CHAPTER XXVIII
THE PLAYER
About this time, Mr. Charles Stagg, of the Williamsburgh theatre inVirginia, sent by the Horn of Plenty, bound for London, a long letter toan ancient comrade and player of small parts at Drury Lane. A few dayslater, young Mr. Lee, writing by the Golden Lucy to an agreeable rake ofhis acquaintance, burst into a five-page panegyric upon the Arpasia, theBelvidera, the Monimia, who had so marvelously dawned upon the colonialhorizon. The recipient of this communication, being a frequenter ofButton's, and chancing one day to crack a bottle there with Mr. ColleyCibber, drew from his pocket and read to that gentleman the eulogy ofDarden's Audrey, with the remark that the writer was an Oxford man andmust know whereof he wrote.
Cibber borrowed the letter, and the next day, in the company of Wilks anda bottle of Burgundy, compared it with that of Mr. Charles Stagg,--thelatter's correspondent having also brought the matter to the great man'snotice.
"She might offset that pretty jade Fenton at the Fields, eh, Bob?" saidCibber. "They're of an age. If the town took to her"--
"If her Belvidera made one pretty fellow weep, why not another?" addedWilks. "Here--where is't he says that, when she went out, for many momentsthe pit was silent as the grave--and that then the applause was deep--notshrill--and very long? 'Gad, if 'tis a Barry come again, and we could layhands on her, the house would be made!"
Gibber sighed. "You're dreaming, Bob," he said good-humoredly. "'Twas buta pack of Virginia planters, noisy over some _belle sauvage_ with aranting tongue."
"Men's passions are the same, I take it, in Virginia as in London,"answered the other. "If the _belle sauvage_ can move to that manner ofapplause in one spot of earth, she may do so in another. And here again hesays, 'A dark beauty, with a strange, alluring air ... a voice of meltingsweetness that yet can so express anguish and fear that the blood turnscold and the heart is wrung to hear it'--Zoons, sir! What would it cost tobuy off this fellow Stagg, and to bring the phoenix overseas?"
"Something more than a lottery ticket," laughed the other, and beckoned tothe drawer. "We'll wait, Bob, until we're sure 'tis a phoenix indeed!There's a gentleman in Virginia with whom I've some acquaintance, ColonelWilliam Byrd, that was the colony's agent here. I'll write to him for atrue account. There's time enough."
So thought honest Cibber, and wrote at leisure to his Virginiaacquaintance. It made small difference whether he wrote or refrained fromwriting, for he had naught to do with the destinies of Darden's Audrey.'Twas almost summer before there came an answer to his letter. He showedit to Wilks in the greenroom, between the acts of "The Provoked Husband."Mrs. Oldfield read it over their shoulders, and vowed that 'twas a movingstory; nay, more, in her next scene there was a moisture in Lady Townly'seyes quite out of keeping with the vivacity of her lines.
Darden's Audrey had to do with Virginia, not London; with the winter,never more the summer. It is not known how acceptable her Monimia, herBelvidera, her Isabella, would have been to London playgoers. Perhaps theywould have received them as did the Virginians, perhaps not. Cibberhimself might or might not have drawn for us her portrait; might or mightnot have dwelt upon the speaking eye, the slow, exquisite smile with whichshe made more sad her saddest utterances, the wild charm of her mirth, herpower to make each auditor fear as his own the impending harm, the tragicsplendor in which, when the bolt had fallen, converged all the pathos,beauty, and tenderness of her earlier scenes. A Virginian of that winter,writing of her, had written thus; but then Williamsburgh was not London,nor its playhouse Drury Lane. Perhaps upon that ruder stage, before anaudience less polite, with never a critic in the pit or footman in thegallery, with no Fops' Corner and no great number of fine ladies in theboxes, the jewel shone with a lustre that in a brighter light it had notworn. There was in Mr. Charles Stagg's company of players no mate for anygem; this one was set amongst pebbles, and perhaps by contrast alone didit glow so deeply.
However this may be, in Virginia, in the winter and the early spring ofthat year of grace Darden's Audrey was known, extravagantly praised,toasted, applauded to the echo. Night after night saw the theatre crowded,gallery, pit, and boxes. Even the stage had its row of chairs, seats heldnot too dear at half a guinea. Mr. Stagg had visions of a larger house, afuller company, renown and prosperity undreamed of before that fortunateday when, in the grape arbor, he and his wife had stood and watchedDarden's Audrey asleep, with her head pillowed upon her arm.
