THE GATHERING STORM
1
It was after that never-to-be-forgotten Episode that Mr. Betterton
honoured me with his full and entire Confidence. At the moment that he
clung so pathetically to my feeble arms, he realized, I think for the
first time, what a devoted Friend he would always find in me. Something
of the powerful magical Fluid of my devotion must have emanated from my
Heart and reached his sensitive Perceptions. He knew from that hour
that, while I lived and had Health and Strength, I should never fail him
in Loyalty and willing Service.
Soon afterwards, if you remember, Mr. Betterton went again to Paris, by
command of His Majesty this time, there to study and to master the whole
Question of Scenery and scenic Effects upon the Stage, such as is
practised at the Theatre de Moliere in the great City. That he
acquitted himself of his task with Honour and Understanding goes without
saying. The rousing Welcome which the public of London gave him on his
return testified not only to his Worth but also to his Popularity.
The scenic Innovations, though daring and at times crudely realistic,
did, in the opinion of Experts, set off the art of Mr. Betterton to the
greatest possible Advantage. No doubt that his overwhelming Success at
that time was in a great measure due to his familiarity with all those
authentic-looking doors and trees and distant skies which at first
bewildered such old-fashioned actors as Mr. Harris or the two Messrs.
Noakes.
Never indeed had Mr. Betterton been so great as he was now. Never had
his Talents stood so high in the estimation of the cultured World. His
success as _Alvaro_ in "Love and Honour," as _Solyman_ in the "Siege of
Rhodes," as _Hamlett_ or _Pericles_, stand before me as veritable
Triumphs. Bouquets and Handkerchiefs, scented Notes and Love-tokens,
were showered upon the brilliant Actor as he stood upon the Stage,
proudly receiving the adulation of the Audience whom he had conquered by
the Magic of his Art.
His Majesty hardly ever missed a Performance at the new Duke's Theatre
when Mr. Betterton was acting, nor did my Lady Castlemaine, who was
shamelessly vowing about that time that she was prepared to bestow upon
the great Man any Favour he might ask of her.
2
But outwardly at any rate, Mr. Betterton had become a changed Man. His
robust Constitution and splendid Vitality did in truth overcome the
physical after-effects of the abominable Outrage of which he had been
the Victim; but the moral consequences upon his entire character and
demeanour were indeed incalculable. Of extraordinary purity in his mode
of living, it had been difficult, before that Episode, for evil Gossip
to besmirch his fair name, even in these lax and scandalous times. But
after that grim September afternoon it seemed as if he took pride in
emulating the least estimable characteristics of his Contemporaries.
His Majesty's avowed predilection for the great Actor brought the latter
into daily contact with all those noble and beautiful Ladies who graced
the Court and Society, more by virtue of their outward appearance than
of their inner worth. Scarce ever was a banquet or fete given at While
Hall now but Mr. Betterton was not one of the most conspicuous guests;
never a Supper party at my Lady Castlemaine's or my Lady Shrewsbury's
but the famous Actor was present there. He was constantly in the
company of His Grace of Buckingham, of my Lord Rochester and others of
those noble young Rakes; his name was constantly before the Public; he
was daily to be seen on the Mall, or in St. James's Park, or at the more
ceremonious parade in Hyde Park. His elegant clothes were the talk of
every young Gallant that haunted Fop's Corner; his sallies were quoted
by every Cavalier who strove for a reputation as a wit. In fact, dear
Lady, You know just as well as I do, that for that brief period of his
life Mr. Betterton became just one of the gay, idle, modish young Men
about town, one of that hard-drinking, gambling, scandal-mongering crowd
of Idlers, who were none of them fit to tie the lacets of his shoes.
I, who saw more and more of him in those days, knew, however, that all
that gay, butterfly Existence which he led was only on the surface. To
me he was like some poor Animal stricken by a mortal wound, who,
nevertheless, capers and gyrates before a grinning Public with
mechanical movements of the body that have nothing in common with the
mind.
3
Of the beautiful Lady Barbara I saw but little during the autumn.
