Peg Woffington

by Charles Reade

  CHAPTER V.

  SIR CHARLES POMANDER was detained in the country much longer than heexpected.

  He was rewarded by a little adventure. As he cantered up to London withtwo servants and a post-boy, all riding on horses ordered in relaysbeforehand, he came up with an antediluvian coach, stuck fast by theroad-side. Looking into the window, with the humane design of quizzingthe elders who should be there, he saw a young lady of surpassingbeauty. This altered the case; Sir Charles instantly drew bridle andoffered his services.

  The lady thanked him, and being an innocent country lady, she openedthose sluices, her eyes, and two tears gently trickled down, while shetold him how eager she was to reach London, and how mortified at thisdelay.

  The good Sir Charles was touched. He leaped his horse over a hedge,galloped to a farm-house in sight, and returned with ropes and rustics.These and Sir Charles's horses soon drew the coach out of some stiffishclay.

  The lady thanked him, and thanked him, and thanked him, with heighteningcolor and beaming eyes, and he rode away like a hero.

  Before he had gone five miles he became thoughtful andself-dissatisfied, finally his remorse came to a head; he called to himthe keenest of his servants, Hunsdon, and ordered him to ride back pastthe carriage, then follow and put up at the same inn, to learn who thelady was, and whither going; and, this knowledge gained, to ride intotown full speed and tell his master all about it. Sir Charles thenresumed his complacency, and cantered into London that same evening.

  Arrived there, he set himself in earnest to cut out his friend with Mrs.Woffington. He had already caused his correspondence with that lady togrow warm and more tender, by degrees. Keeping a copy of his last, healways knew where he was. Cupid's barometer rose by rule; and so hearrived by just gradations at an artful climax, and made her in terms ofchivalrous affection, an offer of a house, etc., three hundred a year,etc., not forgetting his heart, etc. He knew that the ladies of thestage have an ear for flattery and an eye to the main chance.

  The good Sir Charles felt sure that, however she might flirt withVane or others, she would not forego a position for any disinterested_penchant._ Still, as he was a close player, he determined to throwa little cold water on that flame. His plan, like everything trulyscientific, was simple.

  "I'll run her down to him, and ridicule him to her," resolved thisfaithful friend and lover dear.

  He began with Vane. He found him just leaving his own house. Afterthe usual compliments, some such dialogue as this took place betweenTelemachus and pseudo Mentor:

  "I trust you are not really in the power of this actress?"

  "You are the slave of a word," replied Vane. "Would you confound blackand white because both are colors? She is like that sisterhood innothing but a name. Even on the stage they have nothing in common. Theyare puppets--all attitude and trick; she is all ease, grace and nature."

  "Nature!" cried Pomander. _"Laissez-moi tranquille._ They haveartifice--nature's libel. She has art--nature's counterfeit."

  "Her voice is truth told by music," cried the poetical lover; "theirsare jingling instruments of falsehood."

  "They are all instruments," said the satirist; "she is rather the besttuned and played."

  "Her face speaks in every lineament; theirs are rouged and wrinkledmasks."

  "Her mask is the best made, mounted, and moved; that is all."

  "She is a fountain of true feeling."

  "No; a pipe that conveys it without spilling or holding a drop."

  "She is an angel of talent, sir."

  "She's a devil of deception."

  "She is a divinity to worship."

  "She's a woman to fight shy of. There is not a woman in London betterknown," continued Sir Charles. "She is a fair actress on the boards, anda great actress off them; but I can tell you how to add a new charm toher."

  "Heaven can only do that," said Vane, hastily.

  "Yes, you can. Make her blush. Ask her for the list of yourpredecessors."

  Vane winced visibly. He quickened his step, as if to get rid of thisgadfly.

  "I spoke to Mr. Quin," said he, at last; "and he, who has no prejudice,paid her character the highest compliment."

  "You have paid it the highest it admits," was the reply. "You have letit deceive you." Sir Charles continued in a more solemn tone: "Pray bewarned. Why is it every man of intellect loves an actress once in hislife, and no man of sense ever did it twice?"

  This last hit, coming after the carte and tierce we have described,brought an expression of pain to Mr. Vane's face. He said abruptly:"Excuse me, I desire to be alone for half an hour."

  Machiavel bowed; and, instead of taking offense, said, in a tone full offeeling: "Ah! I give you pain! But you are right; think it calmly over awhile, and you will see I advise you well."

  He then made for the theater, and the weakish personage he had beenplaying upon walked down to the river, almost ran, in fact. He wanted tobe out of sight.

  He got behind some houses, and then his face seemed literally to breakloose from confinement; so anxious, sad, fearful and bitter were theexpressions that coursed each other over that handsome countenance.

  What is the meaning of these hot and cold fits? It is not Sir Charleswho has the power to shake Mr. Vane so without some help from within._There is something wrong about this man!_