when he was alive she used to call him a
drunken scoundrel to his face.
drunken scoundrel to his face.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v21 - Rab to Rus
He furtively conveyed to him a plump book,- this was
Saunders's manual of faith; the author was Mr. Burke-not
Edmund.
Lord Ipsden ran hastily over the page, closed the book, and
said, "Here is the story:-
"Five hundred years ago - >>
"Listen, Jean," said Christie: "we're gaun to get a boeny
story. 'Five hundre' years ago,'" added she, with interest and
awe.
## p. 12111 (#149) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
་་
was a great battle," resumed the narrator in cheerful tones,
as one larking with history, "between a King of England and
his rebels. He was in the thick of the fight-"
12111
"That's the King, Jean,- he was in the thick o't. "
"My ancestor killed a fellow who was sneaking behind him;
but the next moment a man-at-arms prepared a thrust at his
Majesty, who had his hands full with three assailants. "
"Eh! that's no fair," said Christie, "as sure as deeth. ”
"My ancestor dashed forward, and as the King's sword passed
through one of them, he clove another to the waist with a blow. "
"Weel done! weel done! "
Lord Ipsden looked at the speaker: her eyes were glittering
and her cheek flushing.
"Good Heavens! " thought he: "she believes it! " So he be-
gan to take more pains with his legend.
"But for the spearsman," continued he, "he had nothing but
his body: he gave it,-it was his duty,- and received the death
leveled at his sovereign. "
"Hech! puir mon. " And the glowing eyes began to glisten.
"The battle flowed another way, and God gave victory to the
right; but the King came back to look for him, for it was no
common service. "
face.
"Deed no!
Here Lord Ipsden began to turn his eye inwards, and call up
the scene. He lowered his voice.
"They found him lying on his back, looking death in the
"The nobles by the King's side uncovered as soon as he was
found, for they were brave men too. There was a moment's
silence: eyes met eyes, and said, This is a stout soldier's last
battle.
"The King could not bid him live,—”
"Na! lad, King Deeth has ower strong a grrip. "
"But he did what kings can do: he gave him two blows with
his royal sword. "
"Oh, the robber, and him a deeing mon!
"Two words from his royal mouth, and he and we were
barons of Ipsden and Hawthorn Glen from that day to this. "
"But the puir dying creature? »
"What poor dying creature — ? »
«< Your forbear, lad. "
>>>
## p. 12112 (#150) ##########################################
12112
CHARLES READE
"I don't know why you call him poor, madam: all the men
of that day are dust; they are the gold dust, who died with
honor.
――
"He looked round uneasily for his son,- for he had but one,
-and when that son knelt, unwounded, by him, he said, 'Good
night, Baron Ipsden;' and so he died, fire in his eye, a smile on
his lip, and honor on his name for ever. I meant to tell you a
lie, and I've told you the truth. "
"Laddie," said Christie, half admiringly, half reproachfully,
"ye gar the tear come in my een. Hech! look at yon lassie!
how could you think t'eat plums through siccan a boeny story? "
"Hets," answered Jean, who had in fact cleared the plate.
"I aye listen best when my ain mooth's stappit. "
"But see now," pondered Christie: "two words fra a king-
thir titles are just breeth. "
"Of course," was the answer. "All titles are.
What is popu-
larity? Ask Aristides and Lamartine: the breath of a mob,—
smells of its source,- and is gone before the sun can set on it.
Now, the royal breath does smell of the Rose and Crown, and
stays by us from age to age. "
The story had warmed our marble acquaintance. Saunders
opened his eyes, and thought, "We shall wake up the House of
Lords some evening,- we shall. "
His Lordship then added, less warmly, looking at the girls:
"I think I should like to be a fisherman. " So saying, my
lord yawned slightly.
To this aspiration the young fishwives deigned no attention,
doubting perhaps its sincerity; and Christie, with a shade of
severity, inquired of him how he came to be a Vile Count.
"A baron's no a Vile Count, I'm sure," said she; "sae tell me
how ye came to be a Vile Count. "
"Ah! " said he, "that is by no means a pretty story, like the
other: you will not like it, I am sure. "
I'm aye seeking knowledge. "
"Ay will I,-ay will I:
"Well, it is soon told.
seat, in the same house, so
"Ower muckle pay for
"Now don't say that; I wouldn't do it to be Emperor of
Russia. "
One of us sat twenty years on one
one day he got up a-Viscount. "
ower little wark.
>>
―
"Aweel, I hae gotten a heap out o' ye; sae noow I'll gang,
since ye are no for herrin': come away, Jean. ”
## p. 12113 (#151) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12113
At this their host remonstrated, and inquired why bores are
at one's service night and day, and bright people are always in
a hurry. He was informed in reply, "Labor is the lot o' man.
Div ye no ken that muckle? And abune a', o' women. ”
"Why, what can two such pretty creatures have to do, except
to be admired ? »
This question coming within the dark beauty's scope, she
hastened to reply:-
"To sell our herrin',— we hae three hundre' left in the creel. "
"What is the price?
At this question the poetry died out of Christie Johnstone's
face; she gave her companion a rapid look, indiscernible to male
eye, and answered: -
"Three a penny, sirr: they are no plenty the day," added she,
in smooth tones that carried conviction.
――――――
>>
(Little liar, they were selling six a penny everywhere. )
"Saunders, buy them all, and be ever so long about it, count
them, or some nonsense. "
"He's daft! he's daft! Oh, ye ken, Jean, an Ennglishman and
a lorrd, twa daft things thegither, he couldna' miss the road.
Coont them, lassie. "
"Come away, Sandy, till I coont them till ye," said Jean.
Saunders and Jean disappeared.
Business being out of sight, curiosity revived.
"An' what brings ye here from London, if you please? " re-
commenced the fair inquisitor.
"You have a good countenance; there is something in your
face. I could find it in my heart to tell you, but I should bore
you. "
"De'el a fear! Bore me, bore me! whaat's thaat, I wonder? »
"What is your name, madam? Mine is Ipsden. "
"They ca' me Christie Johnstone. ”
"Well, Christie Johnstone, I am under the doctor's hands. "
"Puir lad! What's the trouble? " (solemnly and tenderly).
"Ennui! " (rather piteously).
"Yawn-we? I never heerd tell o't. "
"Oh you lucky girl! " burst out he; "but the doctor has under-
taken to cure me: in one thing you could assist me, if I am not
presuming too far on our short acquaintance. I am to relieve
one poor distressed person every day, but I mustn't do two: is
not that a bore? "
XXI-758
## p. 12114 (#152) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12114
"Gie's your hand, gie's your hand. I'm vexed for ca'ing you
daft. Hech! what a saft hand ye hae. Jean, I'm saying, come
here; feel this. "
Jean, who had run in, took the viscount's hand from Christie.
