Frank Frankfort Moore

“ Before Sir Charles had time to turn to satisfy himself as to the identity of the man at whom Nell was gazing so eagerly, she had run down the hall, and seized the newcomer by both hands, crying:
“Dick—Dick—It is you, yourself, Dick, and no ghost!”
“No ghost, I dare swear, Nell,” cried the man, in a tone that made the candles in the chandelier quiver, and Sir Charles Sedley to be all but swept off his feet. “No ghost, but—O Lord, how you've grown, Nell! Why, when I burnt my last link seeing you home, you was only so high!” He put his hand within a foot of the floor. ”

“ Bates. “But this Garrick—I wonder what his Hamlet is like.”
“It is like nothing, sir: it is Hamlet,” cried Kitty.
“You have seen it? What is he like when the ghost enters? I have made that scene my own.”
Kitty sprang from the settle.
“Like?” she said. “What is he like? He is like a man in the presence of a ghost at first, and then—then the ghost becomes more substantial than he. You hear a sudden cry—he stands transfixed with horror—you see that he is not breathing, and he makes you one with himself. You cannot breathe. You feel that his hand is on your heart. ”

“ Lee Lewis, the actor,” said Mrs. Abington. “Pray, how does it come, sir, that you were at Vauxhall when you assured your poor wife that you were going to the playhouse?”
“What! the rascal has the audacity—”
“Husband—husband—a moment will explain all!” cried Mrs. Lewis, across the table.
“Silence, woman!” shouted the man.
“She had better remain silent,” said the actress. “Look you, sir, how often have you not deceived that poor young thing, whose only fault is loving you too well? What, sir, have you the effrontery to accuse her? ”

“ Bates, whom she had met, had a profound belief in the art of acting, and particularly in themselves as exponents of that art.
“What, sir!” she cried, “are you not an actor on your own confession, whatever the critics may say?”
“I admit it, my dear lady; but at the same time, I repeat that I have no faith in the stage. Acting is the most unconvincing of the arts. Is there ever a human being outside Bedlam who fancies that the stage hero is in earnest?”
“I should say that the force of the illusion is largely dependent upon the actor,” said Kitty. ”

“ Lewis had not yet come back, and so Mrs. Abington went upstairs and seated herself by the side of her friend in her parlour.
Not many minutes had passed before her quick ears became aware of the opening of the hall-door, and of the stealthy steps of a man upon the stairs. The steps paused outside the room door, and then putting on her masculine voice, the actress suddenly cried:
“Ah, my beloved creature! why will you remain with a husband who cannot love you as I swear I do? Why not fly with me to happiness?” ”

“ Sir Godfrey was standing at the door. “Dear Sir Godfrey, Her Grace is anxious for you to paint her in her true character—that of the jealous wife; and so I leave her in your good hands. Adieu, your Grace. Oh, fie, to be jealous of so poor a creature as an actress!”
She stood for a moment by the side of the painter, turning half round as she raised the tapestry hanging. Her laughter when she had passed into the hall, rang through the studio. ”

“ Woffington, madam, do you flatter yourself that the playgoers will be willing to accept the author's account of the fascinations of the woman whom you are representing, if you fail to rouse your rival to any point of jealousy? Miss Hoppner, for all the strong language the poet puts into her mouth, will not make the playgoers feel that the Lady Oriana bears you a grudge for having taken her lover from her; and when she stabs you with her dagger, she does so in such a halfhearted way that the whole house will perceive that she is not in earnest. ”

“ He certainly trembled like one, as a terrible voice, but no louder than a whisper, sounded in his ears: “Are you a human being or the monster of a dream, that you dare to speak such words in my hearing? What wretch are you that fancies that Sarah Siddons may be addressed by such as you, and in language that is an insult to a pure wife and mother. I am Sarah Siddons, sir! I am a wife who holds her husband's honour dearer than life itself—I am a mother who will never cause a blush of shame to mantle the brow of one of her children. ”

“ I protest that I am overwhelmed by the latter, as I am lost in admiration of the former,” said the actress, adopting a pose which she knew the painter would appreciate. “Alas, Sir Godfrey,” she added, “you do not well to talk to an actress of the limitations of art. What a paltry aim has our art compared with yours! I have had cravings after immortality—that is why I am here to-day.”
“'T is surely, then, the future of the painter that you have had at heart, my dear madam; you come with immortality shining in your face.” ”

