Charles Reade

“ I shall do it (Mabel clasps her hands) . There is only one way—but that way is simple. Mr. Vane thinks better of me than I deserve—I have only to make him (with a trembling lip) believe me worse than I am, and he will return to you, and love you better, far better, for having known, admired, and despised, Peg Woffington.
MABEL. Oh! I shall bless you every hour of my life (pause) . But rob you of your good name! bid a woman soil her forehead so for me! (sighs, long pause) With heaven’s help I do refuse your offer; it is better I should die with my heart crushed, but my conscience unstained ”

“ In the world’s race are often the outsiders.
VANE. So I have played at love—witched from my will.
MAB. My love was always Ernest, and is still.
CIB. Pshaw! stap my vitals! “Manners make the man,”
They have made me!
SNARL. ’Tis about all they can!
SOAP. Yes; Mr. Cibber’s epitaph shall be,
He played Lord Foppington at seventy-three.
CLIVE. I’m for plain speaking—let the truth be shown—
SNARL. Truth’s in a well—best leave that well alone—
QUIN. Its bitter waters why should you uncork?
No; play like me—an honest knife and fork. ”

“ CIB. Nay, sir, I bring my wit in exchange for your wine; we barter our respective superfluities.
QUIN. Good wine is no superfluity, Mr. Cibber; ’tis a necessary of life, just as much as good victuals.
SOAP. I vow Mr. Cibber is as lively as ever, and doesn’t look a day older: does he, Mr. Snarl?
SNARL. ’Tis that there’s no room on Mr. Cibber’s face for another wrinkle.
CIB. (takes snuff) . Puppies!
QUIN. Really this is too bad, the coffee is getting cold (goes to table, R.) .
CLIVE. So, no wonder Quin is getting warm— (gives him coffee) . Here, bear! (Woffington presides over tea.) ”

“ VANE. She has a heart alive to every emotion.
POM. And influenced by none.
VANE. She is a divinity to worship.
POM. And a woman to fight shy of. No—no—we all know Peg Woffington; she is a decent actress on the boards, and a great actress off them. But I will tell you how to add a novel charm to her. Make her blush—ask her for the list of your predecessors.
VANE (with a mortified air) . Sir Charles Pomander! But you yourself profess to admire her. ”

“ VANE. Oh! thanks, thanks, for this, I trust, is in my power!
WOFF. Mind—it is no easy task: to be my friend is to respect me, that I may respect myself the more; to be my friend is to come between me and the temptations of an unprotected life—the recklessness of a vacant heart.
VANE. I will place all that is good about me at your feet. I will sympathize with you when you are sad; I win rejoice when you are gay. ”

“ Woffington!
WOFF. But what have we to do (walks agitated) with homes, and hearths, and firesides? Have we not the theatre, its triumphs, and full-handed thunders of applause? Who looks for hearts beneath the masks we wear? These men applaud us, cajole us, swear to us, lie to us, and yet, forsooth, we would have them respect us too.
TRIP. (fiercely) . They shall respect you before James Triplet. ”

“ WOFF. (C.) Woman! for she has tricked four men; nature! for a fluent dunce does not know her when he sees her!
CIB. Why—what the deuce?
CLIVE. Woffington!
QUIN. Pheugh!
WOFF. (steps out of picture) . A pretty face, and not like Woffington! I owe you two, Kitty Clive.
(Mrs. Clive bridles.)
(to Quin) . Who ever saw Peggy’s real face? Look at it now if you can without blushing.
ALL (except Snarl) . Ha! ha!
SNARL. For all this, I maintain on the unalterable rules of art——
ALL. Ha! ha! ha!
SNARL (fiercely) . Goths! (Quin and Cibber turn up stage laughing) . Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! ”

“ WOFF. That is the first step—reading comes after, when it comes at all.
TRIP. (aside) . I must fly home and tell my wife.
WOFF. (aside) . In the mean time I can put five guineas into his pocket. Mr. Triplet, do you write congratulatory verses—odes—and that sort of thing?
TRIP. Anything, madam, from an acrostic to an epic.
WOFF. Good, then I have a commission for you; I dine to-day at Mr. Vane’s, in Bloomsbury Square. We shall want some verses. Will you oblige us with a copy?
TRIP. (aside) . A guinea in my way, at least. Oh, madam, do but give me a subject. ”

“ WOFF. You see what men are! Have I done ill to hide the riches of my heart from the heartless, and keep them all for one honest man, who will be my friend, I hope, as well as my lover?
VANE. Ah, that is my ambition.
WOFF. We actresses make good the old proverb, “Many lovers, but few friends.” And oh! it is we who need a friend. Will you be mine?
[Pg 14]
VANE. I will. Then tell me the way for me, unequal in wit and address to many of your admirers, to win your esteem. ”

