" Here she smiled, then laying her
hand tenderly in the old man's, she added with calm solemnity:
"And now we must go quietly towards our rest, and strut and
fret no more the few last minutes of life's fleeting hour.
hand tenderly in the old man's, she added with calm solemnity:
"And now we must go quietly towards our rest, and strut and
fret no more the few last minutes of life's fleeting hour.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v21 - Rab to Rus
"
he sighed. "Can it be that its fame is now sustained by me?
who twang with my poor lute, cracked and old, these feeble
praises of 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. '»
## p. 12125 (#163) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
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He paused, and his eye looked back over many years; then
with a very different 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
Woffington a great comedian, and my son The's wife, with her
hatchet face, the greatest 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.
from further criticism. There were two candles in this room,
one on each side; the call-boy had entered, and poking about for
something, knocked down 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, and vanished with the fractured wax.
I take advantage of the interruption to open Mr. Vane's mind
to the reader. First he had been astonished at the freedom of
sarcasm these people indulged in without quarreling; next at the
non-respect of sex.
"So sex is not recognized in this community," thought he.
Then the glibness and merit of some of their answers surprised
and amused him. He, like me, had seldom met an imaginative
repartee except in a play or a book. "Society's" repartees were
then, as they are now, the good old three in various dresses and
veils: Tu quoque, tu mentiris, vos damnemini; but he was sick
and dispirited on the whole, such very bright illusions had been
dimmed in these few minutes.
She was
as brilliant: but her manners, if not masculine, were
very daring; and yet when she spoke to him, a stranger, how
sweet and gentle her voice was! Then it was clear nothing but
his ignorance could have placed her at the summit of her art.
Still he clung to his enthusiasm for her. He drew Pomander
aside. "What a simplicity there is in Mrs. Woffington! " said he:
"the rest, male and female, are all so affected; she is so fresh
and natural. They are all hot-house plants; she is a cowslip
with the May dew on it. "
## p. 12126 (#164) ##########################################
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CHARLES READE
"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 than words; he spoke no more-he sat pensive.
He was
sorry he had come to this place, where everybody knew his
goddess, yet nobody admired, nobody loved, and alas! nobody
respected her.
He was roused from his reverie by a noise; the noise. was
caused by Cibber falling on Garrick, whom Pomander had mali-
ciously quoted against all the tragedians of Colley Cibber's day.
"I tell you," cried the veteran, "that this Garrick has banished
dignity from 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 is all fuss and bustle. This is his idea
of a tragic scene: A little fellow comes bustling in, goes bustling
about, and runs bustling out. " Here Mr. Cibber left the room to
give greater effect to his description, but presently 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 my
wounds! Look sharp now with these wounds.
Have mercy,
Heaven! but be quick about it, for the pit can't wait for Heaven. '
Bustle! bustle! bustle! "
The old dog was so irresistibly funny that the whole com-
pany were obliged to laugh; but in the midst of their merriment
Mrs. Woffington's voice was heard at the door.
"This way, madam. "
A clear and somewhat shrill voice replied, "I know the way
better than you, 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
new-comer,—that Roxana for whom Mr. Cibber's story had pre-
pared a peculiar interest. She was dressed in a rich green-
velvet gown with gold fringe. Cibber remembered it: she had
played the Eastern Queen' in it. Heaven forgive all concerned!
It was fearfully pinched in at the waist and ribs, so as to give
the idea of wood inside, not woman.
Her hair and eyebrows were iron-gray, and she had lost a
front tooth, or she would still have been eminently handsome.
She was tall and straight as a dart, and her noble port betrayed
## p. 12127 (#165) ##########################################
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none of the weakness of age; only it was to be seen that her
hands were a little weak, and the gold-headed crutch struck the
ground rather sharply, as if it did a little limbs'-duty.
Such was the lady who marched into the middle of the room,
with a "How do, Colley? " and looking over the company's heads
as if she did not see them, regarded the four walls with some
interest. Like a cat, she seemed to think more of places than of
folk. The page obsequiously offered her a chair.
"Not so clean as it used to be," said Mrs. Bracegirdle.
Unfortunately, in making this remark, the old lady graciously
patted the page's head for offering her the chair; and this action.
gave, with some of the ill-constituted minds that are ever on the
titter, a ridiculous direction to a remark intended, I believe, for
the paint and wainscots, 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
this mighty little age. "
Now if Mr. Cibber thought to find in the new-comer an ally
of the past in its indiscriminate attack upon the present, he was
much mistaken; for the old actress made onslaught on this non-
sense at once.
"Ay, ay," said she, "and not the first time by many hun-
dreds. 'Tis a disease you have. Cure yourself, Colley. David
Garrick pleases the public; and in trifles like acting, that take
nobody to heaven, to please all the world is to be great. Some
pretend to higher aims, but none have 'em. You may hide this
from young fools, mayhap, but not from an old 'oman like me.
He! he he! No, no, no,- not from an old 'oman like me. "
She then turned round in her chair, and with that sudden,
unaccountable snappishness 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
the points of her fingers, delicately, and divested the crime of
half its uncleanness 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 to praise, it seems. )
"That your judgment, madam, is equal to the reputation of
your talent. ”
## p. 12128 (#166) ##########################################
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CHARLES READE
The words were hardly spoken, before the old lady rose
upright as a a tower. She then made an oblique preliminary
sweep, and came down with such a curtsy as the young had
never seen.
