeling was not lessened when he saw Mrs. Woffingtoncolor up to the temples. Her eyes, too, glittered like basilisks; butshe said nothing, which was remarkable in her, whose tongue was thesword of a _maitre d'armes._

  Sir Charles eyed his friend in a sly, satirical manner; he then said,laughingly: "In two months _she married a third!_ don't waste yoursympathy," and turned the talk into another channel; and soon after,Mrs. Woffington's maid appearing at the door, she courtesied to bothgentlemen and left the theater. Sir Charles Pomander accompanied Mr.Vane a little way.

  "What becomes of her innocence?" was his first word.

  "One loses sight of it in her immense talent," said the lover.

  "She certainly is clever in all that bears upon her business," was thereply; "but I noticed you were a little shocked with her indelicacy intelling us that story, and still more in having it to tell."

  "Indelicacy? No!" said Vane; "the little brute deserved it. GoodHeavens! to think that 'a little brute' might have married that angel,and actually broke faith to lose her; it is incredible, the crime isdiluted by the absurdity."

  "Have you heard him tell the story? No? Then take my word for it, youhave not heard the facts of the case."

  "Ah! you are prejudiced against her?"

  "On the contrary, I like her. But I know that with all women the presentlover is an angel and the past a demon, and so on in turn. And I knowthat if Satan were to enter the women of the stage, with the wild ideaof impairing their veracity, he would come out of their minds a greaterliar than he went in, and the innocent darlings would never know theirspiritual father had been at them."

  Doubtful whether this sentiment and period could be improved, SirCharles parted with his friend, leaving his sting in him like a friend;the other's reflections as he sauntered home were not strictly those ofa wise, well-balanced mind; they ran in this style:

  "When she said, 'Is not that to praise my person at the expense of mywit?' I ought to have said, 'Nay, madam; could your wit disguise yourperson, it would betray itself, so you would still shine confessed;' andinstead of that I said nothing!"

  He then ran over in his mind all the opportunities he had hadfor putting in something smart, and bitterly regretted those lostopportunities; and made the smart things, and beat the air with them.Then his cheeks tingled when he remembered that he had almost scoldedher; and he concocted a very different speech, and straightway repeatedit in imagination.

  This is lovers' pastime; I own it funny; but it is open to oneobjection, this single practice of sitting upon eggs no longerchickenable, carried to a habit, is capable of turning a solid intellectinto a liquid one, and ruining a mind's career.

  We leave Mr. Vane, therefore, with a hope that he will not do it everynight; and we follow his friend to the close of our chapter.

  Hey for a definition!

  What is diplomacy? Is it folly in a coat that looks like sagacity? HadSir Charles Pomander, instead of watching Mr. Vane and Mrs. Woffington,asked the former whether he admired the latter, and whether the latterresponded, straightforward Vane would have told him the whole truth in aminute. Diplomacy therefore was, as it often is, a waste of time.

  But diplomacy did more in this case, it _sapienter descendebat infossam;_ it fell on its nose with gymnastic dexterity, as it generallydoes, upon my word.

  To watch Mrs. Woffington's face _vis-a-vis_ Mr. Vane, Pomanderintroduced Vane to the green-room of the Theater Royal, Covent Garden.By this Pomander learned nothing, because Mrs. Woffington had, with awonderful appearance of openness, the closest face in Europe when shechose.

  On the other hand, by introducing this country gentleman to thisgreen-room, he gave a mighty impulse and opportunity to Vane's love;an opportunity which he forgot the timid, inexperienced Damon mightotherwise never have found.

  Here diplomacy was not policy, for, as my sagacious reader has perhapsdivined, Sir Charles Pomander _was after her himself._