Peg Woffington

by Charles Reade

  CHAPTER III.

  YES, Sir Charles was _after_ Mrs. Woffington. I use that phrase becauseit is a fine generic one, suitable to different kinds of love-making.

  Mr. Vane's sentiments were an inexplicable compound; but respect,enthusiasm, and deep admiration were the uppermost.

  The good Sir Charles was no enigma. He had a vacancy in hisestablishment--a very high situation, too, for those who like that sortof thing--the head of his table, his left hand when he drove in thePark, etc. To this he proposed to promote Mrs. Woffington. She washandsome and witty, and he liked her. But that was not what caused himto pursue her; slow, sagacious, inevitable as a beagle.

  She was celebrated, and would confer great _eclat_ on him. The scandalof possessing her was a burning temptation. Women admire celebrity in aman; but men adore it in a woman.

  "The world," says Philip, "is a famous man; What will not women love sotaught?"

  I will try to answer this question.

  The women will more readily forgive disgusting physical deformity forFame's sake than we. They would embrace with more rapture a famousorang-outang than we an illustrious chimpanzee; but when it comes tomoral deformity the tables are turned.

  Had the queen pardoned Mr. Greenacre and Mrs. Manning, would the greatrush have been on the hero, or the heroine? Why, on Mrs. Macbeth! To herwould the blackguards have brought honorable proposals, and the gentryliberal ones.

  Greenacre would have found more female admirers than I ever shall; butthe grand stream of sexual admiration would have set Mariaward. Thisfact is as dark as night; but it is as sure as the sun.

  The next day "the friends" (most laughable of human substantives!) metin the theater, and again visited the green-room; and this time Vanedetermined to do himself more justice. He was again disappointed; theactress's manner was ceremoniously polite. She was almost constantly onthe stage, and in a hurry when off it; and, when there was a word to begot with her the ready, glib Sir Charles was sure to get it. Vane couldnot help thinking it hard that a man who professed no respect for hershould thus keep the light from him; and he could hardly conceal hissatisfaction when Pomander, at night, bade him farewell for a fortnight.Pressing business took Sir Charles into the country.

  The good Sir Charles, however, could not go without leaving his stingbehind as a companion to his friend. He called on Mr. Vane and after ashort preface, containing the words "our friendship," "old kindness,""my greater experience," he gravely warned him against Mrs. Woffington.

  "Not that I would say this if you could take her for what she is, andamuse yourself with her as she will with you, if she thinks it worth herwhile. 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."

  Mr. Vane colored high, and was about to interrupt the speaker; but hecontinued:

  "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 herfriend after they part."

  "Men are such villains!"

  "Very likely," was the reply; "but twenty men don't ill-use one goodwoman; those are not the proportions. Adieu!"

  This last hit frightened Mr. Vane, he began to look into himself; hecould 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 madea football of it would be only a just and probable punishment. For therewere particular reasons why he, of all men, had no business to looktwice at any woman whose name was Woffington.

  That night he avoided the green-room, though he could not forego theplay; but the next night he determined to stay at home altogether.Accordingly, at five o'clock, the astounded box-keeper wore a visage ofdismay--there was no shilling for him! and Mr. Vane's nightly shillinghad assumed the sanctity of salary in his mind.

  Mr. Vane strolled disconsolate; he strolled by the Thames, he strolledup and down the Strand; and, finally, having often admired the wisdomof moths in their gradual approach to what is not good for them, hestrolled into the green-room, Covent Garden, and sat down. When therehe did not feel happy. Besides, she had always been cold to him, and hadgiven no sign of desiring his acquaintance, still less of recognition.

  Mr. Vane had often seen a weathercock at work, and he had heard a womancompared to it; but he had never realized the simplicity, beauty andjustice of the simile. He was therefore surprised, as well as thrilled,when Mrs. Woffington, so cool, ceremonious and distant hitherto, walkedup to him in the green-room with a face quite wreathed in smiles, and,without preliminary, thanked him for all the beautiful flowers he hadsent her.

  "What, Mrs. Woffington--what, you recognize me?"

  "Of course, and have been foolish enough to feel quite supported by thethought I had at least one friend in the house. But," said she, lookingdown, "now you must not be angry; here are some stones that have fallensomehow among the flowers. I am going to give you them back, because Ivalue flowers, so I cannot have them mixed with anything else; but don'task me for a flower back," added she, seeing the color mount on hisface, "for I would not give one of them to you, or anybody."

  Imagine the effect of this on a romantic disposition like Mr. Vane's.

  He told her how glad he was that she could distinguish his features amidthe crowd of her admirers; he confessed he had been mortified when hefound himself, as he thought, entirely a stranger to her.

  She interrupted him.