James Quin, not to disgrace his generation, attempted a cor-
responding bow, for which his figure and apoplectic tendency
rendered him unfit; and whilst he was transacting it, the grace-
ful Cibber stepped gravely up, and looked down and up the
process with his glass, like a naturalist inspecting some strange
capriccio of an orang-outang. The gymnastics of courtesy 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 Desde-
mona's little black 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 a specimen of the old style! "
"Well, child, why not? Only what makes you mumble like
that? But they all do it now, I see. Bless my soul! our words
used to come out like brandy-cherries; but now a sentence is
like raspberry jam, on the stage and 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 a mock aside to the others,-"only twenty shillings a
week for half his life;" and her shoulders went up to her ears
then she fell into a half-revery. "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 to sleep and fell
against me. A mighty pretty epigram, twenty lines, was writ
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 our
great-grandmothers. "
## p. 12129 (#167) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12129
"I call that pert," said Mrs. Bracegirdle, with the air of one
drawing scientific distinctions. "Now, is that a boy or a lady
that spoke to me last? "
"By its dress, I should say a boy," said Cibber, with his glass;
"by its assurance, a lady! "
"There's one clever woman amongst ye: Peg something, plays
Lothario, Lady Betty Modish, and what not.
"What! admire Woffington? " screamed Mrs. Clive: "why, she
is the greatest gabbler on the stage. "
"I don't care," was the reply: "there's nature about the jade.
Don't contradict me," added she with sudden fury: "a parcel of
children! "
“No, madam,” said Clive humbly. "Mr. Cibber, will you try
and prevail on Mrs. Bracegirdle to favor us with a recitation? "
Cibber handed his cane with pomp to a small actor. Brace-
girdle did the same; and striking the attitudes that had passed
for heroic in their day, they declaimed out of the 'Rival Queens'
two or three tirades, which I graciously spare the reader of this
tale. Their elocution was neat 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 made in 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 in
imitation of human beings, not of speaking machines that have
run and creaked 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 ladies and 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 owned it was beautiful; it was the dance of kings, the
poetry of the courtly saloon.
The retired actress, however, had friskier notions left in her:
"This is slow! " cried she, and bade the fiddler play "The Wind
that Shakes the Barley,'-an ancient jig tune; this she danced to
in a style that utterly astounded the spectators.
She showed them what fun was: her feet and her stick were
all echoes to the mad strain; out went her heel behind, and re-
turning, drove her four yards forward. She made unaccountable
XXI-759
## p. 12130 (#168) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12130
slants, and cut them all over in turn if they did not jump for
it. Roars of inextinguishable laughter arose; it would have made
an oyster merry. Suddenly she stopped, and put her hands to
her side, 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 a moment.
"Oh! help me, ladies," screamed the poor woman, in tones as
feminine as they 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 lifting her eyes, she exclaimed with a sad air of self-
reproach, "O vanity! do you never leave a woman? »
"Nay, madam! " whimpered the page, who was a good-hearted
girl: "'twas your great complaisance for us, not vanity.
oh! oh! " and she began to blubber to make matters better.
"No, my children," said the old lady, "'twas vanity. I wanted
to show you what an old 'oman could do; and I have humiliated
myself, trying to outshine younger folk. I am justly humiliated,
as you see;" and she began to cry a little.
"This is very painful," said Cibber.
Oh!
Mrs. Bracegirdle now raised her eyes (they had set her in a
chair), and looking sweetly, tenderly, and earnestly on her old
companion, she said to him, slowly, gently, but impressively:-
"Colley, at threescore years and ten, this was ill done of us!
You and I are here now-for what? to cheer the young up the
hill we mounted years ago. And, old friend, if we detract 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 tenderly in the old man's, she added with calm solemnity:
"And now we must go quietly towards our rest, and strut and
fret no more the few last minutes of life's fleeting hour. "
How tame my cacotype of these words compared with what
they were! I am 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 have called words till the unthinking actually dream they
## p. 12131 (#169) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12131
are words, but which are the shadows of the corpses of words,
these word-shadows then were 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 van-
quished, and mindful of his failing life, was silent, and pressed
his handkerchief to his 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 what you are now. Drat the woman," con-
tinued 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 and Bracegirdle, if you can," said the other, rising up
like lightning.
She then threw Colley Cibber a note, and walked coolly and
rapidly out of the room, without looking once behind her.
The rest stood transfixed, looking at one another and at the
empty chair. Then Cibber opened and read the note aloud. It
was from Mrs. Bracegirdle: "Playing at tric-trac; so can't play
the fool in your green-room to-night. - B. "
On this, a musical ringing laugh was heard from outside the
door, where the pseudo-Bracegirdle was washing the gray from
her hair and the wrinkles from her face,-ah! I wish I could
do it as easily! -and the little 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 we put the comether upon ye, England, my jewal! "
One more mutual glance, and then the mortal cleverness of
all this began to dawn on their minds: and they broke forth
into clapping of hands, and gave this accomplished mime three
rounds of applause; Mr. Vane and Sir Charles Pomander leading
with "Brava, Woffington! "
## p. 12132 (#170) ##########################################
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CHARLES READE
EXTRACT FROM A SIXTEENTH-CENTURY LETTER
From The Cloister and the Hearth'
[Margaret has received a letter from her young husband, Gerard, who is
traveling afoot to Italy. She reads it to his father and mother, brothers and
sister. ]
___
LI
"Whisht, wife! "
Ε" "And I did sigh, loud and often.