"It never wroucht any," explained Jean.
"And he has boeny hair," said Christie, just touching his
locks on the other side.
"He's a boeny lad," said Jean, inspecting him scientifically
and point-blank.
"Ay is he," said the other. "Aweel, there's Jess Rutherford,
a widdy, wi' four bairns: ye meicht do waur than ware your sil-
ler on her. "
"Five pounds to begin? " inquired his Lordship.
"Five pund! Are ye made o' siller? Ten schell'n! "
Saunders was rung for, and produced a one-pound note.
"The herrin' is five and saxpence; it's four and saxpence
I'm awin' ye," said the young fishwife, "and Jess will be a glad
woman the neicht. "
The settlement was effected, and away went the two friends,
saying:-
"Good boye, Vile Count. "
Their host fell into thought.
"When have I talked so much? " asked he of himself.
"Dr. Aberford, you are a wonderful man; I like your lower
classes amazingly. "
"Méfiez-vous, Monsieur Ipsden! " should some mentor have
said.
As the devil puts into a beginner's hands ace, queen, five
trumps, to give him a taste for whist, so these lower classes have
perhaps put forward one of their best cards to lead you into a
false estimate of the strength of their hand.
Instead however of this, who should return to disturb the
equilibrium of truth but this Christina Johnstone.
She came
thoughtfully in, and said:-
"I've been taking a thoucht, and this is no what yon gude
physeecian meaned: ye are no to fling your chaerity like a
bane till a doeg; ye'll gang yoursel' to Jess Rutherford; Flucker
Johnstone, that's my brother, will convoy ye. "
"But how is your brother to know me? "
"How? Because I'll give him a sair, sair hiding if he lets ye
gang by. "
## p. 12115 (#153) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12115
She then returned the one-pound note, a fresh settlement was
effected, and she left him.
At the door she said, "And I am muckle obleeged to ye for
your story and your goodness. "
Whilst uttering these words she half kissed her hand to him,
with a lofty and disengaged gesture such as one might expect
from a queen, if queens did not wear stays,—and was gone.
When his Lordship, a few minutes after, sauntered out for a
stroll, the first object he beheld was an exact human square: a
handsome boy, with a body swelled out, apparently to the size
of a man's, with blue flannel, and blue cloth above it, leaning
against a wall, with his hands in his pockets,- a statuette of
insouciance.
This marine puff-ball was Flucker Johnstone, aged fourteen.
Stain his sister's face with diluted walnut-juice, as they make
the stage gipsy and red Indian (two animals imagined by actors
to be one), and you have Flucker's face.
A slight moral distinction remains, not to be so easily got
over.
She was the best girl in the place, and he a baddish boy.
He was however as sharp in his way as she was intelligent
in hers.
This youthful mariner allowed his Lordship to pass him, and
take twenty steps, but watched him all the time, and compared
him with a description furnished him by his sister.
He then followed, and brought him to, as he called it.
"I daursay it's you I'm to convoy to yon auld faggitt! " said
this baddish boy.
On they went, Flucker rolling and pitching and yawing to
keep up with the lordly galley; for a fisherman's natural waddle
is two miles an hour.
At the very entrance of Newhaven, the new pilot suddenly
sung out, "Starboard! "
Starboard it was: and they ascended a filthy "close" or alley,
they mounted a staircase which was out of doors, and with-
out knocking, Flucker introduced himself into Jess Rutherford's
house.
"Here a gentleman to speak till ye, wife. "
The widow was weather-beaten and rough. She sat mending
an old net.
## p. 12116 (#154) ##########################################
12116
CHARLES READE
"The gentleman's welcome," said she; but there was no grati-
fication in her tone, and but little surprise.
His Lordship then explained that, understanding there were
worthy people in distress, he was in hopes he might be permit-
ted to assist them; and that she must blame a neighbor of hers
if he had broken in upon her too abruptly with this object. He
then, with a blush, hinted at ten shillings, which he begged she
would consider as merely an installment, until he could learn
the precise nature of her embarrassments, and the best way of
placing means at her disposal.
The widow heard all this with a lack-lustre mind.
For many years her life had been unsuccessful labor; if any.
thing ever had come to her, it had always been a misfortune;
her incidents had been thorns,- her events, daggers.
She could not realize a human angel coming to her relief,
and she did not realize it; and she worked away at her net.
At this Flucker, to whom his Lordship's speech appeared
monstrously weak and pointless, drew nigh, and gave the widow
in her ear his version; namely, his sister's embellished. It was
briefly this: "That the gentleman was a daft lord from England
who had come with the bank in his breeks, to remove poverty
from Scotland, beginning with her. Sae speak loud aneuch, and
ye'll no want siller," was his polite corollary.
His Lordship rose, laid a card on a chair, begged her to make
use of him, et cetera; he then, recalling the oracular prescrip-
tion, said, "Do me the favor to apply to me for any little sum
you have a use for, and in return I will beg of you (if it does
not bore you too much) to make me acquainted with any little
troubles you may have encountered in the course of your life. "
His Lordship, receiving no answer, was about to go, after
bowing to her and smiling gracefully upon her.
His hand was on the latch, when Jess Rutherford burst into
a passion of tears. He turned with surprise.
"My troubles, laddie," cried she, trembling all over. "The
sun wad set, and rise, and set again, ere I could tell ye a' the
trouble I hae come through.
"Oh! ye needna vex yourself for an auld wife's tears: tears
are a blessin', lad, I shall assure ye. Mony's the time I hae
prayed for them, and could na hae them. Sit ye doon! sit ye
doon! I'll no let ye gang fra my door till I hae thankit ye,-
## p. 12117 (#155) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12117
but gie me time, gie me time. I canna greet a' the days of the
week. "
Flucker, ætat. 14, opened his eyes, unable to connect ten
shillings and tears. .
Lord Ipsden sat down, and felt very sorry for her.
And she cried at her ease.
If one touch of nature makes the whole world kin, methinks
that sweet and wonderful thing, sympathy, is not less powerful.
What frozen barriers, what ice of centuries, it can melt in a
moment!
His bare mention of her troubles had surprised the widow
woman's heart: and now she looked up, and examined his coun-
tenance; it was soon done.
A woman, young or old, high or low, can discern and appre-
ciate sensibility in a man's face at a single glance.
What she saw there was enough. She was sure of sympathy.
She recalled his resolve, and the tale of her sorrows burst from
her like a flood.
