They went up to the gardens by boat. Their party numbered four, for
Miss Hoppner had, when alone with Captain Joycelyn, so pouted that he
had promised to bring with him a brother officer to add symmetry to
the party. But if she fancied that this gentleman, who was one Ensign
Cardew, was to be the companion of Mrs. Woffington, she soon became
sensible of her mistake. By some strange error, for which only Peggy
could account the couples got parted in the crowd, Peggy and the Captain
disappearing mysteriously, and only meeting the Ensign and his companion
at supper time.
The merriment of Peggy, at the supper, and the high spirits of Captain
Joycelyn, who allowed himself to be spoon-fed by her with minced
chicken, were powerless to disperse the cloud which hung over Miss
Hoppner. She pouted at the supper, and pouted in the boat, and made only
sarcastic replies to the exclamations of enjoyment addressed to her by
the volatile Peggy.
The next day, before the rehearsal of the tragedy, Miss Hoppner said to
Peggy, who was renewing her protestations of the enjoyment she had had
on the previous evening:
“I think it right that you should know, Mrs. Woffington, that Captain
Joycelyn some time ago made a proposal of marriage to me, which I
accepted.”
“Good creature, what has that to do with me?” asked Peggy. “Captain
Joycelyn certainly said nothing to me on that particular subject last
night, and why should you do so now?”
“I am desirous of playing a fair game, madam,” cried Miss Hoppner.
“And I am not desirous of playing any game, fair or otherwise,” said
Peggy. “Lud, Miss Hoppner, do you fancy that 't is my duty to prevent the
straying of the lovers of the ladies of Mr. Garrick's company? I vow,
I took upon me no such responsibility; I should have no time for my
meals.”
The woman whom she addressed looked at her with flashing eyes, her hands
tightly clenched, and her teeth set, for some moments. Once her lips
parted; she seemed about to speak; but with an evident struggle she
restrained herself. Then the fierce light in her eyes flamed into scorn.
“Words were wasted on such a creature,” she said in a whisper, that had
something of a hiss in its tone, as she walked away.
Peggy laughed somewhat stridently, and cried:
“Excellently spoke, beyond doubt. The woman will be an actress yet.”
Not a word of complaint had Garrick reason for uttering in regard to
the rehearsal of the scene in the tragedy, this day, and on their way
homewards, he remarked to Peggy, smilingly:
“Perhaps in the future, my dear Peggy, you will acknowledge that I know
something of the art and methods of acting, though you did not hesitate
to join with Mr. Johnson in calling my theories fantastic.”
“Perhaps I may,” said Peggy, quietly; “but just now I protest that I
have some qualms.”
“Qualms? Qualms? An actress with qualms!” cried Garrick. “What a comedy
could be written on that basis! 'The Actress with Qualms; or, Letting I
Dare Not wait upon I Would!' Pray, madam, do your qualms arise from
the reflection that you have contributed to the success of a sister
actress?”
“The tragedy has not yet been played,” said Peggy. “It were best not
to talk of the success of an actress in a play until the play has been
acted.”
That night, Mrs. Woffington occupied a box in the theater, and by her
side was Captain Joycelyn. Miss Hoppner was in a box opposite, and by
her side was her mother.
On Monday, Peggy greeted her quite pleasantly as she came upon the stage
to rehearse the tragedy; but she returned the greeting with a glance of
scorn, far more fierce than any which, in the character of Oriana, she
had yet cast at her rival in the scenes of the play. Peggy's mocking
face and the merry laugh in which she indulged did not cause the other
to abate any of her fierceness; but when the great scene was rehearsed
for the last time previous to the performance, Mrs. Woffington became
aware of the fact that, not only was Miss Hoppner's representation of
the passionate jealousy of the one woman real, but her own expression
of fear, on the part of the other woman when she saw the flash of the
dagger, was also real. With an involuntary cry she shrank back before
the wild eyes of the actress, who approached her with the stealthy
movement of a panther measuring its distance for a spring at the throat
of its victim.
Garrick complimented both ladies at the close of the scene, but they
both seemed too overcome to acknowledge his compliments.
“By my soul, Peggy,” said Garrick, when they met at the house in Bow
street, “you have profited as much by your teaching of that woman as
she has. The expression upon your face to-day as she approached you gave
even me a thrill. The climax needed such a cry as you uttered, though
that fool of a poet did not provide for it.”
She did not respond until some moments had passed, and then she merely
said:
“Where are we to end, Davy, if we are to bring real and not simulated
passion to our aid at the theater? Heavens, sir! we shall be in a pretty
muddle presently. Are we to cultivate our hates and our jealousies and
our affections for the sake of exhibiting them in turn?”
“'T would not be convenient to do so,” said Garrick. “Still, you have
seen how much can be done by an exhibition of the real, and not the
simulated passion.”