And me sighing so,
one came caroling like a bird adown t'other road. ‘Ay,
chirp and chirp,' cried I bitterly. Thou hast not lost sweet-
heart and friend, thy father's hearth, thy mother's smile, and
every penny in the world. ' And at last he did so carol and
carol, I jumped up in ire to get away from his most jarring
mirth. But ere I fled from it, I looked down the path to see
what could make a man
man so light-hearted in this weary world;
and lo! the songster was a humpbacked cripple, with a bloody
bandage o'er his eye, and both legs gone at the knee. "
"He! he he! he he! " went Sybrandt, laughing and cack-
ling.
(
Margaret's eyes flashed; she began to fold the letter up.
"Nay, lass," said Eli, "heed him not! Thou unmannerly cur,
offer't but again and I put thee to the door. "
"Why, what was there to gibe at, Sybrandt? " remonstrated
Catherine more mildly. "Is not our Kate afflicted? and is she
not the most content of us all, and singeth like a merle at times
between her pains? But I am as bad as thou: prithee read on,
lass, and stop our gabble wi' somewhat worth the hearkening. "
"Then,' said I, 'may this thing be? ' And I took myself to
task: 'Gerard, son of Eli, dost thou well to bemoan thy lot,
that hast youth and health; and here comes the wreck of nature
on crutches, praising God's goodness with singing like a mavis ? › »
Catherine-There you see. "
Eli- "Whisht, dame, whisht! "
"And whenever he saw me, he left caroling and presently
hobbled up and chanted, Charity, for love of Heaven, sweet
master, charity;' with a whine as piteous as wind at keyhole.
'Alack, poor soul,' said I, 'charity is in my heart, but not my
purse; I am poor as thou. ' Then he believed me none, and to
melt me undid his sleeve, and showed a sore wound on his arm,
and said he, 'Poor cripple though I be, I am like to lose this
## p. 12133 (#171) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12133
eye to boot, look else. ' I saw and groaned for him, and to
excuse myself, let him wot how I had been robbed of my last
copper. Thereat he left whining all in a moment, and said in
a big manly voice, 'Then I'll e'en take a rest. Here, youngster,
pull thou this strap: nay, fear not! ' I pulled, and down came a
stout pair of legs out of his back; and half his hump had melted
away, and the wound in his eye no deeper than the bandage. "
"Oh! " ejaculated Margaret's hearers in a body.
"Whereat, seeing me astounded, he laughed in my face, and
told me I was not, worth gulling, and offered, me his protection.
My face was prophetic,' he said. 'Of what? ' said I. Marry,'
said he, 'that its owner will starve in this thievish land. ' Travel
teaches e'en the young wisdom. Time was I had turned and fled
this impostor as a pestilence; but now I listened patiently to
pick up crumbs of counsel. And well I did; for nature and his
adventurous life had crammed the poor knave with shrewdness
and knowledge of the homelier sort—a child was I beside him.
When he had turned me inside out, said he, 'Didst well to leave
France and make for Germany; but think not of Holland again.
Nay, on to Augsburg and Nürnberg, the Paradise of craftsmen;
thence to Venice, an thou wilt. But thou wilt never bide in Italy
nor any other land, having once tasted the great German cities.
Why, there is but one honest country in Europe, and that is
Germany; and since thou art honest, and since I am a vagabone,
Germany was made for us twain. ' I bade him make that good:
how might one country fit true men and knaves! Why, thou
novice,' said he, 'because in an honest land are fewer knaves
to bite the honest man, and many honest men for the knave
to bite. ' 'I was in luck, being honest, to have fallen in with a
friendly sharp. ' 'Be my pal,' said he: 'I go to Nürnberg; we
will reach it with full pouches. I'll learn ye the cul de bois, and
the cul de jatte, and how to maund, and chaunt, and patter, and
to raise swellings, and paint sores and ulcers on thy body would
take in the divell. ' I told him, shivering, I'd liefer die than
shame myself and my folk so. "
Eli-"Good lad! good lad! "
"Why, what shame was it for such as I to turn beggar ?
Beggary was an ancient and most honorable mystery. What did
holy monks, and bishops, and kings, when they would win Heav-
en's smile? why, wash the feet of beggars, those favorites of the
saints. The saints were no fools,' he told me. Then he did put
## p. 12134 (#172) ##########################################
12134
CHARLES READE
out his foot. 'Look at that, that was washed by the greatest
king alive, Louis of France, the last holy Thursday that was.
And the next day, Friday, clapped in the stocks by the warden
of a petty hamlet. '
"So I told him my foot should walk between such high honor
and such low disgrace, on the safe path of honesty, please God.
'Well then, since I had not spirit to beg, he would indulge
my perversity. I should work under him; he be the head, I
the fingers. ' And with that he set himself up like a judge, on a
heap of dust by the road's side, and questioned me strictly what
I could do. I began to say I was strong and willing. 'Bah! '
said he, 'so is an ox. Say, what canst do that Sir Ox cannot? '
- I could write; I had won a prize for it. Canst write as fast
as the printers? ' quo' he, jeering: 'what else? '-I could paint.
'That was better. ' I was like to tear my hair to hear him say
so, and me going to Rome to write. —I could twang the psaltery
a bit. 'That was well. Could I tell stories? ' Ay, by the score.
'Then,' said he, 'I hire you from this moment. ' 'What to do? '
said I. 'Naught crooked, Sir Candor,' says he. 'I will feed thee
all the way and find thee work; and take half thine earnings, no
more. ' 'Agreed,' said I, and gave my hand on it.