The old fishwife told the young aristocrat how she had borne
twelve children, and buried six as bairns; how her man was
always unlucky; how a mast fell on him, and disabled him a
whole season; how they could but just keep the pot boiling by
deep-sea fishing, and he was not allowed to dredge for oysters
because his father was not a Newhaven man. How, when the
herring-fishing came to make all right, he never had another
man's luck; how his boat's crew would draw empty nets, and a
boat alongside him would be gunwale down in the water with
the fish. How at last, one morning, the 20th day of November,
his boat came into Newhaven Pier without him, and when he
was inquired for, his crew said "he had stayed at home, like a
lazy loon, and not sailed with them the night before. " How
she was anxious, and had all the public-houses searched, "for he
took a drop now and then,-nae wonder, and him aye in the
weather. " Poor thing!
when he was alive she used to call him a
drunken scoundrel to his face. How when the tide went down,
a mad wife, whose husband had been drowned twenty years ago,
pointed out something under the pier, that the rest took for sea-
weed floating,- how it was the hair of her man's head, washed
about by the water; and he was there, drowned without a cry or
a struggle by his enormous boots, that kept him in an upright
position, though he was dead; there he stood,-dead,- drowned
## p. 12118 (#156) ##########################################
12118
CHARLES READE
by slipping from the slippery pier, close to his comrades' hands,
in a dark and gusty night; how her daughter married, and was
well-to-do, and assisted her; how she fell into a rapid decline,
and died, a picture of health to inexperienced eyes.
How she,
the mother, saw and knew and watched the treacherous advance
of disease and death; how others said gayly "her daughter was
better," and she was obliged to say "Yes. " How she had
worked eighteen hours a day at making nets; how when she
let out her nets to the other men at the herring-fishing, they
always cheated her because her man was gone. How she had
many times had to choose between begging her meal and going
to bed without it, but thank Heaven! she had always chosen
the latter.
――――
She told him of hunger, cold, and anguish. As she spoke
they became real things to him; up to that moment they had
been things in a story-book. And as she spoke she rocked her-
self from side to side.
Indeed, she was a woman "acquainted with grief. " She might
have said, "Here I and sorrow sit! This is my throne; bid kings
come bow to it! "
Her hearer felt this: and therefore this woman, poor, old,
and ugly, became sacred in his eye; it was with a strange sort
of respect that he tried to console her.
He spoke to her in tones gentle and sweet as the south wind
on a summer evening.
“Madam,” said he, "let me be so happy as to bring you some
comfort. The sorrows of the heart I cannot heal; they are for a
mightier hand: but a part of your distress appears to have been
positive need; that we can at least dispose of, and I entreat you
to believe that from this hour want shall never enter that door
again. Never! upon my honor! "
The Scotch are icebergs with volcanoes underneath; thaw the
Scotch ice, which is very cold, and you shall get to the Scotch
fire, warmer than any sun of Italy or Spain.
His Lordship had risen to go. The old wife had seemed ab-
sorbed in her own grief; she now dried her tears.
"Bide ye, sirr," said she, "till I thank ye. "
So she began to thank him, rather coldly and stiffly.
"He says ye are a lord," said she; "I dinna ken, an' I dinna
care: but ye're a gentleman, I daursay, and a kind heart ye
hae. "
## p. 12119 (#157) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
Then she began to warm.
"And ye'll never be a grain the poorer for the siller ye hae
gi'en me; for he that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord. "
-
12119
Then she began to glow.
"But it's no your siller; dinna think it,—na, lad, na! Oh,
fine! I ken there's mony a supper for the bairns and me in yon
bits metal; but I canna feel your siller as I feel your winsome
smile, the drop in your young een,-and the sweet words ye
gied me, in the sweet music o' your Soothern tongue, Gude
bless ye! " (Where was her ice by this time? ) Gude bless ye!
and I bless ye! "
And she did bless him; and what a blessing it was! —not a
melodious generality, like a stage parent's, or papa's in a damsel's
novel. It was like the son of Barak on Zophim.
She blessed him as one who had the power and the right to
bless or curse.
«<
She stood on the high ground of her low estate and her afflic-
tions, and demanded of their Creator to bless the fellow-creature
that had come to her aid and consolation.
This woman had suffered to the limits of endurance; yester-
day she had said, "Surely the Almighty doesna see me a' these
years! "
So now she blessed him, and her heart's blood seemed to gush
into words.
She blessed him by land and water.
She knew most mortal griefs; for she had felt them.
She warned them away from him one by one.
She knew the joys of life; for she had felt their want.
She summoned them one by one to his side.
“And a fair wind to your ship," cried she; "an' the storms
aye ten miles to leeward o' her. "
Many happy days, "an' weel spent," she wished him.
«< His love should love him dearly, or a better take her place. ”
"Health to his side by day; sleep to his pillow by night. "
A thousand good wishes came, like a torrent of fire, from her
lips, with a power that eclipsed his dreams of human eloquence;
and then, changing in a moment from the thunder of a Pythoness
to the tender music of some poetess mother, she ended:—
"An' oh, my boeny, boeny lad, may ye be wi' the rich upon
the airth a' your days,-AN' WI' THE PUIR IN THE WARLD TO
COME! "
## p. 12120 (#158) ##########################################
12120
CHARLES READE
His Lordship's tongue refused him the thin phrases of society.
"Farewell for the present," said he, and he went quietly away.
He paced thoughtfully home.
He had drunk a fact with every sentence; and an idea with
every fact.
For the knowledge we have never realized is not knowledge
to us,
only knowledge's shadow.
—
"M"
IN THE GREEN-ROOM
From Peg Woffington'
Tell me;
R. CIBBER, what do you understand by an actor?
for I am foolish enough to respect your opinion on these
matters! "
"An actor, young lady," said he gravely, "is an artist who
has gone deep enough in his art to make dunces, critics, and
greenhorns take it for nature; moreover, he really personates,
which your mere man of the stage never does. He has learned
the true art of self-multiplication. He drops Betterton, Booth,
Wilkes, or-a-hem — »
"Cibber," inserted Sir Charles Pomander. Cibber bowed.
-in his dressing-room, and comes out young or old, a fop, a
valet, a lover, or a hero, with voice, mien, and every gesture to
match.
A grain less than this may be good speaking, fine
preaching, deep grunting, high ranting, eloquent reciting; but
I'll be hanged if it is acting! "
"Then Colley Cibber never acted," whispered Quin to Mrs.
Clive.
"Then Margaret Woffington is an actress," said M. W. : "the
fine ladies take my Lady Betty for their sister; in Mrs. Day I
pass for a woman of seventy; and in Sir Harry Wildair I have
been taken for a man. I would have told you that before, but
I didn't know it was to my credit," said she slyly, "till Mr. Cib-
ber laid down the law. "
"Proof! " said Cibber.