There was much talk in the Town about her forthcoming Marriage to my
Lord of Stour, which was to take place soon after the New Year. Many
were the conjectures as to why so suitable a Marriage did not take place
immediately, and it seemed strange that so humble and insignificant a
Person as I was could even then have supplied the key to the riddle
which was puzzling so many noble Ladies and Gentlemen. I knew, in my
humble capacity as Spectator of great events, that the Marriage would
only take place after the vast and treasonable projects which had
originated in my Lord Douglas Wychwoode's turbulent mind had come to a
successful issue.
I often confided to You, dear Mistress, in those days that Mr.
Betterton, in the kindness of his Heart, had made me many an offer to
leave my present humdrum employment and to allow myself to be attached
to his Person as his private Secretary and personal Friend. For a long
time I refused his offers--tempting and generous though they
were--chiefly because if I had gone then to live with Mr. Betterton, I
should have been irretrievably separated from You. But in my Heart I
knew that, though the great Man was not in pressing need of a Secretary,
his soul did even long and yearn for a Friend. A more devoted one, I
vow, did not exist than my humble self; and when, during the early part
of the autumn, You, dear Mistress, finally decided to leave your present
uncomfortable quarters for lodgings more befitting your growing Fame and
your Talents, there was nothing more to keep me tied to my dour and
unsympathetic Employer, and to his no less unpleasant Spouse.
I therefore gave Mr. Theophilus Baggs notice that I had resolved to quit
his Employ, hoping that my Decision would meet with his Convenience.
I could not help laughing to myself when I saw the manner in which he
received this Announcement. To say that he was surprised and indignant
would be to put it mildly; indeed, he used every Mode of persuasion to
try and make me alter my decision. He began by chiding me for an
Ingrate, vowing that he had taught me all I knew and had lavished Money
and Luxuries upon me, and that I was proposing to leave him just when
the time had come for him to see some slight return for his Expenditure
and for his pains, in my growing Efficiency. He went on to persuade, to
cajole and to bribe, Mistress Euphrosine joining him both in
Vituperation and in Unctuousness. But, as You know, I was adamant. I
knew the value of all this soft-sawder and mouth-honour. I had suffered
too many Hardships and too many Indignities at the hands of these
selfish Sycophants, to turn a deaf ear now that friendship and mine own
future happiness called to me so insistently.
Finally, however, I yielded to the extent of agreeing to stay a further
three months in the service of Mr. Baggs, whilst he took steps to find
another Clerk who would suit his purpose. But I only agreed to this on
the condition that I was to be allowed a fuller amount of personal
Freedom than I had enjoyed hitherto; that I should not be set any longer
to do menial tasks, which properly pertained to a Scullion; and that,
whenever my clerical work for the day was done, I should be at liberty
to employ my time as seemed best to me.
Thus it was that I had a certain amount of leisure, and after You left
us, fair Mistress, I was able to take my walks abroad, there where I was
fairly certain of meeting You, or of having a glimpse of Mr. Betterton,
surrounded by his brilliant Friends.
Often, dear Mistress, did You lavish some of your precious time and
company upon the seedy Attorney's Clerk, who of a truth was not worthy
to be seen walking in the Park or in Mulberry Gardens beside the
beautiful and famous Mistress Saunderson, who by this time had quite as
many Followers and Adorers as any virtuous Woman could wish for. You
never mentioned Mr. Betterton to me in those days, even though I knew
that You must often have been thrown in his Company, both in the Theatre
and in Society. That your love for him had not died in your Heart, I
knew from the wistful look which was wont to come into your eyes
whenever You chanced to meet him in the course of a Promenade. You
always returned his respectful and elaborate bow on those occasions with
cool Composure; but as soon as he had passed by and his rich, mellow
Voice, so easily distinguishable amongst others, had died away in the
distance, I, who knew every line of your lovely face, saw the familiar
look of Sorrow and of bitter Disappointment once more mar its perfect
serenity.