"Now, servant,' said he, 'we will dine. But ye need not
stand behind my chair, for two reasons: first, I ha' got no chair;
and next, good-fellowship likes me better than state. ' And out
of his wallet he brought flesh, fowl, and pastry, a good dozen of
spices lapped in flax-paper, and wine fit for a king. Ne'er
feasted I better than out of this beggar's wallet, now my master.
When we had well eaten I was for going on. 'But,' said he,
'servants should not drive their masters too hard, especially after
feeding, for then the body is for repose and the mind turns to
contemplation; and he lay on his back gazing calmly at the
sky, and presently wondered whether there were any beggars up
there. I told him I knew but of one, called Lazarus. Could
he do the cul de jatte better than I? ' said he, and looked quite
jealous like. I told him nay; Lazarus was honest, though a
beggar, and fed daily of the crumbs fal'n from a rich man's
table, and the dogs licked his sores. 'Servant,' quo' he, 'I spy
a foul fault in thee. Thou liest without discretion; now, the
end of lying being to gull, this is no better than fumbling with
the divell's tail. I pray Heaven thou mayst prove to paint bet-
ter than thou cuttest whids, or I am done out of a dinner.
No
## p. 12135 (#173) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12135
beggar eats crumbs, but only the fat of the land; and dogs lick
not a beggar's sores, being made with spearwort, or ratsbane, or
biting acids, from all which dogs, and even pigs, abhor. My
sores are made after my proper receipt; but no dog would lick
e'en them twice. I have made a scurvy bargain: art a cozening
knave, I doubt, as well as a nincompoop. ' I deigned no reply
to this bundle of lies, which did accuse heavenly truth of false-
hood for not being in a tale with him.
"He rose and we took the road; and presently we came
to a place where were two little wayside inns, scarce a furlong
apart. 'Halt,' said my master. 'Their armories are sore faded -
all the better. Go thou in; shun the master; board the wife;
and flatter her inn sky-high, all but the armories, and offer to
color them dirt cheap. ' So I went in and told the wife I was a
painter, and would revive her armories cheap; but she sent me.
away with a rebuff. I to my master. He groaned. 'Ye are all
fingers and no tongue,' said he: 'I have made a scurvy bargain.
Come and hear me patter and flatter. ' Between the two inns
was a high hedge. He goes behind it a minute and comes out
a decent tradesman. We went on to the other inn, and then I
heard him praise it so fulsome as the very wife did blush. 'But,'
says he, 'there is one little, little fault: your armories are dull
and faded. Say but the word, and for a silver franc my ap-
prentice here, the cunningest e'er I had, shall make them bright
as ever. Whilst she hesitated, the rogue told her he had done.
it to a little inn hard by, and now the inn's face was like the
starry firmament. 'D'ye hear that, my man? ' cries she: The
Three Frogs have been and painted up their armories.
Shall
The Four Hedgehogs be outshone by them? So I painted, and
my master stood by like a lord, advising me how to do, and wink-
ing to me to heed him none, and I got a silver franc. And he
took me back to The Three Frogs, and on the way put me on a
beard and disguised me, and flattered The Three Frogs, and told
them how he had adorned The Four Hedgehogs, and into the
net jumped the three. poor simple frogs, and I earned another
silver franc. Then we went on and he found his crutches, and
sent me forward, and showed his cicatrices d'emprunt, as he called
them, and all his infirmities, at The Four Hedgehogs, and got
both food and money.
―
"Come, share and share,' quoth he: so I gave him one franc.
'I have made a good bargain,' said he. 'Art a master limner,
## p. 12136 (#174) ##########################################
12136
CHARLES READE
<
but takest too much time. ' So I let him know that in mat-
ters of honest craft things could not be done quick and well.
Then do them quick,' quoth he. And he told me my name
was Bon Bec; and I might call him Cul de Jatte, because that
was his lay at our first meeting. And at the next town my
master Cul de Jatte bought me a psaltery, and sat himself up
again by the roadside in state like him that erst judged Mar-
syas and Apollo, piping for vain glory. So I played a strain.
'Indifferent well, harmonious Bon Bec,' said he haughtily. 'Now
tune thy pipes. ' So I did sing a sweet strain the good monks
taught me; and singing it reminded poor Bon Bec, Gerard erst,
of his young days and home, and brought the water to my
e'en. But looking up, my master's visage was as the face of a
little boy whipt soundly, or sipping foulest medicine. 'Zounds,
stop that belly-ache blether,' quoth he: 'that will ne'er wile a
stiver out o' peasants' purses; 'twill but sour the nurses' milk,
and gar the kine jump into rivers to be out of earshot on't.
What, false knave, did I buy thee a fine new psaltery to be
minded o' my latter end withal? Hearken! these be the songs
that glad the heart and fill the minstrel's purse. ' And he sung
so blasphemous a stave, and eke so obscene, as I drew away from
him a space that the lightning might not spoil the new psaltery.
However, none came, being winter; and then I said, 'Master, the
Lord is debonair. Held I the thunder, yon ribaldry had been thy
last, thou foul-mouthed wretch. '
"Why, Bon Bec, what is to do? ' quoth he. 'I have made an
ill bargain. O perverse heart, that turneth from doctrine. ' So I
bade him keep his breath to cool his broth: ne'er would I shame
my folk with singing ribald songs.
"Then I to him, 'Take now thy psaltery, and part we here;
for art a walking prison, a walking hell. ' But lo! my master fell
on his knees, and begged me for pity's sake not to turn him off.