“ WOFF. And bring all the critics—there, no thanks or I’ll stay away. Stay, I must have your address.
TRIP. (returning to her) . On the fly leaf of each work, madam, you will find the address of James Triplet, painter, actor, and dramatic author, and Mrs. Woffington’s humble and devoted servant. (Bows ridiculously low, moves away, but returns with an attempt at a jaunty manner.) Madam, you have inspired a son of Thespis with dreams of eloquence; you have tuned to a higher key a poet’s lyre; you have tinged a painter’s existence with brighter colours ”

“ And now you will keep your promise, to make me happy with your presence this morning at the little festival I had arranged with Cibber and some of our friends of the theatre.
WOFF. I shall have so much pleasure; but, àpropos, you must include Snarl and Soaper in your list.
VANE. What! the redoubtable Aristarchuses of the pit?
WOFF. Yes. Oh, you don’t know the consequences of loving an actress. You will have to espouse my quarrels, manage my managers, and invite my critics to dinner.
VANE. They shall be invited, never fear.
WOFF. And I’ve a trust for you; poor Triplet’s three tragedies. ”

“ MABEL. Ernest—dear Ernest!
VANE (sternly) . Mabel, how came you here?
WOFF. In such very questionable company as a town rake and a profane stage-player? Mrs. Vane might have asked the same question yesterday. Why Mrs. Vane somehow fancied you had mislaid your heart in Covent Garden green-room, and that I had [Pg 67] feloniously appropriated it: she came here in search of stolen goods—would you could rummage here, madam, and satisfy yourself if you still want proof, that I have no such thing as a heart about me—not even one of my own. ”

“ Cut it as deep as you like, there will be enough left; and so I shall tell the author if he is there.
[Exeunt Quin and Clive L.
[Enter Mr. Vane and Sir Charles Pomander L.]
POM. All this eloquence might be compressed into one word—you love Mrs. Margaret Woffington.
VANE. I glory in it.
POM. Why not, if it amuses you? We all love an actress once in our lives, and none of us twice.
VANE. You are the slave of a word, Sir Charles Pomander. Would you confound black and white because both are colours? Actress! Can you not see that she is a being like her fellows in nothing but a name? ”

“ BOY (confidentially) . Comedy is crying. Father cries all the time he writes his comedy.
WOFF. Oh!
TRIP. Hold your tongue. They were tears of laughter, you know, ma’am. Wife, our children talk too much; they thrust their noses into everything, and criticise their own father.
WOFF. Unnatural offspring!
TRIP. And when they take up a notion, the devil himself couldn’t convince them to the contrary; for instance, all this morning they thought fit to assume that they were starving.
BOY. So we were till the angel came, and the devil went for the pie. ”

“ Quin and Mrs. Clive, seated each side of Fire-place.
CLIVE. Who dines with Mr. Vane to-day besides ourselves?
QUIN. His inamorata, Mrs. Woffington, of this theatre.
CLIVE. Of course. But who else?
QUIN. Sir Charles Pomander. The critics, Snarl and Soaper, are invited, I believe.
CLIVE. Then I shall eat no dinner.
[Pg 2]
QUIN. Pooh! There is to be a haunch that will counterpoise in one hour a century of censure. Let them talk! the mouth will revenge the ears of Falstaff;—besides, Snarl is the only ill-natured one—Soaper praises people, don’t he?
CLIVE. Don’t be silly, Quin! ”

“ I have here three tragedies.
WOFF. (looking down at them with comical horror) . Fifteen acts, mercy on us!
TRIP. Which if I could submit to Mrs. Woffington’s judgment——
WOFF. (recoiling) . I am no judge of such things, sir.
[Pg 7]
TRIP. No more is the manager of this theatre.
WOFF. What! has he accepted them?
TRIP. No! madam! he has had them six months and returned them without a word.
WOFF. Patience, my good sir, patience! authors of tragedies should learn that virtue of their audiences. Do you know I called on Mr. Rich fifteen times before I could see him? ”

“ CIB. Serve ’em right—a couple of serpents! or rather one boa-constrictor—Soaper slavers, for Snarl to crush (crosses to L.) . But we were all too hard on poor Trip: and if he will accept my apology——
TRIP. Thank you! “Colley Cibber’s Apology” can be got at any book-stall.
CIB. Confound his impertinence! Come along, Jemmy!
QUIN. If ever you paint my portrait——
TRIP. The bear from Hockley Hole shall sit for the head.
QUIN. Curse his impudence! Have with you, Mr. Cibber. ”