4
We had an unusually mild and prolonged autumn this past year, if you
remember, fair Mistress; and towards the end of October there were a few
sunny days which were the veritable aftermath of Summer. The London
Parks and Gardens were crowded day after day with Ladies and Gallants,
decked in their gayest attire, for the time to don winter clothing still
appeared remote.
I used to be fond of watching all these fair Ladies and dazzling
Cavaliers, and did so many a time on those bright mornings whilst
waiting to see You pass. On one occasion I saw the Lady Barbara
Wychwoode, in company with my Lord Stour.
Heaven knows I have no cause to think kindly of her; but truth compels
me to say that she appeared to me more beautiful than ever before. She
and his Lordship had found two chairs, up against a tree, somewhat apart
from the rest of the glittering throng. I, as a Spectator, could see
that they were supremely happy in one another's company.
"How sweet the air is!" she was sighing contentedly. "More like spring
than late autumn. Ah, me! How happily one could dream!"
She threw him a witching glance, which no doubt sent him straight to
Heaven, for I heard him say with passionate earnestness:
"Of what do Angels dream, my beloved?"
They continued to whisper, and I of course did not catch all that they
said. My Lord Stour was obviously very deeply enamoured of the Lady
Barbara. Because of this I seemed to hate and despise him all the more.
Oh! when the whole World smiled on him, when Fortune and Destiny
showered their most precious gifts into his lap, what right had he to
mar the soul which God had given him with such base Passions as Jealousy
and Cruelty? With his monstrous Act of unwarrantable violence he had
ruined the happiness of a Man greater, finer than himself; he had warped
a noble disposition, soured a gentle and kindly spirit. Oh! I hated
him! I hated him! God forgive me, but I had not one spark of Christian
spirit for him within my heart. If it lay in my power, I knew that I was
ready to do him an Injury.
From time to time I heard snatches of his impassioned speeches.
"Barbara, my beloved! Oh, God! how I love You!" Or else: "'Tis
unspeakable joy to look into your eyes, joyous madness to hold your
little hand!" And more of such stuff, as Lovers know how to use.
And she, too, looked supremely happy. There was a sparkle in her eyes
which spoke of a Soul intoxicated with delight. She listened to him as
if every word from his lips was heaven-sent Manna to her hungering
heart. And I marvelled why this should be; why she should listen to
this self-sufficient, empty-headed young Coxcomb and have rejected with
such bitter scorn the suit of a Man worthy in every sense to be the Mate
of a Queen. And I thought then of Mr. Betterton kneeling humbly before
her, his proud Head bent before this ignorant and wilful Girl, who had
naught but cruel words for him on her lips. And a great wrath possessed
me, greater than it ever had been before. I suppose that I am very
wicked and that the Devil of Revenge had really possessed himself of my
Soul; but then and there, under the trees, with the translucent Dome of
blue above me, I vowed bitter hatred against those two, vowed that Fate
should be even with them if I, the humble Clerk, could have a say in her
decrees.
5
Just now, they were like two Children playing at love. He was insistent
and bold, tried to draw her to him, to kiss her in sight of the
fashionable throng that promenaded up and down the Avenue less than
fifty yards away.
"A murrain on the Conventions!" he said with a light laugh, as she
chided him for his ardour. "I want the whole Universe to be witness of
my joy."
She placed her pretty hand playfully across his mouth.
"Hush, my dear Lord," she said with wonderful tenderness. "Heaven
itself, they say, is oft times jealous to see such Happiness as ours....
And I am so happy..." she continued with a deep sigh, "so happy that
sometimes a horrible presentiment seems to grip my heart..."
"Presentiment of what, dear love?" he queried lightly.
I did not catch what she said in reply, for just at that moment I caught
sight of Mr. Betterton walking at a distant point of the Avenue, in the
Company of a number of admiring Friends.