"A warm letter from one lady, diamond buckles from an-
other, and an offer of her hand and fortune from a third: rien
que cela. »
Mr. Cibber conveyed behind her back a look of absolute in-
credulity; she divined it.
## p. 12121 (#159) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12121
"I will not show you the letters," continued she, "because
Sir Harry, though a rake, was a gentleman: but here are the
buckles;" and she fished them out of her pocket, capacious of
such things. The buckles were gravely inspected: they made
more than one eye water; they were undeniable.
"Well, let us see what we can do for her," said the Laureate.
He tapped his box, and without a moment's hesitation produced
the most execrable distich in the language:
"Now who is like Peggy, with talent at will?
A maid loved her Harry, for want of a Bill. "
"Well, child," continued he, after the applause which follows
extemporary verses had subsided, "take me in. Play something
to make me lose sight of saucy Peg Woffington, and I'll give
the world five acts more before the curtain falls on Colley Cib-
ber. "
“If you could be deceived," put in Mr. Vane, somewhat tim-
idly. "I think there is no disguise through which grace and
beauty such as Mrs. Woffington's would not shine, to my eyes. "
"That is to praise my person at the expense of my wit, sir,
is it not? " was her reply.
This was the first word she had ever addressed to him; the
tones appeared so sweet to him that he could not find anything
to reply for listening to them; and Cibber resumed:-
"Meantime I will show you a real actress: she is coming
here to-night to meet me. Did ever you children hear of Ann
Bracegirdle? »
"Bracegirdle! " said Mrs. Clive: "why, she has been dead this
thirty years; at least I thought so. "
"Dead to the stage. There is more heat in her ashes than
in your fire, Kate Clive! Ah! here comes her messenger," con-
tinued he, as an ancient man appeared with a letter in his hand.
This letter Mrs. Woffington snatched and read, and at the same
instant in bounced the call-boy. "Epilogue called," said this
urchin, in the tone of command which these small-fry of Par-
nassus adopt; and obedient to his high behest, Mrs. Woffington
moved to the door with the Bracegirdle missive in her hand, but
not before she had delivered its general contents: "The great
actress will be here in a few minutes," said she; and she glided
swiftly out of the room.
## p. 12122 (#160) ##########################################
12122
CHARLES READE
People whose mind or manners possess any feature, and are
not as devoid of all eccentricity as half-pounds of butter bought
of metropolitan grocers, are recommended not to leave a roomful.
of their acquaintances until the last but one. Yes, they should
always be penultimate. Perhaps Mrs. Woffington knew this; but
epilogues are stubborn things, and call-boys undeniable.
"Did you ever hear a woman whistle before? "
"Never; but I saw one sit astride of 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 best of a bad bargain, as Peggy's husband will have
to. "
"Wait till some one ventures on the gay Lothario,-illi æs
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
with passion; "but I observed her talent, and I noticed that who-
ever attacks her to her face comes badly off. "
"Well said, sir," answered Quin; "and I wish Kitty here
would tell us why she hates Mrs. Woffington, the best-natured
woman in the theatre ? »
"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, never! "
"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 interfere with nature's laws: let our ladies hate one another,
- it eases their minds; try to make them Christians and you will
not convert their tempers, 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 has breeched her, whereas
Kitty, who now sets up for a prude, wanted to put delicacy off
and small-clothes on in Peg's stead; that is where the Kate and
Peg shoe pinches,-near the femoral artery, James.
―
"Shrimps have the souls of shrimps," resumed this censor cas-
tigatorque minorum. "Listen to me, and learn that really great
actors are great in soul, and do not blubber like a great school-
## p. 12123 (#161) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12123
girl because Anne Bellamy has two yellow-silk dresses from
Paris, as I saw Woffington blubber in 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 to go a-playing at
acting with. When I was young, two giantesses fought for em-
pire upon this very stage, where now dwarfs crack and bounce
like parched peas. They played Roxana and Statira in the
'Rival Queens. ' Rival queens of art themselves, they put out all
their strength. In the middle of the last act the town gave
judgment in favor of Statira. What did Roxana ? Did she spill
grease on Statira's robe, as Peg Woffington would? or stab her,
as I believe Kitty here capable of doing? No! Statira was never
so tenderly killed as that night: she owned this to me. Roxana
bade the theatre farewell that night, and wrote to Statira thus-
I give you word for word: Madam, the best judge we have has
decided in your favor. I shall never play second on a stage
where I have been first so long, but I shall often be a spectator;
and methinks none will appreciate your talent more than I, who
have felt its weight. My wardrobe, one of the best in Europe,
is of no use to me: if you will honor me by selecting a few of
my dresses you will gratify me, and I shall fancy I see myself
upon the stage to greater advantage than before. >>
"And what did Statira answer, sir? " said Mr. Vane eagerly.
"She answered thus: 'Madam, the town has often been
wrong, and may have been so last night, in supposing that I
vied successfully with your merit; but thus much is certain,—
and here, madam, I am the best judge,- that off the stage you
have just conquered me. I shall wear with pride any dress you
have honored, and shall feel inspired to great exertions by your
presence among our spectators, unless indeed the sense of your
magnanimity and the recollection of your talent should damp 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 the lofty 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.
here to-night. "
This caused a sensation.
Roxana you will see
Colley's reminiscences were interrupted by loud applause from
the theatre: the present seldom gives the past a long hearing.
## p. 12124 (#162) ##########################################
12124
CHARLES READE
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
small actress.
"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 up hill and down dale, and torn limb from jacket; even
in Parliament, a trope was sometimes hunted from one session
into another.
"You were asking me about Mrs. Oldfield, sir," resumed
Cibber rather peevishly. “I will own to you, I lack words to
convey a just idea of her double and complete supremacy. But
the comedians of this day are weak-strained farceurs compared
with her, and her tragic tone was thunder set to music.
"I saw a brigadier-general cry like a child at her 'Indiana. ’
I have seen her crying with pain herself at the wing (for she
was always a great sufferer): 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 with singing-birds, that chirped
the pleasures of fashion, love, and youth, in notes sparkling like
diamonds, and stars, and prisms. She was above criticism,-out
of its scope, as is the blue sky; men went not to judge her,-
they drank her, and gazed at her, and were warmed at her, and
refreshed by her. The fops were awed into silence; and with
their humbler betters thanked Heaven for her, if they thanked
it for anything.
"In all the crowded theatre, care and pain and poverty were
banished from the memory whilst Oldfield's face spoke and her
tongue flashed melodies; the lawyer forgot his quillets; the po-
lemic, the mote in his brother's eye; the old maid, her grudge
against the two sexes; the old man, his gray hairs and his lost
hours.
