SCENE.--_A large roughly furnished Garret. Easel with Woffington's
Picture on it, half concealed by a green baize Drapery. Colours,
Palette, Pencils, Maulstick, &c. &c. Mrs. Triplet reclining in a large
chair, and wrapped up like an invalid. Violin hanging against wall.
Triplet seated at small Table writing. Two Children. Wooden Chairs.
Boy is rocking Cradle and singing._
TRIP. Do keep those children quiet, Jane.
MRS. T. Hush, my dears, let your father write his comedy. Comedy seems
so troublesome to write.
TRIP. Yes! somehow sorrow comes more natural to me! (_pause_) I've got
a bright thought; you see, Jane, they are all at a sumptuous banquet:
all the Dramatis Personæ except the poet, (_writes_) music--sparkling
wine--massive plate--soups--fish--shall I have three dishes of fish?
venison--game--pickles and provocatives in the centre, then up jumps
one of the guests, and says he--
BOY. Oh, dear! I am so hungry!
GIRL. And so am I.
TRIP. That is an absurd remark, Lysimachus, not four hours after
breakfast.
BOY. But father--there wasn't any breakfast for breakfast!
TRIP. Now I ask you, Mrs. Triplet--how am I to write comic scenes, if
you let Lysimachus and Roxalana there put the heavy business in every
five minutes?
MRS. T. Forgive them, the poor things _are_ hungry!
TRIP. Then they must learn to be hungry in another room. They shan't
cling round my pen and paralyze it, just when it is going to make all
our fortunes (_rises_); but you women have no consideration--send 'em
all to bed, every man Jack of 'em (_children raise a doleful cry_).
Hungry! hungry! Is that a proper expression to use before a father who
is sitting down (_seats himself_), all gaiety--and hilarity to write a
Com-- a Com-- (_chokes_)? Where's the youngest--where's Cleopatra?
(_Mrs. T. brings child to him--he takes her on his knee._)
GIRL. Father, I'm not so very hungry!
BOY (_who has come to his Father_). And I'm not hungry at all--I had a
piece of bread and butter yesterday!
TRIP. Wife; they'll drive me mad!
BOY (_sotto voce_). Mother; father made us hungry out of his book.
GIRL. Is it a cookery book, father?
TRIP. Ha! ha! is my comedy a cookery book? The young rogues say more
good things than I do--that is the worst of it. Wife, I took that
sermon I wrote--
MRS. T. And beautiful it was, James.
TRIP. I took it to the Reverend Gentleman, and he would not have it,
he said it was too hard upon sin for the present day (_dashes at the
paper_). Ah! if my friend Mrs. Woffington would but leave this stupid
comedy and take to tragedy, things would smile again.
MRS. T. Oh, James, how can you expect anything from that woman? You
won't believe what all the world says--you measure folk by your own
good heart.
TRIP. I haven't a good heart, I spoke like a brute to you just now.
MRS. T. Never mind, James, I wonder how you put up with me at all! a
sick useless creature. I often wish to die, for your sake--I know you
would do better--I am such a weight round your neck. (_Triplet takes
Mrs. T. to chair--then returns with energy to his comedy--boy brings
violin._)
BOY. Play us a tune on the fiddle, father!
MRS. T. Ay do, husband! that often helps you in your writing.
(_Triplet plays a merry tune dolefully._)
TRIP. It won't do, music must be in the heart, or it will never come
out of the fingers (_puts fiddle down--boy takes it and puts it in the
cradle_). No! let us be serious and finish the comedy--perhaps it
hitches because I forgot to invoke Thalia--the Muse of Comedy, Mrs.
Triplet; she must be a black-hearted jade if she won't lend a broad
grin to a poor devil starving in the middle of his hungry little ones.
MRS. T. Heathen goddesses can't help us. We had better pray to heaven
to look down on us and our children.
TRIP. (_sullenly_). You forget, Mrs. Triplet, that our street is very
narrow, and the opposite houses are very high.
MRS. T. James!
TRIP. How can heaven see an honest man and his family in such an
out-of-the-way place as this.
MRS. T. Oh! what words are these?
TRIP. Have we given honesty a fair trial? yes or no (_walking in great
agitation_)!
MRS. T. No, not till we die as we have lived.
