Peg Woffington

by Charles Reade

  CHAPTER IV.

  TRIPLET, the Cerberus of art, who had the first bark in this legend,and has since been out of hearing, ran from Lambeth to Covent Garden,on receipt of Mr. Vane's note. But ran he never so quick, he had built afull-sized castle in the air before he reached Bow Street.

  The letter hinted at an order upon his muse for amatory verse;delightful task, cheering prospect.

  Bid a man whose usual lot it is to break stones for the parish attenpence the cubic yard--bid such an one play at marbles with some stonetaws for half an hour per day, and pocket one pound one--bid a poorhorse who has drawn those stones about, and browsed short grass by thewayside--bid him canter a few times round a grassy ring, and then goto his corn--in short, bid Rosinante change with Pegasus, and you do nomore than Mr. Vane's letter held out to Triplet.

  The amatory verse of that day was not up-hill work. There was abeaten track on a dead level, and you followed it. You told the tendercreature, with a world of circumlocution, that, "without joking now,"she was a leper, ditto a tigress, item marble. You next feigned a lucidinterval, and to be on the point of detesting your monster, but intwenty more verses love became, as usual, stronger than reason, and youwound up your rotten yarn thus:

  You hugged a golden chain. You drew deeper into your wound a barbedshaft, like--(any wild animal will do, no one of them is such an ass,so you had an equal title to all). And on looking back you saw withhorrible complacency that you had inflicted one hundred locusts, fivefeet long, upon oppressed humanity.

  Wont to travel over acres of canvas for a few shillings, and roods ofpaper on bare speculation, Triplet knew he could make a thousand a yearat the above work without thinking.

  He came therefore to the box-keeper with his eyes glittering.

  "Mr. Vane?"

  "Just gone out with a gentleman."

  "I'll wait then."

  Now Mr. Vane, we know, was in the green-room, and went home by thestage-door. The last thing he thought of was poor Triplet; the rich donot dream how they disappoint the poor. Triplet's castle fell as many apredecessor had. When the lights were put out, he left the theater witha bitter sigh.

  "If this gentleman knew how many sweet children I have, and what a good,patient, suffering wife, sure he would not have chosen me to make a foolof!" said the poor fellow to himself.

  In Bow Street, he turned, and looked back upon the theater. How gloomyand grand it loomed!

  "Ah!" thought he, "if I could but conquer you; and why not? All historyshows that nothing is unconquerable except perseverance. Hannibalconquered the Alps, and I'll conquer you," cried Triplet, firmly. "Yes,this visit is not lost; here I register a vow: I will force my way intothat mountain of masonry, or perish in the attempt."

  Triplet's most unpremeditated thoughts and actions often savoredridiculously of the sublime. Then and there, gazing with folded armson this fortress of Thespis, the polytechnic man organized his firstassault. The next evening he made it.

  Five months previously he had sent the manager three great, largetragedies. He knew the aversion a theatrical manager has to read amanuscript play, not recommended by influential folk; an aversion whichalways has been carried to superstition. So he hit on the followingscheme:

  He wrote Mr. Rich a letter; in this he told Mr. Rich that he (Triplet)was aware what a quantity of trash is offered every week to a manager,how disheartening it must be to read it at all, and how natural, after awhile, to read none. Therefore, he (Triplet) had provided that Mr.Rich might economize his time, and yet not remain in ignorance of thedramatic treasure that lay ready to his hand.

  "The soul of a play," continued Triplet, "is the plot or fable. Agentleman of your experience can decide at once whether a plot or storyis one to take the public!"

  So then he drew out, in full, the three plots. He wrote these plots inverse! Heaven forgive us all, he really did. There were also two marginsleft; on one, which was narrow, he jotted down the _locale_ per page ofthe most brilliant passages; on the other margin, which was as wide asthe column of the plot, he made careful drawings of the personages inthe principal dramatic situations; scrolls issued from their mouths,on which were written the words of fire that were flowing from each inthese eruptions of the dramatic action. All was referred to pages in themanuscripts.

  "By this means, sir," resumed the latter, "you will gut my fish ina jiffy; permit me to recall that expression, with apologies for myfreedom. I would say, you will, in a few minutes of your valuableexistence, skim the cream of Triplet."

  This author's respect for the manager's time carried him into furtherand unusual details.

  "Breakfast," said he, "is a quiet meal. Let me respectfully suggest,that by placing one of my plots on the table, with, say, the sugar-basinupon it (this, again, is a mere suggestion), and the play it appertainsto on your other side, you can readily judge my work without disturbingthe avocations of the day, and master a play in the twinkling of ateacup; forgive my facetiousness. This day month, at ten of the clock, Ishall expect," said Triplet, with sudden severity, "sir, your decision!"

