HIDDEN MEANINGS.
The subject of private theatricals was again started that evening,
when all were assembled in the drawing-room; and as the conversation
happened by chance to be one of those underneath which there runs a
current of deep significance to certain parties, while to the
apprehension of the rest there is nothing whatever meant beyond what
is expressed; I shall detail some portions of it.
But first to dispose of the scene, as it is rather crowded. In the
right-hand corner there is a rubber of whist played between Meredith
Vyner and Mrs. Broughton, against Sir Harry Johnstone and Mrs. St.
John.
Seated on the music-stool is Rose, who has just ceased playing, and
by her stands Julius, who, having turned over her leaves, is now
talking to her.
At the round table in the centre, Mrs. Meredith Vyner, Mrs. Langley
Turner, Miss Broughton, and Violet are disposed among Marmaduke,
Maxwell, Tom Wincot, Captain Heath, and young Lufton; the ladies
knitting purses, and engaged on tambour work: the gentlemen making
occasional remarks thereon, and rendering bungling assistance in the
winding of silk.
To the left, Blanche and Cecil, the latter with his guitar in his
hand.
The fire blazes cheerfully. The room is brilliant with light. Mrs.
Meredith Vyner is applauding herself secretly at her increasing
success with Marmaduke, who she doubts not will soon have lost all
his anger towards her. Maxwell looks blacker than ever, but is
silent. Violet is recovering from her disappointment, and settling
into calm contempt of Cecil. Marmaduke laughs in his sleeve at Mrs.
Vyner's attempts, but is too much struck with Violet, not to be glad
of anything which seems likely to smooth the path of acquaintance
with her. Captain Heath is rather annoyed at having lost his
accustomed seat next to Blanche, with whom he best likes to converse.
Cecil has completely shaken off his depression, and is wondering he
never before discovered what incomparable eyes Blanche has.
"But about these theatricals," said Mrs. Langley Turner. "I am dying
to have something settled. You, Mrs. Vyner, are the cleverest of the
party, do you suggest some play. What do you say to _Othello_?"
"Oh!" said Mrs. Broughton, "don't think of tragedy."
"No, no," rejoined Mrs. Vyner; "if the audience must laugh, let it at
least be with us."
"By all means," said Vyner, shuffling the cards; "remember, too,
Male si mandata loqueris
Aut dormitabo aut ridebo.
"At the same time," observed Mrs. Vyner; "Mr. Ashley would make a
superb Othello."
"I rather think," replied Marmaduke, slightly veiling his eyes with
the long lashes; "Iago would suit me better."
Mrs. Vyner affected not to understand the allusion.
"You would not _look_ the villain," she said.
"Perhaps not," he replied, laughing; "but I could _act_ it."
"By the way," interposed Julius, "surely that's a very false and
un-Shakespearian notion current, respecting Iago's appearance: people
associate moral with physical deformity, though as Shakespeare
himself says--
There is no art
To find the mind's construction in the face.
The critics, I observe, in speaking of an actor, as Iago, are careful
to say, 'he _looked_ the villain.' Now, if he looked the villain, I
venture to say he did not look Iago."
"Mr. St. John is right," said Cecil. "Had Iago 'worn his heart upon
his sleeve,' no one could have been duped by him. Whereas everybody
places implicit confidence in him. He is 'honest Iago'--a 'fellow of
exceeding honesty;' and he is this, not only to the gull Roderigo,
and the royal Othello, but equally so to the gentle Desdemona, and
his companion in arms, the 'arithmetician' Cassio."
"So you see," said Marmaduke, turning to Mrs. Vyner, "in spite of
your handsome compliment, I might have the _physique de l'emploi_.
Then Cecil would be a famous Cassio,
Framed to make women false."
Mrs. Vyner asked herself, "Is he showing me his cards? Does he mean
to play Iago here, and to select Cecil as his tool? No; he can't be
such a blockhead; but what does he mean then?"
"If we are not to play tragedy," observed Mrs. Broughton; "what use
is there in wasting argument on it. Let us think of a comedy."
"_The Rivals_," suggested Captain Heath; "it has so many good parts,
and that I take to be the grand thing in private theatricals, where
every one is ambitious of playing _primo violino_."
"Very natural too!" said Julius.
"_Very!_" rejoined Heath, sarcastically.
"When people laugh," said Julius, "at the vanity displayed by amateur
actors, in their reluctance to play bad parts, it is forgotten that
there is a wide distinction between playing for your amusement, and
playing for your bread. Every actor on the stage would refuse
indifferent parts, were it possible for him to do so. And when
gentlemen and ladies wish to try their skill at acting, they very
naturally seek to play such parts as will give their talents most
scope."
"We really ought to thank Mr. St. John," said Mrs. Vyner, "for the
ingenious excuse he has afforded our vanity, and he must have a good
part himself as reward."
"You are very kind," said Julius; "but I have no notion whatever of
acting, and must beg you to pass me over entirely, unless you want a
servant, or something of that kind."
"I am sure," said Rose, in a low tone, "you would act beautifully."
"Indeed, no."
"Did you ever try?"
"Never. I have no _vis comica_; and as to tragedy, my person
excludes me from that."
Rose was silent and uncomfortable; all people are when others allude
to their own personal deficiencies.
"Will you play Sir Anthony, Sir Harry?"
"Two by cards ... I beg your pardon, Mrs. Vyner .... Sir Anthony
Absolute? Yes, yes, you may put me down for that."