TRIP. I _suppose_ heaven is just, I can't _know_ it, till it sends me
an angel to take my children's part; they cry to me for bread, I have
nothing to give them but hard words. God knows it has taken a great
deal to break my heart, but it is broken at last, broken--broken--(_he
sobs with head on his hands on table_).
[_Enter Woffington speaking, L. D._]
WOFF. Wasn't somebody inquiring after an angel? Here I am!
TRIP. Mrs. Woffington!
[_Woff. seeing Triplet's distress, retreats; but presently comes
back._]
WOFF. See (_shows him letter_). "Madam, you are an angel;" from a
gentleman, a perfect stranger to me, so it must be correct (_enter
Pompey with a basket_). Ah! here is another angel! there are two sorts
you know, angels of light and angels of darkness (_takes basket from
Pompey_). Lucifer, avaunt! (_in a terrible tone_) and wait outside the
door (_in a familiar tone. Exit Pompey_). (_Aside._ They are in sore
distress, poor things!) I am sorry you are ill, Mrs. Triplet! I have
brought you some physic--black draught from Burgundy (_Mrs. Triplet
attempts to rise but sinks back again_). Don't move, I insist!
TRIP. Oh, Mrs. Woffington, had I dreamed you would deign to come
here,--
WOFF. You would have taken care to be out. (_Aside._ Their faces look
pinched, I know what that means.) Mrs. Triplet, I have come to give
your husband a sitting for my portrait, will you allow me to eat my
little luncheon in your room? I am so hungry. Pompey! (_Pompey runs
in_) run to the corner and buy me that pie I took such a fancy to as
we came along (_gives money to Pompey. Exit Pompey 2 E. L._).
BOY. Mother, will the lady give me a bit of her pie?
MRS. T. Hush, you rude boy!
WOFF. She is not much of a lady if she doesn't! Now children, we'll
first look at father's comedy. Nineteen dramatis personæ,--cut out
seven. Don't bring your armies into _our_ drawing-rooms, Mr. Dagger
and Bowl: can you marshal battalions on a Turkey carpet, and make
gentlefolks witty in platoons? What's here in the first act? A duel!
and both wounded--you butcher!
TRIP. (_deprecatingly_). They are not to die, they shan't die, upon my
honour!
WOFF. Do you think I'll trust their lives with you? I'll show you how
to run people through the body (_takes pen, writes_). Business,
"Araminta looks out of garret window, the combatants drop their
swords, put their hands to their hearts, and stagger off, O. P. and P.
S." Now children! who helps me lay the cloth?
CHIL. I, and I! (_they run to dresser._)
MRS. T. (_half rising_). Madam, I can't think of allowing you.
WOFF. Sit down ma'am, or I must use brute force (_in Mrs. T's ear_):
shake hands with distress, for it shall never enter your door again.
[_Mrs. T. clasps her hands._
(_Woff. meets the children with the tablecloth, which she lays._)
Twelve plates, quick! twenty-four knives, quicker! forty-eight forks,
quickest.
[_Enter Pompey, who sets pie on table, and exit, looking wistfully at
it._]
Mr. Triplet,--your coat, if you please,--and carve.
TRIP. My coat, madam!
WOFF. Yes; off with it, there's a hole in it (_Triplet, with signs of
astonishment, gives her his coat, then carves pie: they eat. Woff.
seats herself_). Be pleased to cast your eye on that, ma'am (_boy
passes housewife to Mrs. Triplet_). Woffington's housewife, made by
herself, homely to the eye, but holds everything in the world, and has
a small space left for everything else; to be returned by the bearer.
Thank you, sir! (_stitches away very rapidly_) Eat away; children,
when once I begin the pie will soon end; (_girl takes plate to her
mother_), I do everything so quick.
GIRL. The lady sews faster than you, mother.
WOFF. Bless the child, don't come near my sword-arm, the needle will
go into your eye, and out at the back of your head (_children laugh_).
The needle will be lost, the child will be no more, enter undertaker,
house turned topsyturvy, father shows Woffington the door, off she
goes, with a face as long and as dull as papa's comedy, crying, "Fine
Chaney o-ran-ges!"
[_The children laugh heartily._
GIRL. Mother! the lady is very funny!
WOFF. You'll be as funny when you're as well paid for it.
[_Triplet chokes with laughing, and lays down knife and fork._]
MRS. T. James, take care!