Darden's Audrey! The name clung to her, though the minister had no furtherlot or part in her fate. The poetasters called her Charmante, Anwet,Chloe,--what not! Young Mr. Lee in many a slight and pleasing set ofverses addressed her as Sylvia, but to the community at large she wasDarden's Audrey, and an enigma greater than the Sphinx. Why would she notmarry Mr. Marmaduke Haward of Fair View? Was the girl looking for a princeto come overseas for her? Or did she prefer to a dazzling marriage theexcitement of the theatre, the adulation, furious applause? That couldhardly be, for these things seemed to frighten her. At times one could seeher shrink and grow pale at some great clapping or loud "Again!" And onlyupon the stage did the town behold her. She rarely went abroad, and at thesmall white house in Palace Street she was denied to visitors. True, 'twasthe way to keep upon curiosity the keenest edge, to pique interest andsend the town to the playhouse as the one point of view from which theriddle might be studied. But wisdom such as this could scarce be expectedof the girl. Given, then, that 'twas not her vanity which kept herDarden's Audrey, what was it? Was not Mr. Haward of Fair View rich,handsome, a very fine gentleman? Generous, too, for had he not sworn, asearnestly as though he expected to be believed, that the girl was pureinnocence? His hand was ready to his sword, nor were men anxious to incurhis cold enmity, so that the assertion passed without open challenge. Hewas mad for her,--that was plain enough. And she,--well she's woman andDarden's Audrey, and so doubly an enigma. In the mean time, to-night sheplays Monimia, and her madness makes you weep, so sad it is, so hopeless,and so piercing sweet.
In this new world that was so strange to her Darden's Audrey bore herselfas best she might. While it was day she kept within the house, where theroom that in September she had shared with Mistress Deborah was now forher alone. Hour after hour she sat there, book in hand, learning how thoseother women, those women of the past, had loved, had suffered, had fallento dusty death. Other hours she spent with Mr. Charles Stagg in the longroom downstairs, or, when Mistress Stagg had customers, in the theatreitself. As in the branded schoolmaster chance had given her a teacherskilled in imparting knowledge, so in this small and pompous man, whobeneath a garb of fustian hugged to himself a genuine reverence andunderstanding of his art, she found an instructor more able, perhaps, thanhad been a greater actor. In the chill and empty playhouse, upon thenarrow stage where, sitting in the September sunshine, she had asked ofHaward her last favor, she now learned to speak for those sisters of herspirit, those dead women who through rapture, agony, and madness had sunkto their long rest, had given their hands to death and lain down in acommon inn. To Audrey they were real; she was free of their company. Theshadows were the people who lived and were happy; who night after nightcame to watch a soul caught in the toils, to thunder applause when deathwith rude and hasty hands broke the net, set free the prisoner.
The girl dreamed as she breathed. Wakened from a long, long fantasy,desolate and cold to the heart in an alien air, she sought for poppy andmandragora, and in some sort finding them dreamed again, though not forherself, not as before. It can hardly be said that she was unhappy. Shewalked in a pageant of strange miseries, and the pomp of woe was hers toportray. Those changelings from some fateful land, those passionate, palewomen, the milestones of whose pilgrimage spelled love, ruin, despair, anddeath, they were her kindred, her sisters. Day and night they kept hercompany: and her own pain lessened, grew at last to a still and dreamysorrow, never absent, never poignant.
Of necessity, importunate grief was drugged to sleep. In the daylighthours she must study, must rehearse with he
r fellow players; when nightcame she put on a beautiful dress, and to lights and music and loudapplause there entered Monimia, or Belvidera, or Athenais. When the playwas done and the curtain fallen, the crowd of those who would have stayedher ever gave way, daunted by her eyes, her closed lips, the atmospherethat yet wrapped her of passion, woe, and exaltation, the very tragedy ofthe soul that she had so richly painted. Like the ghost of that woman whohad so direfully loved and died, she was wont to slip from the playhouse,through the dark garden, to the small white house and her quiet room.There she laid off her gorgeous dress, and drew the ornaments from herdark hair that was long as Molly's had been that day beneath thesugar-tree in the far-away valley.