And can it be that all this, which should have been
immortal, is quite, quite lost, is as though it had never been? "
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
12125
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.
Saunders's manual of faith; the author was Mr. Burke-not
Edmund.
Lord Ipsden ran hastily over the page, closed the book, and
said, "Here is the story:-
"Five hundred years ago - >>
"Listen, Jean," said Christie: "we're gaun to get a boeny
story. 'Five hundre' years ago,'" added she, with interest and
awe.
## p. 12111 (#149) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
་་
was a great battle," resumed the narrator in cheerful tones,
as one larking with history, "between a King of England and
his rebels. He was in the thick of the fight-"
12111
"That's the King, Jean,- he was in the thick o't. "
"My ancestor killed a fellow who was sneaking behind him;
but the next moment a man-at-arms prepared a thrust at his
Majesty, who had his hands full with three assailants. "
"Eh! that's no fair," said Christie, "as sure as deeth. ”
"My ancestor dashed forward, and as the King's sword passed
through one of them, he clove another to the waist with a blow. "
"Weel done! weel done! "
Lord Ipsden looked at the speaker: her eyes were glittering
and her cheek flushing.
"Good Heavens! " thought he: "she believes it! " So he be-
gan to take more pains with his legend.
"But for the spearsman," continued he, "he had nothing but
his body: he gave it,-it was his duty,- and received the death
leveled at his sovereign. "
"Hech! puir mon. " And the glowing eyes began to glisten.
"The battle flowed another way, and God gave victory to the
right; but the King came back to look for him, for it was no
common service. "
face.
"Deed no!
Here Lord Ipsden began to turn his eye inwards, and call up
the scene. He lowered his voice.
"They found him lying on his back, looking death in the
"The nobles by the King's side uncovered as soon as he was
found, for they were brave men too. There was a moment's
silence: eyes met eyes, and said, This is a stout soldier's last
battle.
"The King could not bid him live,—”
"Na! lad, King Deeth has ower strong a grrip. "
"But he did what kings can do: he gave him two blows with
his royal sword. "
"Oh, the robber, and him a deeing mon!
"Two words from his royal mouth, and he and we were
barons of Ipsden and Hawthorn Glen from that day to this. "
"But the puir dying creature? »
"What poor dying creature — ? »
«< Your forbear, lad. "
>>>
## p. 12112 (#150) ##########################################
12112
CHARLES READE
"I don't know why you call him poor, madam: all the men
of that day are dust; they are the gold dust, who died with
honor.
――
"He looked round uneasily for his son,- for he had but one,
-and when that son knelt, unwounded, by him, he said, 'Good
night, Baron Ipsden;' and so he died, fire in his eye, a smile on
his lip, and honor on his name for ever. I meant to tell you a
lie, and I've told you the truth. "
"Laddie," said Christie, half admiringly, half reproachfully,
"ye gar the tear come in my een. Hech! look at yon lassie!
how could you think t'eat plums through siccan a boeny story? "
"Hets," answered Jean, who had in fact cleared the plate.
"I aye listen best when my ain mooth's stappit. "
"But see now," pondered Christie: "two words fra a king-
thir titles are just breeth. "
"Of course," was the answer. "All titles are.
What is popu-
larity? Ask Aristides and Lamartine: the breath of a mob,—
smells of its source,- and is gone before the sun can set on it.
Now, the royal breath does smell of the Rose and Crown, and
stays by us from age to age. "
The story had warmed our marble acquaintance. Saunders
opened his eyes, and thought, "We shall wake up the House of
Lords some evening,- we shall. "
His Lordship then added, less warmly, looking at the girls:
"I think I should like to be a fisherman. " So saying, my
lord yawned slightly.
To this aspiration the young fishwives deigned no attention,
doubting perhaps its sincerity; and Christie, with a shade of
severity, inquired of him how he came to be a Vile Count.
"A baron's no a Vile Count, I'm sure," said she; "sae tell me
how ye came to be a Vile Count. "
"Ah! " said he, "that is by no means a pretty story, like the
other: you will not like it, I am sure. "
I'm aye seeking knowledge. "
"Ay will I,-ay will I:
"Well, it is soon told.
seat, in the same house, so
"Ower muckle pay for
"Now don't say that; I wouldn't do it to be Emperor of
Russia. "
One of us sat twenty years on one
one day he got up a-Viscount. "
ower little wark.
>>
―
"Aweel, I hae gotten a heap out o' ye; sae noow I'll gang,
since ye are no for herrin': come away, Jean. ”
## p. 12113 (#151) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12113
At this their host remonstrated, and inquired why bores are
at one's service night and day, and bright people are always in
a hurry. He was informed in reply, "Labor is the lot o' man.
Div ye no ken that muckle? And abune a', o' women. ”
"Why, what can two such pretty creatures have to do, except
to be admired ? »
This question coming within the dark beauty's scope, she
hastened to reply:-
"To sell our herrin',— we hae three hundre' left in the creel. "
"What is the price?
At this question the poetry died out of Christie Johnstone's
face; she gave her companion a rapid look, indiscernible to male
eye, and answered: -
"Three a penny, sirr: they are no plenty the day," added she,
in smooth tones that carried conviction.
――――――
>>
(Little liar, they were selling six a penny everywhere. )
"Saunders, buy them all, and be ever so long about it, count
them, or some nonsense. "
"He's daft! he's daft! Oh, ye ken, Jean, an Ennglishman and
a lorrd, twa daft things thegither, he couldna' miss the road.
Coont them, lassie. "
"Come away, Sandy, till I coont them till ye," said Jean.
Saunders and Jean disappeared.
Business being out of sight, curiosity revived.
"An' what brings ye here from London, if you please? " re-
commenced the fair inquisitor.
"You have a good countenance; there is something in your
face. I could find it in my heart to tell you, but I should bore
you. "
"De'el a fear! Bore me, bore me! whaat's thaat, I wonder? »
"What is your name, madam? Mine is Ipsden. "
"They ca' me Christie Johnstone. ”
"Well, Christie Johnstone, I am under the doctor's hands. "
"Puir lad! What's the trouble? " (solemnly and tenderly).
"Ennui! " (rather piteously).
"Yawn-we? I never heerd tell o't. "
"Oh you lucky girl! " burst out he; "but the doctor has under-
taken to cure me: in one thing you could assist me, if I am not
presuming too far on our short acquaintance. I am to relieve
one poor distressed person every day, but I mustn't do two: is
not that a bore? "
XXI-758
## p. 12114 (#152) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12114
"Gie's your hand, gie's your hand. I'm vexed for ca'ing you
daft. Hech! what a saft hand ye hae. Jean, I'm saying, come
here; feel this. "
Jean, who had run in, took the viscount's hand from Christie.