WOFF. There's the man's coat, (_aside_) with a ten pound note in it.
[_Girl takes it to Triplet._
TRIP. My wife is a good woman, ma'am, but deficient in an important
particular.
MRS. T. Oh, James!
TRIP. Yes, my dear, I regret to say you have _no sense of humour:_ no
more than a cat, Jane.
WOFF. What! because the poor thing can't laugh at your comedy?
TRIP. No ma'am, but she laughs at nothing.
WOFF. Try her with one of your tragedies!
MRS. T. I am sure, James, if I don't laugh, it is not for the want of
the will. (_Dolefully_) I used to be a very hearty laugher; but I
haven't laughed this two years (_Woffington leads Mrs. T. to chair_).
WOFF. Oh, you haven't, haven't you? Then the next two years you shall
do nothing else.
TRIP. Oh, madam, that passes the talent even of the great comedian.
BOY. _She_ is not a comedy lady.
WOFF. Hallo!
BOY. You don't ever cry, pretty lady.
WOFF. (_ironically_). Of course not.
BOY (_confidentially_). Comedy is crying. Father cries all the time he
writes his comedy.
WOFF. Oh!
TRIP. Hold your tongue. They were tears of laughter, you know, ma'am.
Wife, our children talk too much; they thrust their noses into
everything, and criticise their own father.
WOFF. Unnatural offspring!
TRIP. And when they take up a notion, the devil himself couldn't
convince them to the contrary; for instance, all this morning they
thought fit to assume that they were starving.
BOY. So we were till the angel came, and the devil went for the pie.
TRIP. There, there, there, there! now, you mark my words, Jane, we
shall never get that idea out of their heads----
WOFF. Till we (_cuts a large piece of pie, and puts on child's plate_)
put a different idea into their stomachs. Come, _trinquons!_ as they
do in France (_fills glasses, and touches hers with those of the
children, who crowd round her with delight_). Were you ever in France,
Triplet?
TRIP. No, madam, I am thoroughly original.
WOFF. That's true. Well, I went there once to learn tragedy of the
great Dumesnil (_recites a couple of lines of tragedy à la
Française_). But Peg Woffington was never meant to walk the stage on
stilts;--no, let Mrs. Pritchard pledge Melpomene in her own
poison-bowl, I'll give you Thalia in a bumper of Burgundy. Come, drink
to your new mistress, Triplet (_fills her glass_). Mrs. Triplet (_she
rises, bottle and glass in hand_), I must prescribe for you too. A
wine glassful of this _elixir_ six times a day till further notice.
Success to your husband's comedy! What's this? (_Sees fiddle in
cradle_). A fiddle, as I'm an ex-orange wench! (_Giving it to
Triplet._) Here, Triplet, a jig--a jig. (_Triplet takes fiddle._)
Peggy has not forgotten how to cover the buckle. Come, young
ones--(_Triplet plays. She dances a jig with the children_)--more
power to your elbow, man--shake it, ye sowl! Hurroo! (_She dances up
to Triplet, who, in his excitement, rises and joins in the jig, while
Mrs. Triplet follows their movements with her body._) But come, Mr.
Triplet, you really shan't make me play the fool any longer.
Business!--my picture is to be finished. Mrs. Triplet, we must clear
the studio:--take your cherubs into the bed-room.
MRS. T. (_seizes her hand_). Oh, madam! may the blessings of a mother
watch over you in life and after it, and the blessings of these
innocents too!
WOFF. Pooh! pooh! let me kiss the brats (_kisses them_). (_Aside._
Poor things!)
BOY. I shall pray for you after father and mother.
GIRL. I shall pray for you after daily bread, because we were so
hungry till you came.
WOFF. (_putting them off_). There, there. Exeunt mother and cherubs.
Music for the exit, Trippy--the merriest you can extort from that
veteran Stradivarius of yours. (_Aside._ Heaven knows I've as much
need of merry music as the saddest of them) (_sees Triplet overcome_).
Why, how now? If there isn't this kind-hearted, soft-headed, old booby
of a Triplet making a picture of himself in water colours. (_Goes up
to him--taps him on the arm_). Come! to work--to work, and with a
will, for I have invited Cibber, and Quin, and Clive, and Snarl,
Soaper and all, to see the portrait, which is to make your fortune and
hand me down to posterity not half as handsome as nature made me.