She rarely thought of Molly now, or of the mountains. With her hairshadowing her face and streaming over bared neck and bosom she sat beforeher mirror. The candle burned low; the face in the glass seemed not herown. Dim, pale, dark-eyed, patient-lipped at last, out of a mist and froma great distance the other woman looked at her. Far countries, the burningnoonday and utter love, night and woe and life, the broken toy, flung withhaste away! The mist thickened; the face withdrew, farther, farther off;the candle burned low. Audrey put out the weak flame, and laid herselfupon the bed. Sleep came soon, and it was still and dreamless. SometimesMary Stagg, light in hand, stole into the room and stood above the quietform. The girl hardly seemed to breathe: she had a fashion of lying withcrossed hands and head drawn slightly back, much as she might be laid atlast in her final bed. Mistress Stagg put out a timid hand and felt theflesh if it were warm; then bent and lightly kissed hand or arm or thesoft curve of the throat. Audrey stirred not, and the other wentnoiselessly away; or Audrey opened dark eyes, faintly smiled and raisedherself to meet the half-awed caress, then sank to rest again.
Into Mistress Stagg's life had struck a shaft of colored light, had come anote of strange music, had flown a bird of paradise. It was and it was nother dead child come again. She knew that her Lucy had never been thus, andthe love that she gave Audrey was hardly mother love. It was more nearlyan homage, which, had she tried, she could not have explained. When theywere alone together, Audrey called the older woman "mother," often kneltand laid her head upon the other's lap or shoulder. In all her ways shewas sweet and duteous, grateful and eager to serve. But her spirit dweltin a rarer air, and there were heights and depths where the waif and herprotectress might not meet. To this the latter gave dumb recognition, andthough she could not understand, yet loved her protegee. At night, in theplayhouse, this love was heightened into exultant worship. At all timesthere was delight in the girl's beauty, pride in the comment and wonder ofthe town, self-congratulation and the pleasing knowledge that wisdom isvindicated of its children. Was not all this of her bringing about? Did itnot first occur to her that the child might take Jane Day's place? EvenCharles, who strutted and plumed himself and offered his snuffbox to everypasser-by, must acknowledge that! Mistress Stagg stopped her sewing tolaugh triumphantly, then fell to work more diligently than ever; for itwas her pleasure to dress Darden's Audrey richly, in soft colors, heavysilken stuffs upon which was lavished a wealth of delicate needlework. Itwas chiefly while she sat and sewed upon these pretty things, with Audrey,book on knee, close beside her, that her own child seemed to breatheagain.
Audrey thanked her and kissed her, and wore what she was given to wear,nor thought how her beauty was enhanced. If others saw it, if the wondergrew by what it fed on, if she was talked of, written of, pledged, andlauded by a frank and susceptible people, she knew of all this littleenough, and for what she knew cared not at all. Her days went dreamily by,nor very sad nor happy; full of work, yet vague and unmarked as desertsands. What was real was a past that was not hers, and those dead women towhom night by night she gave life and splendor.
There were visitors to whom she was not denied. Darden came at times, satin Mistress Stagg's sunny parlor, and talked to his sometime ward much ashe had talked in the glebe-house living room,--discursively, of men andparochial affairs and his own unmerited woes. Audrey sat and heard him,with her eyes upon the garden without the window. When he lifted from thechair his great shambling figure, and took his stained old hat and heavycane, Audrey rose also, curtsied, and sent her duty to Mistress Deborah,but she asked no questions as to that past home of hers. It seemed not tointerest her that the creek was frozen so hard that one could walk upon itto Fair View, or that the minister had bought a field from his wealthyneighbor, and meant to plant it with Oronoko. Only when he told her thatthe little wood--the wood that she had called her own--was being cleared,and that all day could be heard the falling of the trees, did she liftstartled eyes and draw a breath like a moan. The minister looked at herfrom under shaggy brows, shook his head, and went his way to his favoriteordinary, rum, and a hand at cards.
Mistress Deborah she beheld no more; but once the Widow Constance broughtBarbara to town, and the two, being very simple women, went to the play tosee the old Audrey, and saw instead a queen, tinseled, mock-jeweled, cladin silk, who loved and triumphed, despaired and died. The rude theatreshook to the applause. When it was all over, the widow and Barbara wentdazed to their lodging, and lay awake through the night talking of thesemarvels. In the morning they found the small white house, and Audrey cameto them in the garden. When she had kissed them, the three sat down in thearbor; for it was a fine, sunny morning, and not cold. But the talk wasnot easy; Barbara's eyes were so round, and the widow kept mincing herwords. Only when they were joined by Mistress Stagg, to whom the widowbecame voluble, the two girls spoke aside.
"I have a guinea, Barbara," said Audrey. "Mr. Stagg gave it to me, and Ineed it not,--I need naught in the world. Barbara, here!--'tis for a warmdress and a Sunday hood."
"Oh, Audrey," breathed Barbara, "they say you might live at FairView,--that you might marry Mr. Haward and be a fine lady"--
Audrey laid her hand upon the other's lips. "Hush! See, Barbara, you musthave the dress made thus, like mine."