They were hanging round him, evidently vastly amused by some witty
sallies of his. Never had I seen him look more striking and more
brilliant. He wore a magnificent coat of steel-grey velvet with richly
embroidered waistcoat, and a cravat and frills of diaphanous lace,
whilst the satin breeches, silk stockings and be-ribboned shoes set off
his shapely limbs to perfection. His Grace of Buckingham was walking
beside him, and he had my Lady Shrewsbury upon his arm, whilst among his
Friends I recognised my Lords Orrery and Buckhurst, and the Lord
Chancellor himself.
The Lady Barbara caught sight of Mr. Betterton, too, I imagine, for as I
moved away, I heard her say in a curiously constrained voice:
"That man--my Lord--he is your deadly Enemy."
"Bah!" he retorted with a careless shrug of the shoulders. "Actors are
like toothless, ill-tempered curs. They bark, but they are powerless to
bite!"
Oh, I hated him! Heavens above! how I hated him!
How puny and insignificant he was beside his unsuccessful Rival should
of a surety have been apparent even to the Lady Barbara. Even now, Mr.
Betterton, with a veritable crowd of Courtiers around him, had come to a
halt not very far from where those two were sitting; and it was very
characteristic of him that, even whilst the Duke of Buckingham was
whispering in his ear and the Countess of Shrewsbury was smiling archly
at him, his eyes having found me, he nodded and waved his hand to me.
6
A minute or two later, another group of Ladies and Gallants, amongst
whom Her Grace the Duchess of York was conspicuous by her elegance and
the richness of her attire, literally swooped down upon Mr. Betterton
and his Friends, and Her Grace's somewhat high-pitched voice came
ringing shrilly to mine ear.
"Ah, Mr. Betterton!" she exclaimed. "Where have you hid yourself since
yesterday, you wicked, adorable Man? And I, who wished to tell you how
entirely splendid was your performance in that supremely dull play you
call 'Love and Honour.' You were superb, Sir, positively superb! ... I
was telling His Grace a moment ago that every Actor in the world is a
mere Mountebank when compared with Mr. Betterton's Genius."
And long did she continue in the same strain, most of the Ladies and
Gentlemen agreeing with her and engaging in a chorus of Eulogy, all
delivered in high falsetto voices, which in the olden days, when first I
knew him, would have set Mr. Betterton's very teeth on edge. But now he
took up the ball of airy talk, tossed it back to the Ladies, bowed low
and kissed Her Grace's hand--I could see that she gave his a significant
pressure--gave wit for wit and flattery for flattery.
He had of a truth made a great success the day before in a play called
"Love and Honour," writ by Sir William Davenant, when His Majesty
himself lent his own Coronation Suit to the great Actor, so that he
might worthily represent the part of _Prince Alvaro_. This Success put
the crowning Glory to his reputation, although in my humble opinion it
was unworthy of so great an Artist as Mr. Betterton to speak the
Epilogue which he had himself written in eulogy of the Countess of
Castlemaine, and which he delivered with such magnificent Diction at the
end of the Play, that His Majesty waxed quite enthusiastic in his
applause.
7
Standing somewhat apart from that dazzling group, I noticed my Lord
Douglas Wychwoode, in close conversation with my Lord Teammouth and
another Gentleman, who was in clerical attire. After awhile, my Lord
Stour joined them, the Lady Barbara having apparently slipped away
unobserved.
My Lord Stour was greeted by his friends with every mark of cordiality.
"Ah!" the Cleric exclaimed, and extended both his hands--which were
white and plump--to my Lord. "Here is the truant at last!" Then he
waxed playful, put up an accusing finger and added with a smirking
laugh: "Meseems I caught sight of a petticoat just behind those trees,
where his Lordship himself had been apparently communing with Nature,
eh?"
Whereupon my Lord Teammouth went on, not unkindly and in that dogmatic
way which he was pleased to affect: "Youth will ever smile, even in the
midst of dangers; and my Lord Stour is a great favourite with the
Ladies."
Lord Douglas Wychwoode was as usual petulant and impatient, and rejoined
angrily:
"Even the Castlemaine has tried to cast her nets around him."
My Lord Stour demurred, but did not try to deny the soft impeachment.
"Only because I am new at Court," he said, "and have no eyes for her
beauty."