What would become of him? He did so love honesty. ' 'Thou
love honesty? ' said I. 'Ay,' said he: 'not to enact it; the saints
forbid: but to look on. 'Tis so fair a thing to look on. Alas,
good Bon Bec,' said he; 'hadst starved peradventure but for me.
Kick not down thy ladder! Call ye that just? Nay, calm thy
choler!
he sighed. "Can it be that its fame is now sustained by me?
who twang with my poor lute, cracked and old, these feeble
praises of 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. '»
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CHARLES READE
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He paused, and his eye looked back over many years; then
with a very different 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
Woffington a great comedian, and my son The's wife, with her
hatchet face, the greatest 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.
from further criticism. There were two candles in this room,
one on each side; the call-boy had entered, and poking about for
something, knocked down 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, and vanished with the fractured wax.
I take advantage of the interruption to open Mr. Vane's mind
to the reader. First he had been astonished at the freedom of
sarcasm these people indulged in without quarreling; next at the
non-respect of sex.
"So sex is not recognized in this community," thought he.
Then the glibness and merit of some of their answers surprised
and amused him. He, like me, had seldom met an imaginative
repartee except in a play or a book. "Society's" repartees were
then, as they are now, the good old three in various dresses and
veils: Tu quoque, tu mentiris, vos damnemini; but he was sick
and dispirited on the whole, such very bright illusions had been
dimmed in these few minutes.
She was
as brilliant: but her manners, if not masculine, were
very daring; and yet when she spoke to him, a stranger, how
sweet and gentle her voice was! Then it was clear nothing but
his ignorance could have placed her at the summit of her art.
Still he clung to his enthusiasm for her. He drew Pomander
aside. "What a simplicity there is in Mrs. Woffington! " said he:
"the rest, male and female, are all so affected; she is so fresh
and natural. They are all hot-house plants; she is a cowslip
with the May dew on it. "
## p. 12126 (#164) ##########################################
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CHARLES READE
"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 than words; he spoke no more-he sat pensive.
He was
sorry he had come to this place, where everybody knew his
goddess, yet nobody admired, nobody loved, and alas! nobody
respected her.
He was roused from his reverie by a noise; the noise. was
caused by Cibber falling on Garrick, whom Pomander had mali-
ciously quoted against all the tragedians of Colley Cibber's day.
"I tell you," cried the veteran, "that this Garrick has banished
dignity from 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 is all fuss and bustle. This is his idea
of a tragic scene: A little fellow comes bustling in, goes bustling
about, and runs bustling out. " Here Mr. Cibber left the room to
give greater effect to his description, but presently 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 my
wounds! Look sharp now with these wounds.
Have mercy,
Heaven! but be quick about it, for the pit can't wait for Heaven. '
Bustle! bustle! bustle! "
The old dog was so irresistibly funny that the whole com-
pany were obliged to laugh; but in the midst of their merriment
Mrs. Woffington's voice was heard at the door.
"This way, madam. "
A clear and somewhat shrill voice replied, "I know the way
better than you, 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
new-comer,—that Roxana for whom Mr. Cibber's story had pre-
pared a peculiar interest. She was dressed in a rich green-
velvet gown with gold fringe. Cibber remembered it: she had
played the Eastern Queen' in it. Heaven forgive all concerned!
It was fearfully pinched in at the waist and ribs, so as to give
the idea of wood inside, not woman.
Her hair and eyebrows were iron-gray, and she had lost a
front tooth, or she would still have been eminently handsome.
She was tall and straight as a dart, and her noble port betrayed
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none of the weakness of age; only it was to be seen that her
hands were a little weak, and the gold-headed crutch struck the
ground rather sharply, as if it did a little limbs'-duty.
Such was the lady who marched into the middle of the room,
with a "How do, Colley? " and looking over the company's heads
as if she did not see them, regarded the four walls with some
interest. Like a cat, she seemed to think more of places than of
folk. The page obsequiously offered her a chair.
"Not so clean as it used to be," said Mrs. Bracegirdle.
Unfortunately, in making this remark, the old lady graciously
patted the page's head for offering her the chair; and this action.
gave, with some of the ill-constituted minds that are ever on the
titter, a ridiculous direction to a remark intended, I believe, for
the paint and wainscots, 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
this mighty little age. "
Now if Mr. Cibber thought to find in the new-comer an ally
of the past in its indiscriminate attack upon the present, he was
much mistaken; for the old actress made onslaught on this non-
sense at once.
"Ay, ay," said she, "and not the first time by many hun-
dreds. 'Tis a disease you have. Cure yourself, Colley. David
Garrick pleases the public; and in trifles like acting, that take
nobody to heaven, to please all the world is to be great. Some
pretend to higher aims, but none have 'em. You may hide this
from young fools, mayhap, but not from an old 'oman like me.
He! he he! No, no, no,- not from an old 'oman like me. "
She then turned round in her chair, and with that sudden,
unaccountable snappishness 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
the points of her fingers, delicately, and divested the crime of
half its uncleanness 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 to praise, it seems. )
"That your judgment, madam, is equal to the reputation of
your talent. ”
## p. 12128 (#166) ##########################################
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CHARLES READE
The words were hardly spoken, before the old lady rose
upright as a a tower. She then made an oblique preliminary
sweep, and came down with such a curtsy as the young had
never seen.
