CHAPTER VII.
COMPARE a November day with a May day. They are not more unlike than abeautiful woman in company with a man she is indifferent to or averse,and the same woman with the man of her heart by her side.
At sight of Mr. Vane, all her coldness and _nonchalance_ gave way to agentle complacency; and when she spoke to him, her voice, so clear andcutting in the late _assaut d'armes,_ sank of its own accord into themost tender, delicious tone imaginable.
Mr. Vane and she made love. He pleased her, and she desired to pleasehim. My reader knows her wit, her _finesse,_ her fluency; but he cannotconceive how god-like was her way of making love. I can put a few of thecorpses of her words upon paper, but where are the heavenly tones--nowcalm and convincing, now soft and melancholy, now thrilling withtenderness, now glowing with the fiery eloquence of passion? She toldhim that she knew the map of his face; that for some days past he hadbeen subject to an influence adverse to her. She begged him, calmly, forhis own sake, to distrust false friends, and judge her by his own heart,eyes, and judgment. He promised her he would.
"And I do trust you, in spite of them all," said he; "for your face isthe shrine of sincerity and candor. I alone know you."
Then she prayed him to observe the heartlessness of his sex, and to saywhether she had done ill to hide the riches of her heart from the coldand shallow, and to keep them all for one honest man, "who will be myfriend, I hope," said she, "as well as my lover."
"Ah!" said Vane, "that is my ambition."
"We actresses," said she, "make good the old proverb, 'Many lovers, butfew friends.' And oh, 'tis we who need a friend. Will you be mine?"
While he lived, he would.
In turn, he begged her to be generous, and tell him the way for him,Ernest Vane, inferior in wit and address to many of her admirers, to winher heart from them all.
This singular woman's answer is, I think, worth attention.
"Never act in my presence; never try to be eloquent, or clever; neverforce a sentiment, or turn a phrase. Remember, I am the goddess oftricks. Do not descend to competition with me and the Pomanders of theworld. At all littlenesses, you will ever be awkward in my eyes. And Iam a woman. I must have a superior to love--lie open to my eye. Lightitself is not more beautiful than the upright man, whose bosom is opento the day. Oh yes! fear not you will be my superior, dear; for in mehonesty has to struggle against the habits of my art and life. Be simpleand sincere, and I shall love you, and bless the hour you shone upon mycold, artificial life. Ah, Ernest!" said she, fixing on his eye her own,the fire of which melted into tenderness as she spoke, "be my friend.Come between me and the temptations of an unprotected life--therecklessness of a vacant heart."
He threw himself at her feet. He called her an angel. He told her hewas unworthy of her, but that he would try and deserve her. Then hehesitated, and trembling he said:
"I will be frank and loyal. Had I not better tell you everything? Youwill not hate me for a confession I make myself?"
"I shall like you better--oh! so much better!"
"Then I will own to you--"
"Oh, do not tell me you have ever loved before me! I could not bear tohear it!" cried this inconsistent personage.
The other weak creature needed no more.
"I see plainly I never loved but you," said he.
"Let me hear that only!" cried she; "I am jealous even of the past. Sayyou never loved but me. Never mind whether it is true. My child, you donot even yet know love. Ernest, shall I make you love--as none of yoursex ever loved--with heart, and brain, and breath, and life, and soul?"
With these rapturous words, she poured the soul of love into his eyes;he forgot everything in the world but her; he dissolved in presenthappiness and vowed himself hers forever. And she, for her part, badehim but retain her esteem and no woman ever went further in love thanshe would. She was a true epicure. She had learned that passion, vulgarin itself, is god-like when based upon esteem.
This tender scene was interrupted by the call-boy, who brought Mrs.Woffington a note from the manager, informing her there would beno rehearsal. This left her at liberty, and she proceeded to take asomewhat abrupt leave of Mr. Vane. He was endeavoring to persuade herto let him be her companion until dinner-time (she was to be his quest),when Pomander entered the room.
Mrs. Woffington, however, was not to be persuaded, she excused herselfon the score of a duty which she said she had to perform, and whisperingas she passed Pomander, "Keep your own counsel," she went out ratherprecipitately.
Vane looked slightly disappointed.
Sir Charles, who had returned to see whether (as he fully expected) shehad told Vane everything--and who, at that moment, perhaps, wouldnot have been sorry had Mrs. Woffington's lover called him to seriousaccount--finding it was not her intention to make mischief, and notchoosing to publish his own defeat, dropped quietly into his old line,and determined to keep the lovers in sight, and play for revenge.He smiled and said: "My good sir, nobody can hope to monopolize Mrs.Woffington. She has others to do justice to besides you."
To his surprise, Mr. Vane turned instantly round upon him, and, lookinghim haughtily in the face, said: "Sir Charles Pomander, the settledmalignity with which you pursue that lady is unmanly and offensive tome, who love her. Let our acquaintance cease here, if you please, or lether be sacred from your venomous tongue."
Sir Charles bowed stiffly, and replied, that it was only due to himselfto withdraw a protection so little appreciated.
The two friends were in the very act of separating forever, when whoshould run in but Pompey, the renegade. He darted up to Sir Charles, andsaid: "Massa Pomannah she in a coach, going to 10, Hercules Buildings.I'm in a hurry, Massa Pomannah."
"Where?" cried Pomander. "Say that again."