There (_sits_), I must put on my most bewitching smile of course.
(_Aside_) Oh, dear! how it belies my poor aching heart.
[_Triplet, during this, has got his palette and pencil, set his easel,
and begun to work, while Woffington sits._]
Well, are you satisfied with it?
TRIP. Anything but, madam (_paints_).
WOFF. Cheerful soul! then I presume it is like.
TRIP. Not a bit. (_Woffington stretches._) You must not yawn,
ma'am--you must not yawn just now!
WOFF. Oh, yes, I must, if you will be so stupid.
TRIP. I was just about to catch the turn of the lip.
WOFF. Well, catch it, it won't run away.
TRIP. A pleasant half-hour it will be for me, when all your friends
come here, like cits at a shilling ordinary, each for his cut. Head a
little more that way. (_Sadly_) I suppose you can't sit quiet, Madam;
then never mind. Look on this picture and on that!
WOFF. Meaning, that I am painted as well as my picture.
TRIP. Oh, no, no, no! but to turn from your face, on which the
lightning of expression plays continually, to this stony, detestable,
dead daub: I could--(_seizes palette-knife_)--miserable mockery! vile
caricature of life and beauty! take that! (_dashes the knife through
picture._)
WOFF. Oh! right through my pet dimple! Hark! I hear the sound of
coaches--the hour of critique approaches!
TRIP. Two coach loads of criticism, and the picture ruined!
WOFF. (_reflecting_). I'll give you a lesson--your palette-knife
(_cuts away face of the picture_).
TRIP. There will be Mr. Cibber with his sneering snuff-box; Mr. Quin
with his humourous bludgeon; Mrs. Clive with her tongue; Mr. Snarl
with his abuse; and Mr. Soaper with his praise!--but I deserve it all!
WOFF. That green baize--(_gets behind easel_)--fling it over the
easel--so; and now (_shewing her face through the picture_) you shall
criticise criticism, and learn the true weight of goose's feathers.
(_Triplet throws the baize over the picture._)
[_Enter Cibber, Clive, Quin, Snarl, and Soaper. Triplet bows humbly.
They return his salute carelessly._]
CIB. Ough! Four pair of stairs!
QUIN. Well, where's the picture? (_crossing to R. H. with Clive._)
(_They take up positions to look at it._)
TRIP. Mrs. Woffington, gentlemen!
(_Triplet removes the baize and suppresses a start._)
SOAP. Ah!
SNARL. Umph!
QUIN. Ho!
CLIVE. Eh?
CIB. Ah!
QUIN. Whose portrait did you say?
CLIVE. He, he! Peg Woffington's--it's a pretty head enough, and not a
bit like Woffington.
QUIN. Nay--compare paint with paint, Kitty--who ever saw Woffington's
real face?
SOAP. Now, I call it beautiful; so smooth, polished, and uniform.
SNARL. Whereas nature delights in irregular and finely graduated
surfaces. Your brush is not destitute of a certain crude talent, Mr.
Triplet, but you are deficient in the great principles of Art; the
first of which is a loyal adherence to truth; beauty itself is but one
of the forms of truth, and nature is our finite exponent of infinite
truth.
SOAP. What wonderful criticism! One quite loses oneself among such
grand words!
CIB. Yes, yes! proceed Mr. Snarl. I am of your mind.
SNARL. Now in nature, a woman's face at this distance, has a softness
of outline--(_draws back and makes a lorgnette of his two hands, the
others do the same_), whereas your work is hard and tea-boardy.
SOAP. Well it is a _leetle tea-boardy_, perhaps. But the light and
shade, Mr. Snarl--! the--what-d'ye-call--the--um--you know--eh?
SNARL. Ah! you mean the chiaroscuro.
SOAP. Exactly!
SNARL. The chiaroscuro is all wrong. In nature, the nose, intercepting
the light on one side the face, throws a shadow under the eye.
Caravaggio, the Venetians, and the Bolognese, do particular justice to
this--no such shade appears in your portrait.
CIB. 'Tis so--stap my vitals!
(_All express assent except Soaper._)
SOAP. But, my dear Mr. Snarl, if there are no shades, there are
lights--loads of lights.