This, of course, was News to me. I am so little versed in Court and
Society gossip and had not heard the latest piece of scandal, which
attributed to the Lady Castlemaine a distinct _penchant_ for the young
Nobleman. Not that it surprised me altogether. The newly created
Countess of Castlemaine, who was receiving favours from His Majesty the
King with both hands, never hesitated to deceive him, and even to render
him ridiculous by flaunting her predilections for this or that young
Gallant who happened to have captured her wayward fancy. My Lord
Sandwich, Colonel Hamilton, the handsome Mr. Wycherley, and even such a
vulgar churl as Jacob Hill, the rope dancer, had all, at one time or
another, been favoured with the lady's fitful smiles, and while
responding to her advances with the Ardour born of Cupidity or of a
desire for self-advancement rather than of true love, they had for the
most part lost some shreds of their Reputation and almost all of their
Self-respect.
But at the moment I paid no heed to Lord Douglas' taunt levelled at his
Friend, nor at the latter's somewhat careless way of Retort. In fact,
the whole Episode did not then impress itself upon my mind, and it was
only in face of later events that I was presently to be reminded of it
all.
8
For the moment I was made happy by renewed kindly glances from Mr.
Betterton. It seemed as if his eyes had actually beckoned to me, so I
made bold to advance nearer to the dazzling group of Ladies and
Gentlemen that stood about, talking--jabbering, I might say, like a
number of gay-plumaged birds, for they seemed to me irresponsible and
unintellectual in their talk.
Of course, I could not hear everything, and I had to try and make my
unfashionably attired Person as inconspicuous as possible. So I drew a
book from my pocket, one that looked something like a Greek Lexicon,
though in truth it was a collection of Plays writ by the late Mr.
William Shakespeare, in one or two of which--notably in one called
"Hamlett"--Mr. Betterton had scored some of his most conspicuous
Triumphs.
The book, and my seeming absorption in it, gave me the countenance of an
earnest young Student intent on the perusal of Classics, even whilst it
enabled me to draw quite near to the brilliant Throng of Distinguished
People, who, if they paid any heed to me at all, would find excuses for
my Presumption in my obvious earnest Studiousness. I was also able to
keep some of my attention fixed upon Mr. Betterton, who was surrounded
by admiring Friends; whilst at some little distance close by, I could
see Mr. Harris--also of the Duke's Theatre--who was holding forth in a
didactic manner before a group of Ladies and gay young Sparks, even
though they were inclined to mock him because of his Conceit in pitting
his talent against that of Mr. Betterton.
There was no doubt that a couple of years ago Mr. Harris could be, and
was considered, the greatest Actor of his time; but since Mr. Betterton
had consolidated his own triumph by playing the parts of _Pericles_, of
_Hamlett_ and of _Prince Alvaro_ in "Love and Honour," the older Actor's
reputation had undoubtedly suffered by comparison with the Genius of his
younger Rival, at which of course he was greatly incensed. I caught
sight now and then of his florid face, so different in expression to Mr.
Betterton's more spiritual-looking countenance, and from time to time
his pompous, raucous voice reached my ears, as did the more strident,
high-pitched voices of the Ladies. I heard one young Lady say, to the
accompaniment of some pretty, mincing gestures:
"Mr. Betterton was positively rapturous last night ... enchanting! You,
Mr. Harris, will in truth have to look to your laurels."
And an elderly Lady, a Dowager of obvious consideration and dignity,
added in tones which brooked of no contradiction:
"My opinion is that there never has been or ever will be a Player equal
to Mr. Betterton in Purity of Diction and Elegance of Gesture. He hath
indeed raised our English Drama to the level of High Art."
I could have bowed low before her and kissed her hand for this; aye! and
have paid homage, too, to all these gaily-dressed Butterflies who, in
truth, had more Intellectuality in them than I had given them credit
for. Every word of Eulogy of my beloved Friend was a delight to my
soul. I felt mine eyes glowing with enthusiasm and had grave difficulty
in keeping them fixed upon my book.