  "Do you know your friend Sir Charles Pomander? No! I am almost sure youdo; well, he is a man I do not like. He is deceitful, besides he is awicked man. There, to be plain with you, he was watching me all thatnight, the first time you came here, and, because I saw he was watchingme I would not know who you were, nor anything about you."

  "But you looked as if you had never seen me before."

  "Of course I did, when I had made up my mind to," said the actress,naively.

  "Sir Charles has left London for a fortnight, so, if he is the onlyobstacle, I hope you will know me every night."

  "Why, you sent me no flowers yesterday or to-day."

  "But I will to-morrow."

  "Then I am sure I shall know your face again; good-by. Won't you see mein the last act, and tell me how ill I do it?"

  "Oh, yes!" and he hurried to his box, and so the actress secured onepair of hands for her last act.

  He returned to the green-room, but she did not revisit that verdantbower. The next night, after the usual compliments, she said to him,looking down with a sweet, engaging air:

  "I sent a messenger into the country to know about that lady."

  "What lady?" said Vane, scarcely believing his senses.

  "That you were so unkind to me about."

  "I, unkind to you? what a brute I must be!"

  "My meaning is, you justly rebuked me, only you should not tell anactress she has no heart--that is always understood. Well, Sir CharlesPomander said she married a third in two months!"

  "And did she?"

  "No, it was in six weeks; that man never tells the truth; and since thenshe has married a fourth."

  "I am glad of it!"

  "So am I, since you awakened my conscience."

  Delicious flattery! and of all flattery the sweetest, when a sweetcreature does flattery, not merely utters it.

  After this, Vane made no more struggles; he surrendered himself to thecharming seduction, and as his advances were respectful, but ardent andincessant, he found himself at the end of a fortnight Mrs. Woffington'sprofessed lover.

  They wrote letters to each other every day. On Sunday they went tochurch together in the morning, and spent the afternoon in the suburbswherever grass was and dust was not.

  In the next fortnight, poor Vane thought he had pretty well fathomedthis extraordinary woman's character. Plumb the Atlantic with aneighty-fathom line, sir!

  "She is religious," said he, "she loves a church much better than aplayhouse, and she never laughs nor goes to sleep in church as I do. Andshe is breaking
me of swearing--by degrees. She says that no fashion canjustify what is profane, and that it must be vulgar as well as wicked.And she is frankness and simplicity itself."

  Another thing that charmed him was her disinterestedness. She orderedhim to buy her a present every day, but it was never to cost above ashilling. If an article could be found that cost exactly tenpence (afavorite sum of hers), she was particularly pleased, and these shillingpresents were received with a flush of pleasure and brightening eyes.But when one day he appeared with a diamond necklace, it was taken verycoldly, he was not even thanked for it, and he was made to feel, oncefor all, that the tenpenny ones were the best investments toward herfavor.

  Then he found out that she was very prudent and rather stingy; ofSpartan simplicity in her diet, and a scorner of dress off the stage.To redeem this she was charitable, and her charity and her economysometimes had a sore fight, during which she was peevish, poor littlesoul.

  One day she made him a request.

  "I can't bear you should think me worse than I am, and I don't want youto think me better than I am."

  Vane trembled.

  "But don't speak to others about me; promise, and I will promise to tellyou my whole story, whenever you are entitled to such a confidence.

  "When shall I be entitled to it?"

  "When I am sure you love me."

  "Do you doubt that now?"

  "Yes! I think you love me, but I am not sure.

  "Margaret, remember I have known you much longer than you have known me.

  "No!"

  "Yes! Two months before we ever spoke I lived upon your face and voice.

  "That is to say you looked from your box at me upon the stage, and didnot I look from the stage at you?"

  "Never! you always looked at the pit, and my heart used to sink."

  "On the 17th of May you first came into that box. I noticed you alittle, the next day I noticed you a little more; I saw you fancied youliked me, after a while I could not have played without you."

  Here was delicious flattery again, and poor Vane believed every word ofit.

  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 awoman to tell her story her own way.

  How the few facts that are allowed to remain get molded and twisted outof ugly forms into pretty shapes by those supple, dexterous fingers!

  This present story cannot give the life of Mrs. Woffington, but only onegreat passage therein, as do the epic and dramatic writers; but sincethere was often great point in any sentences spoken on importantoccasions by this lady, I will just quote her defense of herself. Thereader may be sure she did not play her weakest card; let us give herthe benefit.

  One day she and Kitty Clive were at it ding-dong; the green-room wasfull of actors, male and female, but there were no strangers, and theladies 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 everI ruin in all my life? Speak who can!"

  And there was a dead silence.

  "What woman is there here at as much as three pounds per week even, thathasn't ruined two at the very least?"

  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!

  Mrs. Woffington declined to attach weight to this example. "Kitty Cliveis the hook without the bait," said she; and the laugh turned, as italways did, against Peggy's antagonist.