"And who is to be Captain Absolute? You, Mr. Ashley?"
"Perhaps Mr. Ashley would play Falkland," suggested Mrs. Broughton.
"No, no, Falkland is cut out for Mr. Maxwell--he is the most tragic
amongst us."
Maxwell answered with a grim smile.
"At any rate," said Mrs. Langley Turner, "let me play Mrs. Malaprop.
I quite long to be an allegory on the banks of the Nile."
"And Violet," said Mrs. Vyner, with the slightest possible accent of
sarcasm, "can be Lydia Languish."
"No, mama," replied Violet, "you ought to play that--it would suit
you."
"_I_ play? ... my _dear_ child!"
"Do you not intend to take a part?"
"My dear Violet, how could you suppose such a thing?"
"I imagined," replied Violet, with exquisite naturalness, "that you
were an accomplished actress."
"So I should have said, from the little I have the pleasure of
knowing of Mrs. Vyner," observed Marmaduke.
The two arrows went home; but Mrs. Vyner's face was impassive.
"How imprudent Violet is!" said Blanche, in a whisper, to Cecil.
"Do you understand that?" said Rose to Julius.
"What?"
"Nothing, if you did not catch it."
"But who is to be Sir Lucius, we haven't settled that," said Mrs.
Broughton.
"I wather think I should play Sir Lucius O'Twigger, as my bwogue is
genewally pwonounced so vewy Iwish."
"But," interposed Marmaduke, "we have forgotten Cecil ... Oh! there
is Acres--a famous part!"
"Surely, Captain Absolute would be better," suggested Violet.
"Is that a sarcasm?" Cecil asked himself.
"Anybody," rejoined Marmaduke, "can play the Captain, whereas Acres
is a difficult part. It is not easy to play cowardice naturally."
This is one of those observations, which, seeming to have nothing in
them, yet fall with strange acrimony on the ears of certain of the
parties. It made Violet and Cecil uncomfortable.
"Besides," pursued Marmaduke, "it is a rule in acting, that we always
best play the part most unlike our own; and as Cecil happens to be
the coolest of the cool in a duel, he ought to play the duel scene to
perfection."
"Did you ever fight a duel, then?" exclaimed Miss Broughton. "How
romantic!"
Violet was astonished. Cecil, delighted at this opportunity of
redeeming himself in her eyes, said, "Marmaduke, who was my second,
will tell you that it was by no means romantic, Miss Broughton. A
mere exchange of harmless shots about a very trivial circumstance."
"And," inquired Miss Broughton, with inimitable _naïveté_, "were you
not afraid?"
A general laugh followed this question, except from the whist
players, who were squabbling over some disputed point, and from
Violet, who was asking herself the same question.
"Why," rejoined Cecil, gaily, "I suppose you would hardly have me
avow it, if it were so; cowardice is so contemptible."
"Oh, I don't know," said Miss Broughton.
"If I may speak without bravado, I should say that, although I am a
coward by temperament, I do not want bravery on reflection."
"What the deuce do you mean by bwavewy on weflection?"
"Some people," interposed Rose, laughing, "have _de l'esprit après
coup_; so Mr. Chamberlayne doubtless means that he has courage when
the danger is _over_. I had you there, Mr. Chamberlayne. That is my
return for your uncomplimentary speech to me at dinner."
Violet blushed; Rose's jest seemed to her so cruel that she quite
felt for Cecil. He also blushed, knowing the application Violet
would make. The rest laughed.
"Without accepting Miss Rose's unpardonable interpretation," said
Cecil, "I may acknowledge some truth in it; and as I am thus drawn
into a sort of confession, forgive my egotism if I dwell a little
longer on the subject. I am of a very nervous, excitable
temperament. I shrink from anything sudden, and always tremble at
sudden danger. Therefore am I constitutionally a coward. My
instinct is never to front danger, but to escape it; but my reason
tells me that the surest way of escaping it, in most cases, is to
front it; and as soon as the suddenness is over, and I have
familiarized my mind with the danger, I have coolness and courage
enough to front it, whatever it may be. This is what I call bravery
on reflection. My first movement, which is instinctive, is cowardly;
my second, which is reflective, is courageous."
"This is so pwofoundly metaphysical that I can't appwehend it at all."
"I think I can," said Violet; "and the distinction seems to me to be
just."
Cecil was greatly relieved, and he thanked her with a smile as he
said, "I remember, some years ago, being with some ladies in a
farm-yard, when a huge mastiff rushed furiously out at us. Before I
had time to check my first instinctive movement, I had vaulted over
the gate and was beyond his reach; but no sooner was I on the other
side than I remembered the ladies were at his mercy. I instantly
vaulted back again; but not before the dog was wagging his tail, and
allowing them, to pat his head. But imagine what they thought of my
gallantry! They never forgave me. I could offer no excuse--there
was none plausible enough to offer--and to this day they despise me
as a coward."
"Had you given them on the spot," said Violet, gravely, "the
explanation you have just given us, they would not have despised you."
"I am greatly obliged to you for the assurance."
He looked his thanks as he said this.
"Still, it must be deuced stwange to find oneself in a pwedicament,
and no cowage _àpwopos_, but only on delibewate weflection."
"It is one of the misfortunes of my temperament."
"It certainly is a misfortune," said Violet.
She became thoughtful. Cecil was radiant.