I had never liked Mr. Harris personally, for I was wont to think his
conceit quite overweening beside the unalterable modesty of Mr.
Betterton, who was so incomparably his Superior; and I was indeed
pleased to see that both the Dowager Lady--who, I understood, was the
Marchioness of Badlesmere--and the younger Ladies and Gentlemen felt
mischievously inclined to torment him.
"What is your opinion, Mr. Harris?" my Lady Badlesmere was saying to the
discomfited Actor. "It would be interesting to know one Player's opinion
of another."
She had a spy-glass, through which she regarded him quizzically, whilst
a mocking smile played around her thin lips. This, no doubt, caused
poor Mr. Harris to lose countenance, for as a rule he is very glib of
tongue. But just now he mouthed and stammered, appeared unable to find
his words.
"It cannot be denied, your Ladyship," he began sententiously enough,
"that Mr. Betterton's gestures are smooth and pleasant, though they
perhaps lack the rhythmic grandeur ... the dignified sweep ... of ... of
... the..."
He was obviously floundering, and the old Lady broke in with a rasping
laugh and a tone of somewhat acid sarcasm.
"Of the gestures of Mr. Harris, you mean, eh?"
"No, Madam," he retorted testily, and distinctly nettled. "I was about
to say 'of the gestures of our greatest Actors.'"
"Surely the same thing, dear Mr. Harris," a young Lady rejoined with
well-assumed demureness, and dropped him a pert little curtsey.
I might have been sorry for the Man--for of a truth these small
pin-pricks must have been very irritating to his Vanity, already sorely
wounded by a younger Rival's triumph--but for the fact that he then
waxed malicious, angered no doubt by hearing a veritable Chorus of
Eulogy proceeding from that other group of Ladies and Gentlemen of which
Mr. Betterton was the centre.
I do not know, as a matter of fact, who it was who first gave a spiteful
turning to the bantering, mocking Conversation of awhile ago; but in my
mind I attributed this malice to Lord Douglas Wychwoode, who came up
with his clerical friend just about this time, in order to pay his
respects to the Marchioness of Badlesmere, who, I believe, is a near
Relative of his. Certain it is that very soon after his arrival upon
the scene, I found that every one around him was talking about the
abominable Episode, the very thought of which sent my blood into a Fever
and my thoughts running a veritable riot of Revenge and of Hate. Of
course, Mr. Harris was to the fore with pointed Allusions to the grave
Insult done to an eminent Artist, and which, to my thinking, should have
been condemned by every right-minded Man or Woman who had a spark of
lofty feeling in his or her heart.
"Ah, yes!" one of the Ladies was saying; "I heard about it at the time
... a vastly diverting story...."
"Which went the round of the Court," added another.
"Mr. Betterton's shoulders," a gay young Spark went on airily, "are said
to be still very sore."
"And his usually equable Temper the sorer of the two."
Lord Douglas did not say much, but I felt his spiteful Influence running
as an undercurrent through all that flippant talk.
"Faith!" concluded one of the young Gallants, "were I my Lord Stour, I
would not care to have Mr. Betterton for an enemy."
"An Actor can hit with great accuracy and harshness from the Stage," Mr.
Harris went on pompously. "He speaks words which a vast Public hears
and goes on to repeat _ad infinitum_. Thus a man's--aye! or a
Lady's--reputation can be made or marred by an Epilogue spoken by a
popular Player at the end of a Drama. We all remember the case of Sir
William Liscard, after he had quarrelled with Mr. Kynaston."
Whereupon that old story was raked up, how Mr. Kynaston had revenged
himself for an insult upon him by Sir William Liscard by making pointed
Allusions from the Stage to the latter's secret intrigue with some
low-class wench, and to the Punishment which was administered to him by
the wench's vulgar lover. The Allusions were unmistakable, because that
punishment had taken the form of a slit nose, and old Sir William had
appeared in Society one day with a piece of sticking plaster across the
middle of his face.