SNARL. There are, only they are impossible (_superciliously_). You
have, however, succeeded tolerably in the mechanical parts--the dress,
for example; but your Woffington is not a woman, Sir--nor nature!
(_All shake their heads in assent._)
WOFF. (C.) Woman! for she has tricked four men; nature! for a fluent
dunce does not know her when he sees her!
CIB. Why--what the deuce?
CLIVE. Woffington!
QUIN. Pheugh!
WOFF. (_steps out of picture_). A pretty face, and not like
Woffington! I owe you two, Kitty Clive.
(_Mrs. Clive bridles._)
(_to Quin_). Who ever saw Peggy's real face? Look at it now if you can
without blushing.
ALL (_except Snarl_). Ha! ha!
SNARL. For all this, I maintain on the unalterable rules of art----
ALL. Ha! ha! ha!
SNARL (_fiercely_). Goths! (_Quin and Cibber turn up stage laughing_).
Good morning, ladies and gentlemen!
CIB. Good morning, Mr. Snarl!
SNARL. I have a criticism to write of last night's performance. I
shall sit on your pictures one day, Mr. Brush.
TRIP. (_crosses to Snarl_). Pictures are not eggs, Sir--they are not
meant to be sat upon.
SNARL. Come, Soaper!
[_Exit._
SOAP. You shall always have my good word, Mr. Triplet.
TRIP. I will try and not deserve it, Mr. Soaper!
SOAP. At your service, Mr. Snarl!
[_Exit._
CIB. Serve 'em right--a couple of serpents! or rather one
boa-constrictor--Soaper slavers, for Snarl to crush (_crosses to L._).
But we were all too hard on poor Trip: and if he will accept my
apology----
TRIP. Thank you! "Colley Cibber's Apology" can be got at any
book-stall.
CIB. Confound his impertinence! Come along, Jemmy!
QUIN. If ever you paint my portrait----
TRIP. The bear from Hockley Hole shall sit for the head.
QUIN. Curse his impudence! Have with you, Mr. Cibber.
[_Exeunt Cibber and Quin, L. D._
CLIVE. I did intend to have my face painted, sir, but after this----
TRIP. You will continue to do it yourself!
CLIVE. Brute!
[_Exit in a rage, L. D._
TRIP. Did I show a spirit, or did I not, ma'am?
WOFF. Tremendous!
TRIP. Did you mark the shot I fired into each as he sheered off?
WOFF. Terrific!
TRIP. I defy them! the coxcombs! as for real criticism, I invite it.
Yours for instance, or that sweet lady's I met at Mr. Vane's, or
anybody that appreciates one's beauties. By-the-bye, you were not at
Mr. Vane's yesterday?
WOFF. Yes, I was!
TRIP. No! I came with my verses, but she said you were not there.
WOFF. Who said so?
TRIP. The charming young lady who helped me with her own hand to
nectar and ambrosia.
WOFF. A young lady?
TRIP. About twenty-two.
WOFF. In a travelling dress?
TRIP. Yes--brown hair--blue eyes! I poured out all to her;--that I
expected to find you; that Mr. Vane admired you; and that you were
sitting to me for your portrait; that I lived at 10, Hercules
Buildings, and should be proud to show her the picture for her
judgment.
WOFF. You told her all this?
TRIP. I did. Do you know her?
WOFF. Yes.
TRIP. Who is she?
WOFF. Mrs. Vane.
TRIP. Mrs. Vane! Mr. Vane's mother? No--no! that can't be!
WOFF. Mr. Vane's wife!
TRIP. Wife?
WOFF. Yes.
TRIP. Then she wasn't to know you were there?
WOFF. No.
TRIP. Then I let the cat out of the bag?
WOFF. Yes.
TRIP. And played the devil with their married happiness?
WOFF. Probably. (_turns her back on him_).
TRIP. Just my luck! Oh! Lord, Lord! To see what these fine gentlemen
are! to have a lawful wife at home, and then to come and fall in love
with you! _I_ do it for ever in my plays, it is all right there!--but
in real life it is abominable!
WOFF. You forget, sir, that I am an actress!--a plaything for every
profligate who can find the open sesame of the stage-door. Fool! to
think there was an honest man in the world, and that he had shone on
me!
TRIP. Mrs. Woffington!