"But if 'tis so, Audrey!" persisted poor Barbara. "Mother and I talked ofit last night. She said you would want a waiting-woman, and I thought--Oh,Audrey!"
Audrey bit her quivering lip and dashed away the tears. "I'll want nowaiting-woman, Barbara. I'm naught but Audrey that you used to be kind to.Let's talk of other things. Have you missed me from the woods all thesedays?"
"It has been long since you were there," said Barbara dully. "Now I gowith Joan at times, though mother frowns and says she is not fit. Eh,Audrey, if I could have a dress of red silk, with gold and bright stones,like you wore last night! Old days I had more than you, but all's changednow. Joan says"--
The Widow Constance rising to take leave, it did not appear what Joan hadsaid. The visitors from the country went away, nor came again while Audreydwelt in Williamsburgh. The schoolmaster came, and while he waited for hissometime pupil to slowly descend the stairs talked learnedly to Mr. Staggof native genius, of the mind drawn steadily through all accidents andadversities to the end of its own discovery, and of how time and tide andall the winds of heaven conspire to bring the fate assigned, to make thepuppet move in the stated measure. Mr. Stagg nodded, took out hissnuffbox, and asked what now was the schoolmaster's opinion of the girl'sMonimia last night,--the last act, for instance. Good Lord, how still thehouse was!--and then one long sigh!
The schoolmaster fingered the scars in his bands, as was his manner attimes, but kept his eyes upon the ground. When he spoke, there was in hisvoice unwonted life. "Why, sir, I could have said with Lear, _'Hystericapassio! down, thou climbing sorrow!'_--and I am not a man, sir, that'seasily moved. The girl is greatly gifted. I knew that before either you orthe town, sir. Audrey, good-morrow!"
Such as these from out her old life Darden's Audrey saw and talked with.Others sought her, watched for her, laid traps that might achieve at leasther presence, but largely in vain. She kept within the house; when theknocker sounded she went to her own room. No flowery message, compliment,or appeal, not even Mary Stagg's kindly importunity, could bring her f
romthat coign of vantage. There were times when Mistress Stagg's showroom wascrowded with customers; on sunny days young men left the bowling green tostroll in the shell-bordered garden paths; gentlemen and ladies of qualitypassing up and down Palace Street walked more slowly when they came to thesmall white house, and looked to see if the face of Darden's Audrey showedat any window.
Thus the winter wore away. The springtime was at hand, when one day theGovernor, wrought upon by Mistress Evelyn Byrd, sent to Mr. Stagg, biddinghim with his wife and the new player to the Palace. The three, dressed intheir best, were ushered into the drawing-room, where they found hisExcellency at chess with the Attorney-General; a third gentleman, seatedsomewhat in the shadow, watching the game. A servant placed, chairs forthe people from the theatre. His Excellency checkmated his antagonist,and, leaning back in his great chair, looked at Darden's Audrey, butaddressed his conversation to Mr. Charles Stagg. The great man wascondescendingly affable, the lesser one obsequious; while they talked thegentleman in the shadow arose and drew his chair to Audrey's side. 'TwasColonel Byrd, and he spoke to the girl kindly and courteously; askingafter her welfare, giving her her meed of praise, dwelling half humorouslyupon the astonishment and delight into which she had surprised theplay-loving town. Audrey listened with downcast eyes to the suave tones,the well-turned compliments, but when she must speak spoke quietly andwell.
At last the Governor turned toward her, and began to ask well-meantquestions and to give pompous encouragement to the new player. Noreference was made to that other time when she had visited the Palace. Aservant poured for each of the three a glass of wine. His Excellencygraciously desired that they shortly give 'Tamerlane' again, that being aplay which, as a true Whig and a hater of all tyrants, he much delightedin, and as graciously announced his intention of bestowing upon thecompany two slightly tarnished birthday suits. The great man then arose,and the audience was over.
Outside the house, in the sunny walk leading to the gates, the three fromthe theatre met, full face, a lady and two gentlemen who had beensauntering up and down in the pleasant weather. The lady was Evelyn Byrd;the gentlemen were Mr. Lee and Mr. Grymes.