Well, we all know what happened after that. Sir William, covered with
Ridicule, had to leave London for awhile and bury himself in the depths
of the Country, for, in Town he could not show his face in the streets
but he was greeted with some vulgar lampoon or ribald song, hurled at
him by passing roisterers. It all ended in a Tragedy, for Lady Liscard
got to hear of it, and there was talk of Divorce proceedings, which
would have put Sir William wholly out of Court--His Majesty being
entirely averse to the dissolution of any legal Marriage.
But all this hath naught to do with my story, and I only recount the
matter to You to show You how, in an instant, the temper of all these
great Ladies and Gentlemen can be swayed by the judicious handling of an
evil-minded Person.
All these Ladies and young Rakes, who awhile ago were loud in their
praises of a truly great Man, now found pleasure in throwing mud at him,
ridiculing and mocking him shamefully, seeing that, had he been amongst
them, he would soon have confounded them with his Wit and brought them
back to Allegiance by his magic Personality.
Once again I heard a distinct Allusion to the Countess of Castlemaine's
avowed predilection for Lord Stour. It came from one of the Cavaliers,
who said to Lord Douglas, with an affected little laugh:
"Perhaps my Lord Stour would do well to place himself unreservedly under
the protection of Lady Castlemaine! 'Tis said that she is more than
willing to extend her Favours to him."
"Nay! Stour hath nothing to fear," Lord Douglas replied curtly. "He
stands far above a mere Mountebank's spiteful pin-pricks."
Oh! had but God given me the power to strike such a Malapert dumb! I
looked around me, marvelling if there was not one sane Person here who
would stand up in the defence of a great and talented Artist against
this jabbering of irresponsible Monkeys.
9
I must admit, however, that directly Mr. Betterton appeared upon the
scene the tables were quickly turned once more on Mr. Harris, and even
on Lord Douglas, for Mr. Betterton is past Master in the art of wordy
Warfare, and, moreover, has this great Advantage, that he never loses
control over his Temper. No malicious shaft aimed at him will ever
ruffle his Equanimity, and whilst his Wit is most caustic, he invariably
retains every semblance of perfect courtesy.
He now had the Duchess of York on his arm, and His Grace of Buckingham
had not left his side. His Friends were unanimously chaffing him about
that Epilogue which he had spoken last night, and which had so delighted
the Countess of Castlemaine. My Lord Buckhurst and Sir William Davenant
were quoting pieces out of it, whilst I could only feel sorry that so
great a Man had lent himself to such unworthy Flattery.
"'Divinity, radiant as the stars!'" Lord Buckhurst quoted with a laugh.
"By gad, you Rogue, you did not spare your words."
Mr. Betterton frowned almost imperceptibly, and I, his devoted Admirer,
guessed that he was not a little ashamed of the fulsome Adulation which
he had bestowed on so unworthy an Object, and I was left to marvel
whether some hidden purpose as yet unknown to me had actuated so
high-minded an Artist thus to debase the Art which he held so dear. It
was evident, however, that the whole Company thought that great things
would come from that apparently trivial incident.
"My Lady Castlemaine," said Sir William Davenant, "hath been wreathed in
smiles ever since you spoke that Epilogue. She vows that there is
nothing she would not do for You. And, as already You are such a
favourite with His Majesty, why, Man! there is no end to your good
fortune."
And I, who watched Mr. Betterton's face again, thought to detect a
strange, mysterious look in his eyes--something hidden and brooding was
going on behind that noble brow, something that was altogether strange
to the usually simple, unaffected and sunny temperament of the great
Artist, and which I, his intimate Confidant and Friend, had not yet been
able to fathom.
Whenever I looked at him these days, I was conscious as of a sultry
Summer's day, when nature is outwardly calm and every leaf on every tree
is still. It is only to those who are initiated in the mysteries of the
Skies that the distant oncoming Storm is revealed by a mere speck of
cloud or a tiny haze upon the Bosom of the Firmament, which hath no
meaning to the unseeing eye, but which foretells that the great forces
of Nature are gathering up their strength for the striking of a
prodigious blow.