“ Woffington,” said Miss Hoppner.
“Sir, I am overwhelmed,” said Mrs. Woffington, with a deep courtesy.
“Nay, madam, I am your servant, I swear,” said the gentleman. “I have often longed for this honor, but it ever seemed out of my reach. We of the Royal Scots consider ourselves no mean judges of your art, and we agree that the playhouse without Mrs. Woffington would be lusterless.”
“Ah, sir, you would still have Mrs. Clive,” suggested Peggy.
“Mrs. Clive? You can afford to be generous, madam,” laughed Captain Joycelyn.
“She is the most generous woman alive,” said Miss Hoppner. ”

“ Think you that her sadness of visage is due to mortification that her spouse is still faithful to her?”
“Surely such a reflection should call for an expression of satisfaction, my fair observer.”
“Nay, Sir Godfrey; that were to take a view of the matter in no wise deep. Would you not have Her Grace to think as other women less formidable think, in this wise: 'what fate is mine to be wed to a man whom no woman thinks worth the tempting'?”
“Zounds, my Barry, that were the strangest way recorded to account for a wife's sadness. How know you that His Grace has not been tempted?” ”

“ Bates, be merciful as you are strong!” cried Kitty, pressing one hand to her tumultuous bosom. “Do not compel a poor weak woman to betray her weakness: the conqueror should be merciful. What a voice is yours, sir! What poor woman could resist its melody? Oh, sir, forgive the tears of a weak, unhappy creature.”
She had thrown herself on the settle and had laid her head upon one of its arms.
In an instant he was beside her and had caught her hand.
“Nay, dear one, I cannot forgive the tears that dim those bright eyes,” he whispered in her ear. ”

“ Johnson's kissing of her hand was strangely suggestive of an elephant's picking up a pin.
“Madam,” said he, “your offer is made in the true spirit of hospitality. Hospitality, let me tell you, consists not, as many suppose, in the sharing of one's last crust with a friend—for the sacrifice in parting with a modicum of so unappetising a comestible as a crust is not great—nay; hospitality, to become a virtue, involves a real sacrifice.”
“So in heaven's name let us have the tea,” said Garrick. “Make it not too strong,” he whispered to Peggy as he opened the door for her. ”

“ And now I am ready to sit to you—unless you have any further courtly compliments to pass on me. Only, by my faith, I do not choose to place myself nigh to Her Grace. Those eyes of hers make me feel uneasy. Prithee, Sir Godfrey, permit me to turn my back upon the duchess; the act will, I protest, give me a feeling of pride which will speedily betray itself on my face. People will say, 'Only an actress, yet she turned her back upon a duchess'—ay, and such a duchess! ”

“ Garrick's opinion was that you stood in need of a showy gown to conceal the defects of your art?”
“You are insolent, Mrs. Woffington!”
“Nay, nay, my dear ladies; let's have no more of this recrimination over a question of rags. It is unworthy of you,” said Garrick.
“I feel that, sir, and so I mean to wear the brocade,” said Mrs. Woffington. “Good lud, Mr. Garrick, what were you thinking of when you assigned to the poor victim of the murderess in the tragedy the crimson robe which was plainly meant to be in keeping with the gory intentions of her rival?” ”

“ Her daughter watched her departure, and only when she had disappeared burst into a laugh. In a moment she was grave once again. She remained seated without changing her attitude or expression for a long time. At last she sprang to her feet, saying out loud, as though some one were present to hear her:
“What a fool thou art, friend Nell, to become glum over a boy sweetheart—and a link boy, of all boys. Were I to tell Mr. Dryden of my fancy, he would write one of his verses about it, making out that poor Dick was the little god Cupid in disguise, and that his link was the torch of love. ”

“ I expected that you would; but he is my husband, and I love him—I believe that he loved me until your witchery came over him and—oh, I am a most unhappy woman! But you will give him back to me; you have many admirers, madam; one poor man is nothing here or there to you.”
“Listen to me, my poor child.” Mrs. Abington had led her to the sofa, and sat down beside her, still holding her hand. “You have spoken some very foolish words since you came into this room. From whom have you heard that your husband was—well, was ensnared by me?”
“From whom? Why, every one knows it!” cried Mrs. Lewis. ”