"It never wroucht any," explained Jean.
"And he has boeny hair," said Christie, just touching his
locks on the other side.
"He's a boeny lad," said Jean, inspecting him scientifically
and point-blank.
"Ay is he," said the other. "Aweel, there's Jess Rutherford,
a widdy, wi' four bairns: ye meicht do waur than ware your sil-
ler on her. "
"Five pounds to begin? " inquired his Lordship.
"Five pund! Are ye made o' siller? Ten schell'n! "
Saunders was rung for, and produced a one-pound note.
"The herrin' is five and saxpence; it's four and saxpence
I'm awin' ye," said the young fishwife, "and Jess will be a glad
woman the neicht. "
The settlement was effected, and away went the two friends,
saying:-
"Good boye, Vile Count. "
Their host fell into thought.
"When have I talked so much? " asked he of himself.
"Dr. Aberford, you are a wonderful man; I like your lower
classes amazingly. "
"Méfiez-vous, Monsieur Ipsden! " should some mentor have
said.
As the devil puts into a beginner's hands ace, queen, five
trumps, to give him a taste for whist, so these lower classes have
perhaps put forward one of their best cards to lead you into a
false estimate of the strength of their hand.
Instead however of this, who should return to disturb the
equilibrium of truth but this Christina Johnstone.
She came
thoughtfully in, and said:-
"I've been taking a thoucht, and this is no what yon gude
physeecian meaned: ye are no to fling your chaerity like a
bane till a doeg; ye'll gang yoursel' to Jess Rutherford; Flucker
Johnstone, that's my brother, will convoy ye. "
"But how is your brother to know me? "
"How? Because I'll give him a sair, sair hiding if he lets ye
gang by. "
## p. 12115 (#153) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12115
She then returned the one-pound note, a fresh settlement was
effected, and she left him.
At the door she said, "And I am muckle obleeged to ye for
your story and your goodness. "
Whilst uttering these words she half kissed her hand to him,
with a lofty and disengaged gesture such as one might expect
from a queen, if queens did not wear stays,—and was gone.
When his Lordship, a few minutes after, sauntered out for a
stroll, the first object he beheld was an exact human square: a
handsome boy, with a body swelled out, apparently to the size
of a man's, with blue flannel, and blue cloth above it, leaning
against a wall, with his hands in his pockets,- a statuette of
insouciance.
This marine puff-ball was Flucker Johnstone, aged fourteen.
Stain his sister's face with diluted walnut-juice, as they make
the stage gipsy and red Indian (two animals imagined by actors
to be one), and you have Flucker's face.
A slight moral distinction remains, not to be so easily got
over.
She was the best girl in the place, and he a baddish boy.
He was however as sharp in his way as she was intelligent
in hers.
This youthful mariner allowed his Lordship to pass him, and
take twenty steps, but watched him all the time, and compared
him with a description furnished him by his sister.
He then followed, and brought him to, as he called it.
"I daursay it's you I'm to convoy to yon auld faggitt! " said
this baddish boy.
On they went, Flucker rolling and pitching and yawing to
keep up with the lordly galley; for a fisherman's natural waddle
is two miles an hour.
At the very entrance of Newhaven, the new pilot suddenly
sung out, "Starboard! "
Starboard it was: and they ascended a filthy "close" or alley,
they mounted a staircase which was out of doors, and with-
out knocking, Flucker introduced himself into Jess Rutherford's
house.
"Here a gentleman to speak till ye, wife. "
The widow was weather-beaten and rough. She sat mending
an old net.
## p. 12116 (#154) ##########################################
12116
CHARLES READE
"The gentleman's welcome," said she; but there was no grati-
fication in her tone, and but little surprise.
His Lordship then explained that, understanding there were
worthy people in distress, he was in hopes he might be permit-
ted to assist them; and that she must blame a neighbor of hers
if he had broken in upon her too abruptly with this object. He
then, with a blush, hinted at ten shillings, which he begged she
would consider as merely an installment, until he could learn
the precise nature of her embarrassments, and the best way of
placing means at her disposal.
The widow heard all this with a lack-lustre mind.
For many years her life had been unsuccessful labor; if any.
thing ever had come to her, it had always been a misfortune;
her incidents had been thorns,- her events, daggers.
She could not realize a human angel coming to her relief,
and she did not realize it; and she worked away at her net.
At this Flucker, to whom his Lordship's speech appeared
monstrously weak and pointless, drew nigh, and gave the widow
in her ear his version; namely, his sister's embellished. It was
briefly this: "That the gentleman was a daft lord from England
who had come with the bank in his breeks, to remove poverty
from Scotland, beginning with her. Sae speak loud aneuch, and
ye'll no want siller," was his polite corollary.
His Lordship rose, laid a card on a chair, begged her to make
use of him, et cetera; he then, recalling the oracular prescrip-
tion, said, "Do me the favor to apply to me for any little sum
you have a use for, and in return I will beg of you (if it does
not bore you too much) to make me acquainted with any little
troubles you may have encountered in the course of your life. "
His Lordship, receiving no answer, was about to go, after
bowing to her and smiling gracefully upon her.
His hand was on the latch, when Jess Rutherford burst into
a passion of tears. He turned with surprise.
"My troubles, laddie," cried she, trembling all over. "The
sun wad set, and rise, and set again, ere I could tell ye a' the
trouble I hae come through.
"Oh! ye needna vex yourself for an auld wife's tears: tears
are a blessin', lad, I shall assure ye. Mony's the time I hae
prayed for them, and could na hae them. Sit ye doon! sit ye
doon! I'll no let ye gang fra my door till I hae thankit ye,-
## p. 12117 (#155) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12117
but gie me time, gie me time. I canna greet a' the days of the
week. "
Flucker, ætat. 14, opened his eyes, unable to connect ten
shillings and tears. .
Lord Ipsden sat down, and felt very sorry for her.
And she cried at her ease.
If one touch of nature makes the whole world kin, methinks
that sweet and wonderful thing, sympathy, is not less powerful.
What frozen barriers, what ice of centuries, it can melt in a
moment!
His bare mention of her troubles had surprised the widow
woman's heart: and now she looked up, and examined his coun-
tenance; it was soon done.
A woman, young or old, high or low, can discern and appre-
ciate sensibility in a man's face at a single glance.
What she saw there was enough. She was sure of sympathy.
She recalled his resolve, and the tale of her sorrows burst from
her like a flood.