James Quin, not to disgrace his generation, attempted a cor-
responding bow, for which his figure and apoplectic tendency
rendered him unfit; and whilst he was transacting it, the grace-
ful Cibber stepped gravely up, and looked down and up the
process with his glass, like a naturalist inspecting some strange
capriccio of an orang-outang. The gymnastics of courtesy 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 Desde-
mona's little black 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 a specimen of the old style! "
"Well, child, why not? Only what makes you mumble like
that? But they all do it now, I see. Bless my soul! our words
used to come out like brandy-cherries; but now a sentence is
like raspberry jam, on the stage and 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 a mock aside to the others,-"only twenty shillings a
week for half his life;" and her shoulders went up to her ears
then she fell into a half-revery. "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 to sleep and fell
against me. A mighty pretty epigram, twenty lines, was writ
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 our
great-grandmothers. "
## p. 12129 (#167) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12129
"I call that pert," said Mrs. Bracegirdle, with the air of one
drawing scientific distinctions. "Now, is that a boy or a lady
that spoke to me last? "
"By its dress, I should say a boy," said Cibber, with his glass;
"by its assurance, a lady! "
"There's one clever woman amongst ye: Peg something, plays
Lothario, Lady Betty Modish, and what not.
"What! admire Woffington? " screamed Mrs. Clive: "why, she
is the greatest gabbler on the stage. "
"I don't care," was the reply: "there's nature about the jade.
Don't contradict me," added she with sudden fury: "a parcel of
children! "
“No, madam,” said Clive humbly. "Mr. Cibber, will you try
and prevail on Mrs. Bracegirdle to favor us with a recitation? "
Cibber handed his cane with pomp to a small actor. Brace-
girdle did the same; and striking the attitudes that had passed
for heroic in their day, they declaimed out of the 'Rival Queens'
two or three tirades, which I graciously spare the reader of this
tale. Their elocution was neat 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 made in 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 in
imitation of human beings, not of speaking machines that have
run and creaked 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 ladies and 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 owned it was beautiful; it was the dance of kings, the
poetry of the courtly saloon.
The retired actress, however, had friskier notions left in her:
"This is slow! " cried she, and bade the fiddler play "The Wind
that Shakes the Barley,'-an ancient jig tune; this she danced to
in a style that utterly astounded the spectators.
She showed them what fun was: her feet and her stick were
all echoes to the mad strain; out went her heel behind, and re-
turning, drove her four yards forward. She made unaccountable
XXI-759
## p. 12130 (#168) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12130
slants, and cut them all over in turn if they did not jump for
it. Roars of inextinguishable laughter arose; it would have made
an oyster merry. Suddenly she stopped, and put her hands to
her side, 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 a moment.
"Oh! help me, ladies," screamed the poor woman, in tones as
feminine as they 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 lifting her eyes, she exclaimed with a sad air of self-
reproach, "O vanity! do you never leave a woman? »
"Nay, madam! " whimpered the page, who was a good-hearted
girl: "'twas your great complaisance for us, not vanity.
oh! oh! " and she began to blubber to make matters better.
"No, my children," said the old lady, "'twas vanity. I wanted
to show you what an old 'oman could do; and I have humiliated
myself, trying to outshine younger folk. I am justly humiliated,
as you see;" and she began to cry a little.
"This is very painful," said Cibber.
Oh!
Mrs. Bracegirdle now raised her eyes (they had set her in a
chair), and looking sweetly, tenderly, and earnestly on her old
companion, she said to him, slowly, gently, but impressively:-
"Colley, at threescore years and ten, this was ill done of us!
You and I are here now-for what? to cheer the young up the
hill we mounted years ago. And, old friend, if we detract 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 tenderly in the old man's, she added with calm solemnity:
"And now we must go quietly towards our rest, and strut and
fret no more the few last minutes of life's fleeting hour. "
How tame my cacotype of these words compared with what
they were! I am 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 have called words till the unthinking actually dream they
## p. 12131 (#169) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12131
are words, but which are the shadows of the corpses of words,
these word-shadows then were 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 van-
quished, and mindful of his failing life, was silent, and pressed
his handkerchief to his 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 what you are now. Drat the woman," con-
tinued 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 and Bracegirdle, if you can," said the other, rising up
like lightning.
She then threw Colley Cibber a note, and walked coolly and
rapidly out of the room, without looking once behind her.
The rest stood transfixed, looking at one another and at the
empty chair. Then Cibber opened and read the note aloud. It
was from Mrs. Bracegirdle: "Playing at tric-trac; so can't play
the fool in your green-room to-night. - B. "
On this, a musical ringing laugh was heard from outside the
door, where the pseudo-Bracegirdle was washing the gray from
her hair and the wrinkles from her face,-ah! I wish I could
do it as easily! -and the little 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 we put the comether upon ye, England, my jewal! "
One more mutual glance, and then the mortal cleverness of
all this began to dawn on their minds: and they broke forth
into clapping of hands, and gave this accomplished mime three
rounds of applause; Mr. Vane and Sir Charles Pomander leading
with "Brava, Woffington! "
## p. 12132 (#170) ##########################################
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CHARLES READE
EXTRACT FROM A SIXTEENTH-CENTURY LETTER
From The Cloister and the Hearth'
[Margaret has received a letter from her young husband, Gerard, who is
traveling afoot to Italy. She reads it to his father and mother, brothers and
sister. ]
___
LI
"Whisht, wife! "
Ε" "And I did sigh, loud and often.
And me sighing so,
one came caroling like a bird adown t'other road. ‘Ay,
chirp and chirp,' cried I bitterly. Thou hast not lost sweet-
heart and friend, thy father's hearth, thy mother's smile, and
every penny in the world. ' And at last he did so carol and
carol, I jumped up in ire to get away from his most jarring
mirth. But ere I fled from it, I looked down the path to see
what could make a man
man so light-hearted in this weary world;
and lo! the songster was a humpbacked cripple, with a bloody
bandage o'er his eye, and both legs gone at the knee. "
"He! he he! he he! " went Sybrandt, laughing and cack-
ling.