  Thus much was speedily shown to Mr. Vane, that, whatever were Mrs.Woffington's intentions toward him, interest had at present nothing todo with them; indeed it was made clear that even were she to surrenderher liberty to him, it would only be as a princess, forging goldenchains for herself with her own royal hand.

  Another fortnight passed to the mutual satisfaction of the lovers. ToVane it was a dream of rapture to be near this great creature, whomthousands admired at such a distance; to watch over her, to take her tothe theater in a warm shawl, to stand at the wing and receive her as shecame radiant from her dressing-room, to watch her from her rear asshe stood like some power about to descend on the stage, to see herfalcon-like stoop upon the said stage, and hear the burst of applausethat followed, as the report does the flash; to compare this with thespiritless crawl with which common artists went on, tame from theirfirst note to their last; to take her hand when she came off, feel howher nerves were strung like a greyhound's after a race, and her wholeframe in a high even glow, with the great Pythoness excitement of art.

  And to have the same great creature leaning her head on his shoulder,and listening with a charming complacency, while he purred to her oflove and calm delights, alternate with still greater triumphs; for hewas to turn dramatic writer, for her sake, was to write plays, a womanthe hero, and love was to inspire him, and passion supply the want ofpencraft. (You make me laugh, Mr. Vane!)

  All this was heavenly.

  And then with all her dash, and fire, and bravado, she was a thoroughwoman.

  "Margaret!"

  "Ernest!"

  "I want to ask you a question. Did you really cry because that MissBellamy had dresses from Paris?"

  "It does not seem very likely."

  "No, but tell me; did you?"

  "Who said I did?"

  "Mr. Cibber."

  "Old fool!"

  "Yes, but did you?"

  "Did I what?"

  "Cry!"

  "Ernest, the minx's dresses were beautiful."

  "No doubt. But did you cry?"

  "And mine were dirty; I don't care about gilt rags, but dirty dresses,ugh!"

  "Tell me, then."

  "Tell you what?"

  "Did you cry or not?"

  "Ah! he wants to find out whether I am a fool, and despise me."

  "No, I think I should love you better. For hitherto I have seen noweakness in you, and it makes me uncomfortable."

  "Be comforted! Is it not a weakness to like you!"

  "You are free from that weakness, or you would gratify my curiosity."

  "Be pleased to state, in plain, intelligible English, what you requireof me."

  "I want to know, in one word, did you cry or not?"

  "Promise to tease me no more then, and I'll tell you."

  "I promise."

  "You won't despise me?"

  "Despise you! of course not."

  "Well, then--I don't remember!"

  On another occasion they were seated in the dusk, by the side of thecanal in the Park, when a little animal began to potter about on anadjacent bank.

  Mrs. Woffington contemplated it with curiosity and delight.

  "Oh, you pretty creature!" said she. "Now you are a rabbit; at least, Ithink so."

  "No," said Vane, innocently; "that is a rat."

  "Ah! ah! ah!" screamed Mrs. Woffington, and pinched his arm. Thisfrightened the rat, who disappeared. She burst out laughing: "There's afool! 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 foolthere 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, wheremonsters come from the great deep."

  And she flounced away, looking daggers askant at the place the rat hadvacated in equal terror.

  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.

  She played late that night, and Mr. Vane saw the same creature, whodared not stay where she was liable to a distant rat, spring upon thestage as a gay rake, and flash out her rapier, and act valor's king tothe life, and seem ready to eat up everybody, King Fear included; andthen, after her brilliant sally upon the public, Sir Harry Wildair cameand stood beside Mr. Vane. Her bright skin, contrasted with her powderedperiwig, became dazzling. She used little rouge, but that little madeher eyes
two balls of black lightning. From her high instep toher polished forehead, all was symmetry. Her leg would have been asculptor's glory; and the curve from her waist to her knee was Hogarth'sline itself.

  She stood like Mercury new lighted on a heaven-kissing hill. She placedher foot upon the ground, as she might put a hand upon her lover'sshoulder. We indent it with our eleven undisguised stone.

  Such was Sir Harry Wildair, who stood by Mr. Vane, glittering withdiamond buckles, gorgeous with rich satin breeches, velvet coat,ruffles, _pictcae vestis et auri;_ and as she bent her long eye-fringesdown on him (he was seated), all her fiery charms gradually softened andquivered down to womanhood.

  "The first time I was here," said Vane, "my admiration of you broke outto Mr. Cibber; and what do you think he said?"

  "That you praised me, for me to hear you. Did you?"

  "Acquit me of such meanness."

  "Forgive me. It is just what I should have done, had I been courting anactress."

  "I think you have not met many ingenuous spirits, dear friend."

  "Not one, my child."