“ Your good husband is, I doubt not, fond enough of you; but when he perceives that you think much more of your baby than you do of him—when he perceives that the men whom he considered his rivals before he carried you off from them, no longer follow in your train, is he to be blamed if he finds you a trifle insipid? Ah, let me tell you, my sweet young wife, a husband is a horse that requires the touch of a spur now and again. A jog-trot is not what suits a spirited creature. ”

“ Ah, Sir Godfrey. He has dealt as harshly with the face of my Duke as he hath dealt gently with that ancient harridan, the Duchess.” (She saw the distant portière quiver.) “Great heavens!” she continued, rising and standing in front of the portrait of the Duchess. “Great heavens! is it a matter of wonder that His Grace should be sick unto death of that face of hers? All the flattery of the painter cannot hide the malevolence of her countenance. ”

“ Macklin will be able to give us his helpful counsel in this business.”
“Psha!” said Peggy. “Mr. Macklin could never be brought to see with your eyes.”
“Then he will be all the better able to give us the result of Mr. Macklin's observation,” said Garrick.
“Ay, but that is not what you want, Davy,” said Mrs. Woffington, with a pretty loud laugh. “No one ever calls in a counsellor with the hope of obtaining an unprejudiced opinion; the only counsellor in whom we have confidence is he who corroborates our own views.” ”

“ Bates marked how her voice broke, He took a step after her, as she went to the settle.
“Dear madam, you deserve to be the happiest rather than the most wretched of your sex,” he said—his voice was also very soft and low.
Kitty turned to him, crying quickly: “And I should be so if—” here she sighed—it seemed to Mr. Bates quite involuntarily. “Pardon me: I—I—that is—sometimes the heart forces the lips to speak when they should remain silent. A woman is a simple creature, sir.”
“A woman is a very fascinating creature, I vow,” cried Mr. Bates, and he felt that he was speaking the truth. ”

“ Would Shakespeare have us believe that men can be so easily fooled? Our moderns have not greatly improved upon Shakespeare.”
“I am with you there, sir, heart and soul.”
“No, they still outrage sense by their plots. A man meets a woman quite by chance. She tells him a cock and bull story that any fool could see outrages probability; but he is captivated in a moment. He falls on his knees before her and vows that she has only to speak to make him the happiest of mortals. All this is, madam, I need scarcely say, quite monstrous and unnatural. Such a proceeding could not occur outside Bedlam.” ”

“ Lewis's wife should not cause you to shed a tear. You should be glad rather than sorry that you are married to a gentleman who is so highly esteemed. Your husband, Mrs. Lewis, is a great friend of mine, and I hope that his wife may become even a greater.”
“Ah—ah!” moaned the lady. “A friend? a friend? Oh, give me back my husband, woman—give me back my husband, whom you stole from me!”
She had sprung to her feet as she spoke her passionate words, and now stood with quivering, clenched hands in front of the actress.
“My good woman,” said Mrs. Abington, “you have need to calm yourself. ”

“ Smollett, wrote to me a confidential letter—”
“Madam, I have no aged domestic, and I know no one of the name of Smollett,” said Sir Godfrey.
“What! Oh, the man is in the plot also! It were beneath my dignity to converse further with him. Shame, sir—shame on both of you!”
She flung herself through the portière and disappeared in a billow of tapestry.
The Duke and Sir Godfrey stood side by side in silence in the studio. At last the former spoke.
“Faith, Kneller, I think I begin to see how we have all been tricked. That play-actress hath made fools of us all for her own sport.” ”

“ Siddons,” said he, “'t is a new thing for a man to be ordered out of his own house by a guest. I happen to be the owner of this tenement in Smock Alley, in the city of Dublin, and you are my guest—my honoured guest, madam. How could I fail to honour a lady who, in spite of the fact of being the greatest actress in the world, is still a pattern wife and mother?” ”

“ Abington hurried her companion down a side walk, saying:
“David Garrick is the only one in the Gardens whom I fear; he would see through my disguise in a moment.”
“My husband is not here, after all, for I have been looking for him,” said Mrs. Lewis. “You see he does not always speak an untruth when he tells me he is going to the playhouse on the nights he is not acting.”
“Nothing could be clearer, my dear,” said her companion. “Oh, yes, men do speak the truth—yes, sometimes.” ”