(
Margaret's eyes flashed; she began to fold the letter up.
"Nay, lass," said Eli, "heed him not! Thou unmannerly cur,
offer't but again and I put thee to the door. "
"Why, what was there to gibe at, Sybrandt? " remonstrated
Catherine more mildly. "Is not our Kate afflicted? and is she
not the most content of us all, and singeth like a merle at times
between her pains? But I am as bad as thou: prithee read on,
lass, and stop our gabble wi' somewhat worth the hearkening. "
"Then,' said I, 'may this thing be? ' And I took myself to
task: 'Gerard, son of Eli, dost thou well to bemoan thy lot,
that hast youth and health; and here comes the wreck of nature
on crutches, praising God's goodness with singing like a mavis ? › »
Catherine-There you see. "
Eli- "Whisht, dame, whisht! "
"And whenever he saw me, he left caroling and presently
hobbled up and chanted, Charity, for love of Heaven, sweet
master, charity;' with a whine as piteous as wind at keyhole.
'Alack, poor soul,' said I, 'charity is in my heart, but not my
purse; I am poor as thou. ' Then he believed me none, and to
melt me undid his sleeve, and showed a sore wound on his arm,
and said he, 'Poor cripple though I be, I am like to lose this
## p. 12133 (#171) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12133
eye to boot, look else. ' I saw and groaned for him, and to
excuse myself, let him wot how I had been robbed of my last
copper. Thereat he left whining all in a moment, and said in
a big manly voice, 'Then I'll e'en take a rest. Here, youngster,
pull thou this strap: nay, fear not! ' I pulled, and down came a
stout pair of legs out of his back; and half his hump had melted
away, and the wound in his eye no deeper than the bandage. "
"Oh! " ejaculated Margaret's hearers in a body.
"Whereat, seeing me astounded, he laughed in my face, and
told me I was not, worth gulling, and offered, me his protection.
My face was prophetic,' he said. 'Of what? ' said I. Marry,'
said he, 'that its owner will starve in this thievish land. ' Travel
teaches e'en the young wisdom. Time was I had turned and fled
this impostor as a pestilence; but now I listened patiently to
pick up crumbs of counsel. And well I did; for nature and his
adventurous life had crammed the poor knave with shrewdness
and knowledge of the homelier sort—a child was I beside him.
When he had turned me inside out, said he, 'Didst well to leave
France and make for Germany; but think not of Holland again.
Nay, on to Augsburg and Nürnberg, the Paradise of craftsmen;
thence to Venice, an thou wilt. But thou wilt never bide in Italy
nor any other land, having once tasted the great German cities.
Why, there is but one honest country in Europe, and that is
Germany; and since thou art honest, and since I am a vagabone,
Germany was made for us twain. ' I bade him make that good:
how might one country fit true men and knaves! Why, thou
novice,' said he, 'because in an honest land are fewer knaves
to bite the honest man, and many honest men for the knave
to bite. ' 'I was in luck, being honest, to have fallen in with a
friendly sharp. ' 'Be my pal,' said he: 'I go to Nürnberg; we
will reach it with full pouches. I'll learn ye the cul de bois, and
the cul de jatte, and how to maund, and chaunt, and patter, and
to raise swellings, and paint sores and ulcers on thy body would
take in the divell. ' I told him, shivering, I'd liefer die than
shame myself and my folk so. "
Eli-"Good lad! good lad! "
"Why, what shame was it for such as I to turn beggar ?
Beggary was an ancient and most honorable mystery. What did
holy monks, and bishops, and kings, when they would win Heav-
en's smile? why, wash the feet of beggars, those favorites of the
saints. The saints were no fools,' he told me. Then he did put
## p. 12134 (#172) ##########################################
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CHARLES READE
out his foot. 'Look at that, that was washed by the greatest
king alive, Louis of France, the last holy Thursday that was.
And the next day, Friday, clapped in the stocks by the warden
of a petty hamlet. '
"So I told him my foot should walk between such high honor
and such low disgrace, on the safe path of honesty, please God.
'Well then, since I had not spirit to beg, he would indulge
my perversity. I should work under him; he be the head, I
the fingers. ' And with that he set himself up like a judge, on a
heap of dust by the road's side, and questioned me strictly what
I could do. I began to say I was strong and willing. 'Bah! '
said he, 'so is an ox. Say, what canst do that Sir Ox cannot? '
- I could write; I had won a prize for it. Canst write as fast
as the printers? ' quo' he, jeering: 'what else? '-I could paint.
'That was better. ' I was like to tear my hair to hear him say
so, and me going to Rome to write. —I could twang the psaltery
a bit. 'That was well. Could I tell stories? ' Ay, by the score.
'Then,' said he, 'I hire you from this moment. ' 'What to do? '
said I. 'Naught crooked, Sir Candor,' says he. 'I will feed thee
all the way and find thee work; and take half thine earnings, no
more. ' 'Agreed,' said I, and gave my hand on it.
"Now, servant,' said he, 'we will dine. But ye need not
stand behind my chair, for two reasons: first, I ha' got no chair;
and next, good-fellowship likes me better than state. ' And out
of his wallet he brought flesh, fowl, and pastry, a good dozen of
spices lapped in flax-paper, and wine fit for a king. Ne'er
feasted I better than out of this beggar's wallet, now my master.