Audrey, moving slightly in advance of her companions, halted at the sightof Evelyn, and the rich color surged to her face; but the other, pale andlovely, kept her composure, and, with a smile and a few graceful words ofgreeting, curtsied deeply to the player. Audrey, with a little catch ofher breath, returned the curtsy. Both women were richly dressed, both werebeautiful; it seemed a ceremonious meeting of two ladies of quality. Thegentlemen also bowed profoundly, pressing their hats against their hearts.Mistress Stagg, to whom her protegee's aversion to company was no lightcross, twitched her Mirabell by the sleeve and, hanging upon his arm,prevented his further advance. The action said: "Let the child alone;maybe when the ice is once broken she'll see people, and not be so shy andstrange!"
"Mr. Lee," said Evelyn sweetly, "I have dropped my glove,--perhaps in thesummer-house on the terrace. If you will be so good? Mr. Grymes, will youdesire Mr. Stagg yonder to shortly visit me at my lodging? I wish tobespeak a play, and would confer with him on the matter."
The gentlemen bowed and hasted upon their several errands, leaving Audreyand Evelyn standing face to face in the sunny path. "You are well, Ihope," said the latter, in her low, clear voice, "and happy?"
"I am well, Mistress Evelyn," answered Audrey. "I think that I am notunhappy."
The other gazed at her in silence; then, "We have all been blind," shesaid. "'Tis not a year since May Day and the Jaquelins' merrymaking. Itseems much longer. You won the race,--do you remember?--and took the prizefrom my hand. And neither of us thought of all that should follow--didwe?--or guessed at other days. I saw you last night at the theatre, andyou made my heart like to burst for pity and sorrow. You were only playingat woe? You are not unhappy, not like that?"
Audrey shook her head. "No, not like that."
There was a pause, broken by Evelyn. "Mr. Haward is in town," she said, ina low but unfaltering voice, "He was at the playhouse last night. Iwatched him sitting in a box, in the shadow.... You also saw him?"
"Yes," said Audrey. "He had not been there for a long, long time. At firsthe came night after night.... I wrote to him at last and told him how hetroubled me,--made me forget my lines,--and then he came no more."
There was in her tone a strange wistfulness. Evelyn drew her breathsharply, glanced swiftly at the dark face and liquid eyes. Mr. Grymes yetheld the manager and his wife in conversation, but Mr. Lee, a smalljessamine-scented glove in hand, was hurrying toward them from thesummer-house.
"You think that you do not love Mr. Haward?" said Evelyn, in a low voice.
"I loved one that never lived," said Audrey simply. "It was all in a dreamfrom which I have waked. I told him that at Westover, and afterwards herein Williamsburgh. I grew so tired at last--it hurt me so to tell him ...and then I wrote the letter. He has been at Fair View this long time, hashe not?"
"Yes," said Evelyn quietly. "He has been alone at Fair View." The rose inher cheeks had faded; she put her lace handkerchief to her lips, and shuther hand so closely that the nails bit into the palm. In a moment,however, she was smiling, a faint, inscrutable smile, and presently shecame a little nearer and took Audrey's hand in her own.
The soft, hot, lingering touch thrilled the girl. She began to speakhurriedly, not knowing why she spoke nor what she wished to say: "MistressEvelyn"--
"Yes, Audrey," said Evelyn, and laid a fluttering touch upon the other'slips, then in a moment spoke herself: "You are to remember always, thoughyou love him not, Audrey, that he never was true lover of mine; that nowand forever, and though you died to-night, he is to me but an oldacquaintance,--Mr. Marmaduke Haward of Fair View. Remember also that itwas not your fault, nor his perhaps, nor mine, and that with all my heartI wish his happiness.... Ah, Mr. Lee, you found it? My thanks, sir."
Mr. Lee, having restored the glove with all the pretty froth of wordswhich the occasion merited, and seen Mistress Evelyn turn aside to speakwith Mr. Stagg, found himself mightily inclined to improve the goldenopportunity and at once lay siege to this paragon from the playhouse. Twolow bows, a three-piled, gold-embroidered compliment, a quotation from his"To Sylvia upon her Leaving the Theatre," and the young gentleman thoughthis lines well laid. But Sylvia grew restless, dealt in monosyllables, andfinally retreated to Mistress Stagg's side. "Shall we not go home?" shewhispered. "I--I am tired, and I have my part to study, the long speech atthe end that I stumbled in last night. Ah, let us go!"
Mistress Stagg sighed over the girl's contumacy. It was not thus in Bathwhen she was young, and men of fashion flocked to compliment a handsomeplayer. Now there was naught to do but to let the child have her way. Sheand Audrey made their curtsies, and Mr. Charles Stagg his bow, which wasmodeled after that of Beau Nash. Then the three went down the sunny pathto the Palace gates, and Evelyn with the two gentlemen moved toward thehouse and the company within.
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