“ MRS. T. Ay do, husband! that often helps you in your writing. (Triplet plays a merry tune dolefully.)
TRIP. It won’t do, music must be in the heart, or it will never come out of the fingers (puts fiddle down—boy takes it and puts it in the cradle) . No! let us be serious and finish the comedy—perhaps it hitches because I forgot to invoke Thalia—the Muse of Comedy, Mrs. Triplet; she must be a black-hearted jade if she won’t lend a broad grin [Pg 42] to a poor devil starving in the middle of his hungry little ones. ”

“ If there isn’t this kind-hearted, soft-headed, old booby of a Triplet making a picture of himself in water colours. (Goes up to him—taps him on the arm) . Come! to work—to work, and with a will, for I have invited Cibber, and Quin, and Clive, and Snarl, Soaper and all, to see the portrait, which is to make your fortune and hand me down to posterity not half as handsome as nature made me. There (sits) , I must put on my most bewitching smile of course. (Aside) Oh, dear! how it belies my poor aching heart. ”

“ Remember! I am the goddess of tricks: I can only love my superior. Be honest and frank as the day, and you will be my superior; and I shall love you, and bless the hour you shone on my artificial life. ”

“ How little the world knows about us after all (she sighs and sobs convulsively) . I ought to feel very happy—pshaw! On with the mask and spangles, Peggy—and away with the fumes of this pleasant day-dream—how to bring Pomander hither? Let me see—this paper (takes paper Mabel sent up) signed in her hand; Mabel Vane—what if by its aid—I have it—pen—ink—one never can find writing materials in an author’s room (goes to door and calls) . Triplet! (enter Triplet from inner room) . ”

“ MABEL. Invite an actress to his house! but Ernest is so warm-hearted and generous; no doubt ’tis as Mr. Triplet says; he has admired her acting and wished to mark his sense of her merit by presenting her these verses, and a dinner.
[Music.
These poor actors and actresses! I have seen some of them down in Huntingdonshire, and I know what a kindness it is to give them a good meal. (crosses to L.) .
[Enter Sir Charles Pomander, L. C. down R.]
POM. What, madam, all alone, here as in Huntingdonshire! Force of habit. A husband with a wife in Huntingdonshire is so like a bachelor. ”

“ Woffington would but leave this stupid comedy and take to tragedy, things would smile again.
MRS. T. Oh, James, how can you expect anything from that woman? You won’t believe what all the world says—you measure folk by your own good heart.
TRIP. I haven’t a good heart, I spoke like a brute to you just now.
MRS. T. Never mind, James, I wonder how you put up with me at all! a sick useless creature. I often wish to die, for your sake—I know you would do better—I am such a weight round your neck. (Triplet takes Mrs. T. to chair—then returns with energy to his comedy—boy brings violin.) ”

“ Besides, the servants of the Muse are used to waiting. What we are not used to is (she fills his glass) being waited on by Hebe and the Twelve Graces, whose health I have the honour!—Falernian, as I’m a poet!
MABEL. A poet! (clapping her hands.) Oh, I am so glad! I never thought to see a living poet; I do so love poetry!
TRIP. Ha! it is in your face, madam. I should be proud to have your opinion of this trifle composed by me for Mr. Vane, in honour of the lady he expected this morning.
MABEL (aside) . Dear Ernest! how ungrateful I was. Nay, sir, I think I know the lady ”

“ In nature, [Pg 51] the nose, intercepting the light on one side the face, throws a shadow under the eye. Caravaggio, the Venetians, and the Bolognese, do particular justice to this—no such shade appears in your portrait.
CIB. ’Tis so—stap my vitals!
(All express assent except Soaper.)
SOAP. But, my dear Mr. Snarl, if there are no shades, there are lights—loads of lights.
SNARL. There are, only they are impossible (superciliously) . You have, however, succeeded tolerably in the mechanical parts—the dress, for example; but your Woffington is not a woman, Sir—nor nature! ”

“ TRIP. Yes! somehow sorrow comes more natural to me! (pause) I’ve got a bright thought; you see, Jane, they are all at a sumptuous banquet: all the Dramatis Personæ except the poet, (writes) music—sparkling wine—massive plate—soups—fish—shall I have three dishes of fish? venison—game—pickles and provocatives in the centre, then up jumps one of the guests, and says he—
[Pg 40]
BOY. Oh, dear! I am so hungry!
GIRL. And so am I.
TRIP. That is an absurd remark, Lysimachus, not four hours after breakfast. ”