When we had well eaten I was for going on. 'But,' said he,
'servants should not drive their masters too hard, especially after
feeding, for then the body is for repose and the mind turns to
contemplation; and he lay on his back gazing calmly at the
sky, and presently wondered whether there were any beggars up
there. I told him I knew but of one, called Lazarus. Could
he do the cul de jatte better than I? ' said he, and looked quite
jealous like. I told him nay; Lazarus was honest, though a
beggar, and fed daily of the crumbs fal'n from a rich man's
table, and the dogs licked his sores. 'Servant,' quo' he, 'I spy
a foul fault in thee. Thou liest without discretion; now, the
end of lying being to gull, this is no better than fumbling with
the divell's tail. I pray Heaven thou mayst prove to paint bet-
ter than thou cuttest whids, or I am done out of a dinner.
No
## p. 12135 (#173) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12135
beggar eats crumbs, but only the fat of the land; and dogs lick
not a beggar's sores, being made with spearwort, or ratsbane, or
biting acids, from all which dogs, and even pigs, abhor. My
sores are made after my proper receipt; but no dog would lick
e'en them twice. I have made a scurvy bargain: art a cozening
knave, I doubt, as well as a nincompoop. ' I deigned no reply
to this bundle of lies, which did accuse heavenly truth of false-
hood for not being in a tale with him.
"He rose and we took the road; and presently we came
to a place where were two little wayside inns, scarce a furlong
apart. 'Halt,' said my master. 'Their armories are sore faded -
all the better. Go thou in; shun the master; board the wife;
and flatter her inn sky-high, all but the armories, and offer to
color them dirt cheap. ' So I went in and told the wife I was a
painter, and would revive her armories cheap; but she sent me.
away with a rebuff. I to my master. He groaned. 'Ye are all
fingers and no tongue,' said he: 'I have made a scurvy bargain.
Come and hear me patter and flatter. ' Between the two inns
was a high hedge. He goes behind it a minute and comes out
a decent tradesman. We went on to the other inn, and then I
heard him praise it so fulsome as the very wife did blush. 'But,'
says he, 'there is one little, little fault: your armories are dull
and faded. Say but the word, and for a silver franc my ap-
prentice here, the cunningest e'er I had, shall make them bright
as ever. Whilst she hesitated, the rogue told her he had done.
it to a little inn hard by, and now the inn's face was like the
starry firmament. 'D'ye hear that, my man? ' cries she: The
Three Frogs have been and painted up their armories.
Shall
The Four Hedgehogs be outshone by them? So I painted, and
my master stood by like a lord, advising me how to do, and wink-
ing to me to heed him none, and I got a silver franc. And he
took me back to The Three Frogs, and on the way put me on a
beard and disguised me, and flattered The Three Frogs, and told
them how he had adorned The Four Hedgehogs, and into the
net jumped the three. poor simple frogs, and I earned another
silver franc. Then we went on and he found his crutches, and
sent me forward, and showed his cicatrices d'emprunt, as he called
them, and all his infirmities, at The Four Hedgehogs, and got
both food and money.
―
"Come, share and share,' quoth he: so I gave him one franc.
'I have made a good bargain,' said he. 'Art a master limner,
## p. 12136 (#174) ##########################################
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CHARLES READE
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but takest too much time. ' So I let him know that in mat-
ters of honest craft things could not be done quick and well.
Then do them quick,' quoth he. And he told me my name
was Bon Bec; and I might call him Cul de Jatte, because that
was his lay at our first meeting. And at the next town my
master Cul de Jatte bought me a psaltery, and sat himself up
again by the roadside in state like him that erst judged Mar-
syas and Apollo, piping for vain glory. So I played a strain.
'Indifferent well, harmonious Bon Bec,' said he haughtily. 'Now
tune thy pipes. ' So I did sing a sweet strain the good monks
taught me; and singing it reminded poor Bon Bec, Gerard erst,
of his young days and home, and brought the water to my
e'en. But looking up, my master's visage was as the face of a
little boy whipt soundly, or sipping foulest medicine. 'Zounds,
stop that belly-ache blether,' quoth he: 'that will ne'er wile a
stiver out o' peasants' purses; 'twill but sour the nurses' milk,
and gar the kine jump into rivers to be out of earshot on't.
What, false knave, did I buy thee a fine new psaltery to be
minded o' my latter end withal? Hearken! these be the songs
that glad the heart and fill the minstrel's purse. ' And he sung
so blasphemous a stave, and eke so obscene, as I drew away from
him a space that the lightning might not spoil the new psaltery.
However, none came, being winter; and then I said, 'Master, the
Lord is debonair. Held I the thunder, yon ribaldry had been thy
last, thou foul-mouthed wretch. '
"Why, Bon Bec, what is to do? ' quoth he. 'I have made an
ill bargain. O perverse heart, that turneth from doctrine. ' So I
bade him keep his breath to cool his broth: ne'er would I shame
my folk with singing ribald songs.
"Then I to him, 'Take now thy psaltery, and part we here;
for art a walking prison, a walking hell. ' But lo! my master fell
on his knees, and begged me for pity's sake not to turn him off.
What would become of him? He did so love honesty. ' 'Thou
love honesty? ' said I. 'Ay,' said he: 'not to enact it; the saints
forbid: but to look on. 'Tis so fair a thing to look on. Alas,
good Bon Bec,' said he; 'hadst starved peradventure but for me.
Kick not down thy ladder! Call ye that just? Nay, calm thy
choler!