“Depend upon it, sir, if you introduce the real passions into the acting
of a tragedy you will have a real and not a simulated tragedy on the
stage.”
“Psha! that is the thought of--a woman,” said Garrick. “A woman seeks to
carry an idea to its furthest limits; she will not be content to accept
it within its reasonable limitations.”
“And, being a woman,'tis my misfortune to think as a woman,” said Mrs.
Woffington.
The theatre was crowded on the evening when “Oriana” appeared for the
first time on the bills. Garrick had many friends, and so also had
Margaret Woffington. The appearance of either in a new character
was sufficient to fill the theatre, but in “Oriana” they were both
appearing, and the interest of playgoers had been further stimulated by
the rumors which had been circulated respecting the ability of the new
actress whom Garrick had brought from the country.
When the company assembled in the green-room, Garrick gave all his
attention to Miss Hoppner. He saw how terribly nervous she was. Not for
a moment would she remain seated. She paced the room excitedly,
every now and again casting a furtive glance in the direction of Mrs.
Woffington, who was laughing with Macklin in a corner.
“You have no cause for trepidation, my dear lady,” said Garrick to Miss
Hoppner.
[Illustration: 0155]
“Your charm of person will make you a speedy favorite with the
playgoers, and if you act the stabbing scene as faithfully as you did at
the last two rehearsals your success will be assured.”
“I can but do my best, sir,” said the actress. “I think you will find
that I shall act the stabbing scene with great effect.”
“I do not doubt it,” said Garrick. “Your own friends in the boxes will
be gratified.”
“I have no friends in the boxes, sir,” said the actress.
“Nay, surely I heard of at least one--a certain officer in the Royal
Scots,” whispered Garrick.
“I know of none such, sir,” replied the actress, fixing her eyes, half
closed, upon Peg Woffington, who was making a jest at Macklin's expense
for the members of the company in the neighbourhood.
“Surely I heard--,” continued Garrick, but suddenly checked himself.
“Ah, I recollect now what I heard,” he resumed, in a low tone. “Alas!
Peggy is a sad coquette, but I doubt not that the story of your
conquests will ring through the town after to-night.”
She did not seem to hear him. Her eyes were fixed upon Peggy Woffington,
and in another moment the signal came that the curtain was ready to
rise.
Garrick and Macklin went on the stage together, the former smiling in a
self-satisfied way.
“I think I have made it certain that she will startle the house in at
least one scene,” he whispered to Macklin.
“Ah, that is why Peggy is so boisterous,” said Macklin. “'Tis only when
she is over-nervous that she becomes boisterous. Peggy is beginning to
feel that she may have a rival.”
But if Peggy was nervous she certainly did not suggest it by her acting.
She had not many opportunities for displaying her comedy powers in the
play, but she contrived to impart a few touches of humour to the love
scenes in the first act, which brightened up the gloom of the tragedy,
and raised the spirits of the audience in some measure. Her mature style
contrasted very effectively with the efforts of Miss Hoppner, who showed
herself to be excessively nervous, and thereby secured at once the
sympathies of the house. It was doubtful which of the two obtained the
larger share of applause.
At the end of the act, Captain Joycelyn was waiting at the back of the
stage to compliment Peggy upon her acting. Miss Hoppner brushed past
them on her way to her dressing-room, without deigning to recognise
either.
Curiously enough, in the next act the position of the two actresses
seemed to be reversed. It was Mrs. Woffington who was nervous, whereas
Miss Hoppner was thoroughly self-possessed.
“What in the world has come over you, my dear?” asked Garrick, when
Peggy had made an exit so rapidly as to cause the latter half of one of
her lines to be quite inaudible.
“God knows what it is!” said Peggy. “I have felt all through the act
as if I were going to break down--as if I wanted to run away from an
impending calamity. By heaven, sir, I feel as if the tragedy were real
and not simulated!”
“Psha! You are but a woman, after all,” said Garrick.
“I fear that is the truth,” said she. “Good God! that woman seems to
have changed places with me. She is speaking her lines as if she had
been acting in London for years. She is doing what she pleases with the
house.”
Garrick had to leave her to go through his great scene with the Oriana
of the play, and Mrs. Woffington watched, as if spell-bound, the
marvellous variety of his emotional expression, as, in the character of
the Prince Orsino, he confessed to Oriana that he no longer loved her,
but that he had given his heart to Francesca. She saw the gleam in the
eyes of the actress of the part of the jealous woman as she denounced
the perfidy of her lover, and bade him leave her presence. Then came
Oriana's long soliloquy, in which she swore that the Prince should never
taste the happiness which he had sought at her expense.
“I have a heart for murder, murder, murder!
My blood now surges like an angry sea,
Eager to grapple with its struggling prey,
And strangle it, as I shall strangle her,