"10, Hercules Buildings, Lambeth. Me in a hurry, Massa Pomannah."
"Faithful child, there's a guinea for thee. Fly!"
The slave flew, and, taking a short cut, caught and fastened on to theslow vehicle in the Strand.
"It is a house of rendezvous," said Sir Charles, half to himself, halfto Mr. Vane. He repeated in triumph: "It is a house of rendezvous." Hethen, recovering his _sang-froid,_ and treating it all as a matter ofcourse, explained that at 10, Hercules Buildings, was a fashionableshop, with entrances from two streets; that the best Indian scarfs andshawls were sold there, and that ladies kept their carriages waiting animmense time in the principal street, while they were supposed to be inthe shop, or the show-room. He then went on to say that he had only thismorning heard that the intimacy between Mrs. Woffington and a ColonelMurthwaite, although publicly broken off for prudential reasons, wasstill clandestinely carried on. She had, doubtless, slipped away to meetthe colonel.
Mr. Vane turned pale.
"No! I will not suspect. I will not dog her like a bloodhound," criedhe.
"I will!" said Pomander.
"You! By what right?"
"The right of curiosity. I will know whether it is you who are imposedon, or whether you are right, and all the world is deceived in thiswoman."
He ran out; but, for all his speed, when he got into the street therewas the jealous lover at his elbow. They darted with all speed into theStrand; got a coach. Sir Charles, on the box, gave Jehu a guinea, andtook the reins--and by a Niagara of whipcord they attained Lambeth; andat length, to his delight, Pomander saw another coach before him with agold-laced black slave behind it. The coach stopped; and the slave cameto the door. The shop in question was a few hundred yards distant. Theadroit Sir Charles not only stopped but turned his coach, and let thehorses crawl back toward London; he also flogged the side panels todraw the attention of Mr. Vane. That gentleman looked through the littlecircular window at the back of the vehicle, and saw a lady paying thecoachman. There was no mistaking her figure. This lady, then, followedat a distance by her slave, walked on toward Hercules Buildings; and itwas his miserable fate to see her look uneasily round, and at last glidein at a side door, close to the silk-mercer's shop.
The carriage stopped. Sir Charles came himself to the door.
"Now, Vane," said he, "before I consent to go any further in thisbusiness, you must promise me to be cool and reasonable. I abhorabsurdity; and there must be no swords drawn for this little hypocrite."
"I submit to no dictation," said Vane, white as a sheet.
"You have benefited so far by my knowledge," said the other politely;"let me, who am self-possessed, claim some influence with you."
"Forgive me!" said poor Vane. "My ang--my sorrow that such an angelshould be a monster of deceit." He could say no more.
They walked to the shop.
"How she peeped, this way and that," said Pomander, "sly little Woffy!
"No! on second thoughts," said he, "it is the other street we mustreconnoiter; and, if we don't see her there, we will enter the shop,and by dint of this purse we shall soon untie the knot of the Woffingtonriddle."
Vane leaned heavily on his tormentor.
"I am faint," said he.
"Lean on me, my dear friend," said Sir Charles. "Your weakness willleave you in the next street."
In the next street they discovered--nothing. In the shop, they found--noMrs. Woffington. They returned to the principal street. Vane began tohope there was no positive evidence. Suddenly three stories up a fiddlewas heard. Pomander took no notice, but Vane turned red; this put SirCharles upon the scent.
"Stay!" said he. "Is not that an Irish tune?"
Vane groaned. He covered his face with his hands, and hissed out:
"It is her favorite tune."
"Aha!" said Pomander. "Follow me!"
They crept up the stairs, Pomander in advance; they heard the signs ofan Irish orgie--a rattling jig played and danced with the inspiritinginterjections of that frolicsome nation. These sounds ceased after awhile, and Pomander laid his hand on his friend's shoulder.
"I prepare you," said he, "for what you are sure to see. This womanwas an Irish bricklayer's daughter, and 'what is bred in the bone nevercomes out of the flesh;' you will find her sitting on some Irishman'sknee, whose limbs are ever so much stouter than yours. You are the manof her head, and this is the man of her heart. These things would bemonstrous, if they were not common; incredible, if we did not see themevery day. But this poor fellow, whom probably she deceives as well asyou, is not to be sacrificed like a dog to your unjust wrath; he is assuperior to her as you are to him."
"I will commit no violence," said Vane. "I still hope she is innocent."
Pomander smiled, and said he hoped so too.
"And if she is what you think, I will but show her she is known, and,blaming myself as much as her--oh yes! more than her!--I will go downthis night to Shropshire, and never speak word to her again in thisworld or the next."
"Good," said Sir Charles.
"'Le bruit est pour le fat, la plainte est pour le sot, L'honndete homine trompe s'eloigne et ne dit mot.'
Are you ready?"
"Yes."
"Then follow me."
Turning the handle gently, he opened the door like lightning, and was inthe room. Vane's head peered over his shoulder. She was actually there!
For once in her life, the cautious, artful woman was taken by surprise.She gave a little scream, and turned as red as fire. But Sir Charlessurprised somebody else even more than he did poor Mrs. Woffington.
It would be impertinent to tantalize my reader, but I flatter myselfthis history is not written with power enough to do that, and I mayventure to leave him to guess whom Sir Charles Pomander surprised morethan he did the actress, while I go back for the lagging sheep.
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