  This was a phrase she often applied to him now.

  "The old fellow pretended to hear what I said, too; and I am sure youdid not--did you?"

  "Guess."

  "I guess not."

  "I am afraid I must plead guilty. An actress's ears are so quick to hearpraise, to tell you the truth, I did catch a word or two, and, 'It told,sir--it told.'"

  "You alarm me! At this rate, I shall never know what you see, hear orthink, by your face."

  "When you want to know anything, ask me, and I will tell you; but nobodyelse shall learn anything, nor even you, any other way."

  "Did you hear the feeble tribute of praise I was paying you, when youcame in?" inquired Vane.

  "No. You did not say that my voice had the compass and variety ofnature, and my movements were free and beautiful, while the others whenin motion were stilts, and coffee-pots when in repose, did you?"

  "Something of the sort, I believe," cried Vane, laughing.

  "I melted from one fine statue into another, I restored the Antinousto his true sex.--Goose!--Painters might learn their art from me (inmy dressing-room, no doubt), and orators revive at my lips the musicof Athens, that quelled mad mobs and princes drunk with victory.--Sillyfellow!--Praise was never so sweet to me," murmured she, inclining likea goddess of love toward him; and he fastened on two velvet lips, thatdid not shun the sweet attack, but gently parted with a heavenly sigh;while her heaving bosom and yielding frame and swimming eyes confessedher conqueror.

  That morning Mr. Vane had been dispirited, and apparentlyself-discontented; but at night he went home in a state of mentalintoxication. His poetic enthusiasm, his love, his vanity, were allgratified at once. And all these, singly, have conquered Prudence andVirtue a million times.

  She had confessed to him that she was disposed to risk her happinesson him; she had begged him to submit to a short probation; and she hadpromised, if her confidence and esteem remained unimpaired at the closeof that period--which was not to be an unhappy one--to take advantage ofthe summer holidays, and cross the water with him, and forget everythingin the world with him, but love.

  How was it that the very next morning clouds chased one another acrosshis face? Was it that men are happy but while the chase is doubtful?Was it the letter from Pomander announcing his return, and sneeringlyinquiring whether he was still the dupe of Peg Woffington? or was itthat same mysterious disquiet which attacked him periodically, and thengave way for a while to pleasure and her golden dreams?

  The next day was to be a day of delight. He was to entertain her at hisown house; and, to do her honor, he had asked Mr. Cibber, Mr. Quin andother actors, critics, etc.

  Our friend, Sir Charles Pomander, had been guilty of two ingenuities:first, he had written three or four letters, full of respectfuladmiration, to Mrs. Woffington, of whom he spoke slightingly to Vane;second, he had made a disingenuous purchase.

  This purchase was Pompey, Mrs. Woffington's little black slave. It isa horrid fact, but Pompey did not love his mistress. He was a littleenamored of her, as small boys are apt to be, but, on the whole, asentiment of hatred slightly predominated in his little black bosom.

  It was not without excuse.

  This lady was subject to two unpleasant companions--sorrow andbitterness. About twice a week she would cry for two hours; and afterthis class of fit she generally went abroad, and made a round of certainpoor or sick _proteges_ she had, and returned smiling and cheerful.

  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 ingeneral, the world in particular; and on these occasions, it must beowned, she stayed at home, and sometimes whipped Pompey.

  Pompey had not the sense to reflect that he ought to have been whippedevery day, or the _esprit de corps_ to be consoled by observing thatthis sort of thing did his mistress good. What he felt was, that hismistress, who did everything well, whipped him with energy and skill; itdid not take ten seconds, but still, in that brief period, Pompey foundhimself dusted and polished off.

  The sacred principle of justice was as strong in Mrs. Woffington as inthe rest of her sex; she had not one grain of it. When she was notin her tantrums, the mischievous imp was as sacred from check orremonstrance as a monkey or a lap-dog; and several female servants leftthe house on his account.

  But Nemesis overtook him in the way we have hinted, and it put hislittle black pipe out.

  The lady had taken him out of great humanity; he was fed like agame-cock, and dressed like a Barbaric prince; and once when he was illhis mistress watched him, and nursed him, and tended him with the samewhite hand that plied the obnoxious whip; and when he died, she alonewithheld her consent from his burial, and this gave him a chance blackboys never get, and he came to again; but still these tarnation lickings"stuck in him gizzard." So when Sir Charles's agent proposed to himcertain silver coins, cheap at a little treachery, the ebony apegrinned till he turned half ivory, and became a spy in the house of hismistress.

  The reader will have gathered that the good Sir Charles had beenquietly in London some hours before he announced himself as _paulo postfuturum._

  Diamond cut diamond; a diplomat stole this march upon an actress, andtook her black pawn. One for Pomander! (Gun.)