THE MUMMERS.--GODOLPHIN IN LOVE.--THE EFFECT OF FANNY MILLINGER'S ACTING
UPON HIM.--THE TWO OFFERS.--GODOLPHIN QUITS THE PLAYERS.
Our travellers stopped at the first inn in the outskirts of the town.
Here they were shown into a large room on the ground-floor, sanded, with a
long table in the centre; and, before the supper was served, Percy had
leisure to examine all the companions with whom he had associated himself.
In the first place, there was an old gentleman, of the age of sixty-three,
in a bob-wig, and inclined to be stout, who always played the _lover_. He
was equally excellent in the pensive Romeo and the bustling Rapid. He had
an ill way of talking off the stage, partly because he had lost all his
front teeth: a circumstance which made him avoid, in general, those parts
in which he had to force a great deal of laughter. Next, there was a
little girl, of about fourteen, who played angels, fairies, and, at a
pinch, was very effective as an old woman. Thirdly, there was our
free-and-easy cavalier, who, having a loud voice and a manly presence,
usually performed the tyrant. He was great in Macbeth, greater in
Bombastes Furioso. Fourthly, came this gentleman's wife, a pretty,
slatternish woman, much painted. She usually performed the second
female--the confidante, the chambermaid--the Emilia to the Desdemona. And
fifthly, was Percy's new inamorata,--a girl of about oneand-twenty, fair,
with a nez retrousse: beautiful auburn hair, that was always a little
dishevelled; the prettiest mouth, teeth, and dimple imaginable; a natural
colour; and a person that promised to incline hereafter towards that
roundness of proportion which is more dear to the sensual than the
romantic. This girl, whose name was Fanny Millinger, was of so frank,
good-humoured, and lively a turn, that she was the idol of the whole
company, and her superiority in acting was never made a matter of
jealousy. Actors may believe this, or not, as they please.
"But is this all your company?" said Percy.
"All? no!" replied Fanny, taking off her bonnet, and curling up her
tresses by the help of a dim glass. "The rest are provided at the theatre
along with the candle-snuffer and scene-shifters part of the fixed
property. Why won't _you_ take to the stage? I wish you would! you would
make a very respectable--page."
"Upon my word!" said Percy, exceedingly offended.
"Come, come!" cried the actress, clapping her hands, and perfectly
unheeding his displeasure--"why don't you help me off with my cloak?--why
don't you set me a chair?--why don't you take this great box out of my
way?--why don't you----Heaven help me!" and she stamped her little foot
quite seriously on the floor. "A pretty person for a lover you are!"
"Oho! then I am a lover, you acknowledge?"
"Nonsense!--get a chair next me at supper."
The young Godolphin was perfectly fascinated by the lively actress; and it
was with no small interest that he stationed himself the following night
in the stage-box of the little theatre at ----, to see how his Fanny
acted. The house was tolerably well filled, and the play was _She Stoops
to Conquer_. The male parts were, on the whole, respectably managed;
though Percy was somewhat surprised to observe that a man, who had joined
the corps that morning, blessed with the most solemn countenance in the
world--a fine Roman nose, and a forehead like a sage's--was now dressed in
nankeen tights, and a coat without skirts, splitting the sides of the
gallery in the part of Tony Lumpkin. But into the heroine, Fanny
Millinger threw a grace, a sweetness, a simple, yet dignified spirit of
trite love that at once charmed and astonished all present. The applause
was unbounded; and Percy Godolphin felt proud of himself for having
admired one whom every one else seemed also resolved upon admiring.
When the comedy was finished, he went behind the scenes, and for the first
time felt the rank which intellect bestows. This idle girl, with whom he
had before been so familiar; who had seemed to him, boy as he was, only
made for jesting and coquetry, and trifling, he now felt to be raised to a
sudden eminence that startled and abashed him. He became shy and awkward,
and stood at a distance stealing a glance towards her, but without the
courage to approach and compliment her.
The quick eye of the actress detected the effect she had produced. She
was naturally pleased at it, and coming up to Godolphin, she touched his
shoulder, and with a smile rendered still more brilliant by the rouge yet
unwashed from the dimpled cheeks, said--"Well, most awkward swain? no
flattery ready for me? Go to! you won't suit me: get yourself another
empress."
"You have pleased me into respecting you," said Godolphin.
There was a delicacy in the expression that was very characteristic of the
real mind of the speaker, though that mind was not yet developed; and the
pretty actress was touched by it at the moment, though, despite the grace
of her acting, she was by nature far too volatile to think it at all
advantageous to be _respected_ in the long run. She did not act in the
afterpiece, and Godolphin escorted her home to the inn.
So long as his ten guineas lasted--which the reader will conceive was not
very long--Godolphin stayed with the gay troop, as the welcome lover of
its chief ornament. To her he confided his name and history: she laughed
heartily at the latter--for she was one of Venus's true children, fond of
striking mirth out of all subjects. "But what," said she, patting his
cheek affectionately, "what should hinder you from joining us for a little
while? I could teach you to be an actor in three lessons. Come now,
attend! It is but a mere series of tricks, this art that seems to you so
admirable."
Godolphin grew embarrassed. There was in him a sort of hidden pride that
could never endure to subject itself to the censure of others. He had no
propensity to imitation, and he had a strong susceptibility to the
ridiculous. These traits of mind thus early developed--which in later
life prevented his ever finding fit scope for his natural powers, which
made him too proud to bustle, and too philosophical to shine--were of
service to him on this occasion, and preserved him from the danger into
which he might otherwise have fallen. He could not be persuaded to act:
the fair Fanny gave up the attempt in despair. "Yet stay with us," said
she, tenderly, "and share my poor earnings."
Godolphin started; and in the wonderful contradictions of the proud human
heart, this generous offer from the poor actress gave him a distaste, a
displeasure, that almost reconciled him to parting from her. It seemed to
open to him at once the equivocal mode of life he had entered upon. "No,
Fanny," said he, after a pause, "I am here because I resolved to be
independent: I cannot, therefore, choose dependence."
"Miss Millinger is wanted instantly for rehearsal," said the little girl
who acted fairies and old women, putting her head suddenly into the room.
"Bless me!" cried Fanny, starting up; "is it so late? Well, I must go
now. Good-bye! look in upon us--do!"
But Godolphin, moody and thoughtful, walked into the street; and lo! the
first thing that greeted his eyes was a handbill on the wall, describing
his own person, and offering twenty guineas reward for his detention.
"Let him return to his afflicted parent," was the conclusion of the bill,
"and all shall be forgiven."
Godolphin crept back to his apartment; wrote a long, affectionate letter
to Fanny; inclosed her his watch, as the only keepsake in his power; gave
her his address at Saville's; and then, towards dusk, once more sallied
forth, and took a place in the mail for London. He had no money for his
passage, but his appearance was such that the coachman readily trusted
him; and the next morning at daybreak he was under Saville's roof.