The old fishwife told the young aristocrat how she had borne
twelve children, and buried six as bairns; how her man was
always unlucky; how a mast fell on him, and disabled him a
whole season; how they could but just keep the pot boiling by
deep-sea fishing, and he was not allowed to dredge for oysters
because his father was not a Newhaven man. How, when the
herring-fishing came to make all right, he never had another
man's luck; how his boat's crew would draw empty nets, and a
boat alongside him would be gunwale down in the water with
the fish. How at last, one morning, the 20th day of November,
his boat came into Newhaven Pier without him, and when he
was inquired for, his crew said "he had stayed at home, like a
lazy loon, and not sailed with them the night before. " How
she was anxious, and had all the public-houses searched, "for he
took a drop now and then,-nae wonder, and him aye in the
weather. " Poor thing!
when he was alive she used to call him a
drunken scoundrel to his face. How when the tide went down,
a mad wife, whose husband had been drowned twenty years ago,
pointed out something under the pier, that the rest took for sea-
weed floating,- how it was the hair of her man's head, washed
about by the water; and he was there, drowned without a cry or
a struggle by his enormous boots, that kept him in an upright
position, though he was dead; there he stood,-dead,- drowned
## p. 12118 (#156) ##########################################
12118
CHARLES READE
by slipping from the slippery pier, close to his comrades' hands,
in a dark and gusty night; how her daughter married, and was
well-to-do, and assisted her; how she fell into a rapid decline,
and died, a picture of health to inexperienced eyes.
How she,
the mother, saw and knew and watched the treacherous advance
of disease and death; how others said gayly "her daughter was
better," and she was obliged to say "Yes. " How she had
worked eighteen hours a day at making nets; how when she
let out her nets to the other men at the herring-fishing, they
always cheated her because her man was gone. How she had
many times had to choose between begging her meal and going
to bed without it, but thank Heaven! she had always chosen
the latter.
――――
She told him of hunger, cold, and anguish. As she spoke
they became real things to him; up to that moment they had
been things in a story-book. And as she spoke she rocked her-
self from side to side.
Indeed, she was a woman "acquainted with grief. " She might
have said, "Here I and sorrow sit! This is my throne; bid kings
come bow to it! "
Her hearer felt this: and therefore this woman, poor, old,
and ugly, became sacred in his eye; it was with a strange sort
of respect that he tried to console her.
He spoke to her in tones gentle and sweet as the south wind
on a summer evening.
“Madam,” said he, "let me be so happy as to bring you some
comfort. The sorrows of the heart I cannot heal; they are for a
mightier hand: but a part of your distress appears to have been
positive need; that we can at least dispose of, and I entreat you
to believe that from this hour want shall never enter that door
again. Never! upon my honor! "
The Scotch are icebergs with volcanoes underneath; thaw the
Scotch ice, which is very cold, and you shall get to the Scotch
fire, warmer than any sun of Italy or Spain.
His Lordship had risen to go. The old wife had seemed ab-
sorbed in her own grief; she now dried her tears.
"Bide ye, sirr," said she, "till I thank ye. "
So she began to thank him, rather coldly and stiffly.
"He says ye are a lord," said she; "I dinna ken, an' I dinna
care: but ye're a gentleman, I daursay, and a kind heart ye
hae. "
## p. 12119 (#157) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
Then she began to warm.
"And ye'll never be a grain the poorer for the siller ye hae
gi'en me; for he that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord. "
-
12119
Then she began to glow.
"But it's no your siller; dinna think it,—na, lad, na! Oh,
fine! I ken there's mony a supper for the bairns and me in yon
bits metal; but I canna feel your siller as I feel your winsome
smile, the drop in your young een,-and the sweet words ye
gied me, in the sweet music o' your Soothern tongue, Gude
bless ye! " (Where was her ice by this time? ) Gude bless ye!
and I bless ye! "
And she did bless him; and what a blessing it was! —not a
melodious generality, like a stage parent's, or papa's in a damsel's
novel. It was like the son of Barak on Zophim.
She blessed him as one who had the power and the right to
bless or curse.
«<
She stood on the high ground of her low estate and her afflic-
tions, and demanded of their Creator to bless the fellow-creature
that had come to her aid and consolation.
This woman had suffered to the limits of endurance; yester-
day she had said, "Surely the Almighty doesna see me a' these
years! "
So now she blessed him, and her heart's blood seemed to gush
into words.
She blessed him by land and water.
She knew most mortal griefs; for she had felt them.
She warned them away from him one by one.
She knew the joys of life; for she had felt their want.
She summoned them one by one to his side.
“And a fair wind to your ship," cried she; "an' the storms
aye ten miles to leeward o' her. "
Many happy days, "an' weel spent," she wished him.
«< His love should love him dearly, or a better take her place. ”
"Health to his side by day; sleep to his pillow by night. "
A thousand good wishes came, like a torrent of fire, from her
lips, with a power that eclipsed his dreams of human eloquence;
and then, changing in a moment from the thunder of a Pythoness
to the tender music of some poetess mother, she ended:—
"An' oh, my boeny, boeny lad, may ye be wi' the rich upon
the airth a' your days,-AN' WI' THE PUIR IN THE WARLD TO
COME! "
## p. 12120 (#158) ##########################################
12120
CHARLES READE
His Lordship's tongue refused him the thin phrases of society.
"Farewell for the present," said he, and he went quietly away.
He paced thoughtfully home.
He had drunk a fact with every sentence; and an idea with
every fact.
For the knowledge we have never realized is not knowledge
to us,
only knowledge's shadow.
—
"M"
IN THE GREEN-ROOM
From Peg Woffington'
Tell me;
R. CIBBER, what do you understand by an actor?
for I am foolish enough to respect your opinion on these
matters! "
"An actor, young lady," said he gravely, "is an artist who
has gone deep enough in his art to make dunces, critics, and
greenhorns take it for nature; moreover, he really personates,
which your mere man of the stage never does. He has learned
the true art of self-multiplication. He drops Betterton, Booth,
Wilkes, or-a-hem — »
"Cibber," inserted Sir Charles Pomander. Cibber bowed.
-in his dressing-room, and comes out young or old, a fop, a
valet, a lover, or a hero, with voice, mien, and every gesture to
match.
A grain less than this may be good speaking, fine
preaching, deep grunting, high ranting, eloquent reciting; but
I'll be hanged if it is acting! "
"Then Colley Cibber never acted," whispered Quin to Mrs.
Clive.
"Then Margaret Woffington is an actress," said M. W. : "the
fine ladies take my Lady Betty for their sister; in Mrs. Day I
pass for a woman of seventy; and in Sir Harry Wildair I have
been taken for a man. I would have told you that before, but
I didn't know it was to my credit," said she slyly, "till Mr. Cib-
ber laid down the law. "
"Proof! " said Cibber.
"A warm letter from one lady, diamond buckles from an-
other, and an offer of her hand and fortune from a third: rien
que cela. »
Mr. Cibber conveyed behind her back a look of absolute in-
credulity; she divined it.