  Then, gliding back to the courtier, he formally disowned all specialtitle to the consideration he expected from Mr. Rich's well-knowncourtesy; still he begged permission to remind that gentleman that hehad, six years ago, painted for him a large scene, illuminated by twogreat poetical incidents: a red sun, of dimensions never seen out ofdoors in this or any country; and an ocean of sand, yellower than up tothat time had been attained in art or nature; and that once, when theaudience, late in the evening, had suddenly demanded a popular song fromMr. Nokes, he (Triplet), seeing the orchestra thinned by desertion, andnugatory by intoxication, had started from the pit, resuscitated withthe whole contents of his snuff-box the bass fiddle, snatched theleader's violin, and carried Mr. Nokes triumphantly through; thatthunders of applause had followed, and Mr. Nokes had kindly returnedthanks _for both;_ but that he (Triplet) had hastily retired to evadethe manager's acknowledgments, preferring to wait an opportunity likethe present, when both interests could be conciliated, etc.

  This letter he posted at its destination, to save time, and returnedtriumphant home. He had now forgiven and almost forgotten Vane; and hadreflected that, after all, the drama was his proper walk.

  "My dear," said he to Mrs. Triplet, "this family is on the eve of agreat triumph!" Then, inverting that order of the grandiloquent and thehomely which he invented in our first chapter, he proceeded to say: "Ihave reared in a single day a new avenue by which histrionic greatness,hitherto obstructed, may become accessible. Wife, I think I have donethe trick at last. Lysimachus!" added he, "let a libation be poured outon so smiling an occasion, and a burnt-offering rise to propitiate thecelestial powers. Run to the 'Sun,' you dog. Three pennyworth of ale,and a hap'orth o' tobacco."

  Ere the month was out, I am sorry to say, the Triplets were reduced toa state of beggary. Mrs. Triplet's health had long been failing; and,although her duties at her little theater were light and occasional, themanager was obliged to discharge her, since she could not be dependedupon.

  The family had not enough to eat! Think of that! They were not warm atnight, and they felt gnawing and faintness often by day. Think of that!

  Fortune was unjust here. The man was laughable, and a goose; and had nogenius either for writing, painting, or acting; but in that he resembledmost writers, painters, and actors of his own day and ours. He wasnot beneath the average of what men call art, and it is art'santipodes--treadmill artifice.

  Other fluent ninnies shared gain, and even fame, and were called'penmen,' in Triplet's day. Other ranters were quietly getting rich bynoise. Other liars and humbugs were painting out o' doors indoors, andeating mutton instead of thistles for drenched stinging-nettles,yclept trees; for block-tin clouds; for butlers' pantry seas, andgarret-conceived lakes; for molten sugar-candy rivers; for airlessatmosphere and sunless air; for carpet nature, and cold, dead fragmentsof an earth all soul and living glory to every cultivated eye but aroutine painter's. Yet the man of man
y such mediocrities could not keepthe pot boiling. We suspect that, to those who would rise in life,even strong versatility is a very doubtful good, and weak versatilityruination.

  At last, the bitter, weary month was gone, and Triplet's eye brightenedgloriously. He donned his best suit; and, while tying his cravat,lectured his family. First, he complimented them upon their deportmentin adversity; hinted that moralists, not experience, had informed himprosperity was far more trying to the character. Put them all solemnlyon their guard down to Lucy, _aetat_ five, that they were _morituri_ and_ae,_ and must be pleased to abstain from "insolent gladness" upon hisreturn.

  "Sweet are the uses of adversity!" continued this cheerful monitor."If we had not been hard up this while, we should not come with a fullrelish to meat three times a week, which, unless I am an ass (andI don't see myself in that light)," said Triplet dryly, "will, Iapprehend, be, after this day, the primary condition of our futureexistence."

  "James, take the picture with you," said Mrs. Triplet, in one of thosecalm, little, desponding voices that fall upon the soul so agreeablywhen one is a cock-a-hoop, and desires, with permission, so to remain.

  "What on earth am I to take Mrs. Woffington's portrait for?"

  "We have nothing in the house," said the wife, blushing.

  Triplet's eye glittered like a rattlesnake's.

  "The intimation is eccentric," said he. "Are you mad, Jane? Pray,"continued he, veiling his wrath in scornful words, "is it requisite,heroic, or judicious on the eve, or more correctly the morn, ofaffluence to deposit an unfinished work of art with a mercenaryrelation? Hang it, Jane! would you really have me pawn Mrs. Woffingtonto-day?"

  "James," said Jane steadily, "the manager may disappoint you, we haveoften been disappointed; so take the picture with you. They will giveyou ten shillings on it."

  Triplet was one of those who see things roseate, Mrs. Triplet lurid.

  "Madam," said the poet, "for the first time in our conjugal career, yourcommands deviate so entirely from reason that I respectfully withdrawthat implicit obedience which has hitherto constituted my principalreputation. I'm hanged if I do it, Jane!"

  "Dear James, to oblige me!"

  "That alters the case; you confess it is unreasonable?"

  "Oh, yes! it is only to oblige me.

  "Enough!" said Triplet, whose tongue was often a flail that fell onfriend, foe and self indiscriminately. "Allow it to be unreasonable, andI do it as a matter of course--to please you, Jane."

  Accordingly the good soul wrapped it in green baize; but to relieve hismind he was obliged to get behind his wife, and shrug his shoulders toLysimachus and the eldest girl, as who should say _voila bien une femmevotre mere a vous!_

  At last he was off, in high spirits. He reached Covent Garden athalf-past ten, and there the poor fellow was sucked into our narrativewhirlpool.

  We must, however, leave him for a few minutes.