## p. 12121 (#159) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12121
"I will not show you the letters," continued she, "because
Sir Harry, though a rake, was a gentleman: but here are the
buckles;" and she fished them out of her pocket, capacious of
such things. The buckles were gravely inspected: they made
more than one eye water; they were undeniable.
"Well, let us see what we can do for her," said the Laureate.
He tapped his box, and without a moment's hesitation produced
the most execrable distich in the language:
"Now who is like Peggy, with talent at will?
A maid loved her Harry, for want of a Bill. "
"Well, child," continued he, after the applause which follows
extemporary verses had subsided, "take me in. Play something
to make me lose sight of saucy Peg Woffington, and I'll give
the world five acts more before the curtain falls on Colley Cib-
ber. "
“If you could be deceived," put in Mr. Vane, somewhat tim-
idly. "I think there is no disguise through which grace and
beauty such as Mrs. Woffington's would not shine, to my eyes. "
"That is to praise my person at the expense of my wit, sir,
is it not? " was her reply.
This was the first word she had ever addressed to him; the
tones appeared so sweet to him that he could not find anything
to reply for listening to them; and Cibber resumed:-
"Meantime I will show you a real actress: she is coming
here to-night to meet me. Did ever you children hear of Ann
Bracegirdle? »
"Bracegirdle! " said Mrs. Clive: "why, she has been dead this
thirty years; at least I thought so. "
"Dead to the stage. There is more heat in her ashes than
in your fire, Kate Clive! Ah! here comes her messenger," con-
tinued he, as an ancient man appeared with a letter in his hand.
This letter Mrs. Woffington snatched and read, and at the same
instant in bounced the call-boy. "Epilogue called," said this
urchin, in the tone of command which these small-fry of Par-
nassus adopt; and obedient to his high behest, Mrs. Woffington
moved to the door with the Bracegirdle missive in her hand, but
not before she had delivered its general contents: "The great
actress will be here in a few minutes," said she; and she glided
swiftly out of the room.
## p. 12122 (#160) ##########################################
12122
CHARLES READE
People whose mind or manners possess any feature, and are
not as devoid of all eccentricity as half-pounds of butter bought
of metropolitan grocers, are recommended not to leave a roomful.
of their acquaintances until the last but one. Yes, they should
always be penultimate. Perhaps Mrs. Woffington knew this; but
epilogues are stubborn things, and call-boys undeniable.
"Did you ever hear a woman whistle before? "
"Never; but I saw one sit astride of 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 best of a bad bargain, as Peggy's husband will have
to. "
"Wait till some one ventures on the gay Lothario,-illi æs
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
with passion; "but I observed her talent, and I noticed that who-
ever attacks her to her face comes badly off. "
"Well said, sir," answered Quin; "and I wish Kitty here
would tell us why she hates Mrs. Woffington, the best-natured
woman in the theatre ? »
"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, never! "
"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 interfere with nature's laws: let our ladies hate one another,
- it eases their minds; try to make them Christians and you will
not convert their tempers, 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 has breeched her, whereas
Kitty, who now sets up for a prude, wanted to put delicacy off
and small-clothes on in Peg's stead; that is where the Kate and
Peg shoe pinches,-near the femoral artery, James.
―
"Shrimps have the souls of shrimps," resumed this censor cas-
tigatorque minorum. "Listen to me, and learn that really great
actors are great in soul, and do not blubber like a great school-
## p. 12123 (#161) ##########################################
CHARLES READE
12123
girl because Anne Bellamy has two yellow-silk dresses from
Paris, as I saw Woffington blubber in 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 to go a-playing at
acting with. When I was young, two giantesses fought for em-
pire upon this very stage, where now dwarfs crack and bounce
like parched peas. They played Roxana and Statira in the
'Rival Queens. ' Rival queens of art themselves, they put out all
their strength. In the middle of the last act the town gave
judgment in favor of Statira. What did Roxana ? Did she spill
grease on Statira's robe, as Peg Woffington would? or stab her,
as I believe Kitty here capable of doing? No! Statira was never
so tenderly killed as that night: she owned this to me. Roxana
bade the theatre farewell that night, and wrote to Statira thus-
I give you word for word: Madam, the best judge we have has
decided in your favor. I shall never play second on a stage
where I have been first so long, but I shall often be a spectator;
and methinks none will appreciate your talent more than I, who
have felt its weight. My wardrobe, one of the best in Europe,
is of no use to me: if you will honor me by selecting a few of
my dresses you will gratify me, and I shall fancy I see myself
upon the stage to greater advantage than before. >>
"And what did Statira answer, sir? " said Mr. Vane eagerly.
"She answered thus: 'Madam, the town has often been
wrong, and may have been so last night, in supposing that I
vied successfully with your merit; but thus much is certain,—
and here, madam, I am the best judge,- that off the stage you
have just conquered me. I shall wear with pride any dress you
have honored, and shall feel inspired to great exertions by your
presence among our spectators, unless indeed the sense of your
magnanimity and the recollection of your talent should damp 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 the lofty 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.
here to-night. "
This caused a sensation.
Roxana you will see
Colley's reminiscences were interrupted by loud applause from
the theatre: the present seldom gives the past a long hearing.
## p. 12124 (#162) ##########################################
12124
CHARLES READE
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
small actress.
"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 up hill and down dale, and torn limb from jacket; even
in Parliament, a trope was sometimes hunted from one session
into another.
"You were asking me about Mrs. Oldfield, sir," resumed
Cibber rather peevishly. “I will own to you, I lack words to
convey a just idea of her double and complete supremacy. But
the comedians of this day are weak-strained farceurs compared
with her, and her tragic tone was thunder set to music.
"I saw a brigadier-general cry like a child at her 'Indiana. ’
I have seen her crying with pain herself at the wing (for she
was always a great sufferer): 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 with singing-birds, that chirped
the pleasures of fashion, love, and youth, in notes sparkling like
diamonds, and stars, and prisms. She was above criticism,-out
of its scope, as is the blue sky; men went not to judge her,-
they drank her, and gazed at her, and were warmed at her, and
refreshed by her. The fops were awed into silence; and with
their humbler betters thanked Heaven for her, if they thanked
it for anything.
"In all the crowded theatre, care and pain and poverty were
banished from the memory whilst Oldfield's face spoke and her
tongue flashed melodies; the lawyer forgot his quillets; the po-
lemic, the mote in his brother's eye; the old maid, her grudge
against the two sexes; the old man, his gray hairs and his lost
hours.
And can it be that all this, which should have been
immortal, is quite, quite lost, is as though it had never been? "
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
12125
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.