WOFF. But what have we to do (_walks agitated_) with homes, and
hearths, and firesides? Have we not the theatre, its triumphs, and
full-handed thunders of applause? Who looks for hearts beneath the
masks we wear? These men applaud us, cajole us, swear to us, lie to
us, and yet, forsooth, we would have them respect us too.
TRIP. (_fiercely_). They shall respect you before James Triplet. A
great genius like you, so high above them all!--my benefactress
(_whimpers_).
WOFF. (_taking his hand_). I thought this man truer than the rest. I
did not feel his passion an insult. Oh! Triplet, I could have loved
this man--really loved him!
TRIP. Then you don't love him?
WOFF. Love him! I hate him, and her, and all the world!
TRIP. You will break with him then?
WOFF. Break with him! No! I will feed his passion to the full--tempt
him--torture him--play with him, as the angler plays the fish upon his
hook! He shall rue the hour he trifled with a heart and brain like
mine!
TRIP. But his poor wife?
WOFF. His wife! and are wives' hearts the only hearts that throb, and
feel, and break? His wife must take care of herself, it is not from me
that mercy can come to her.
TRIP. But madam--(_a knock at door_). Who's this at such a moment (_he
goes to the window_)! 'Tis a lady! Eh! cloaked and hooded. Who can she
be? Perhaps a sitter! My new profession has transpired!
[_A tap at room-door. Enter a slatternly servant, who hands a paper._]
SERV. From a lady who waits below.
TRIP. (_reads and drops the paper_). "Mabel Vane!"
WOFF. His wife here! (_To servant_) Shew the lady up stairs!
[_Exit Servant._
What does she come here for?
TRIP. I don't know, and I wish to heaven she had stayed away! You will
retire, of course you will retire?
WOFF. No, sir! I will know why she comes to you (_reflects, enters the
picture again_). Keep it from me if you can!
[_Triplet sinks into a chair, the picture of consternation._]
TRIP. (_with a ghastly smile, going very slowly towards the door_). I
am going to be in the company of the two loveliest women in England; I
would rather be between a lion and a unicorn--like the royal arms.
[_A tap at the door._
[_Enter Mabel Vane in hood and cloak, a mask in her hand._]
TRIP. Madam!
MABEL (_crosses to R. hastily_). See first that I am not followed;
that man who pursued me from my husband's house,--look out.
TRIP. (_looking through window_). Sir Charles Pomander! he examines
the house--his hand is on the knocker--no! he retires! (_he rids her
of her hood, mantle, mask, &c._)
MABEL. I breathe again (_hastily_). Mr. Triplet, you said I might
command your services.
TRIP. (_bows_).
MABEL. You know this actress you spoke of to-day, Mrs. Woffington?
TRIP. (_aside_). Curse it! I am honoured by her acquaintance, madam!
MABEL. You will take me to her, to the theatre where she acts?
TRIP. But consider, madam!
MABEL. You must not refuse me.
TRIP. But what can be the use of it?
MABEL. I am sure you are true and honest--I will trust you (_Trip.
bows_). When you saw me yesterday, I was the happiest woman in the
world, for I love my husband; and I thought then he loved me as he
used to do. Two days ago I left our country home--I yearned to be by
my husband's side; I counted the hours of the journey, the miles, the
yards of the road--I reached his house at last--to find that the
heart, on which I had so longed to rest my head, was mine no longer.
TRIP. Poor thing! poor thing!
MABEL. And she who held my place, was the woman--the actress you so
praised to me; and now you pity me, do you not; and will not refuse my
request?
TRIP. But be advised;--do not think of seeking Mrs. Woffington; she
has a good heart, but a fiery temper; besides, good heavens! you two
ladies are rivals. Have you read the Rival Queens, Madam?
MABEL. I will cry to her for justice and mercy;--I never saw a kinder
face than this lady's--she must be good and noble!
TRIP. She is! I know a family she saved from starvation and despair.
MABEL (_seeing Woff. in the picture_). Ah! she is there! see! see!
(_she approaches the easel_).
TRIP. (_interposing_). Oh, my portrait! you must not go near that, the
colours are wet!
MABEL. Oh, that she were here, as this wonderful portrait is; and then
how I would plead to her for my husband's heart! (_she addresses the
supposed picture_). Oh, give him back to me! what is one more heart to
you? you are so rich, and I am so poor, that without his love I have
nothing; but must sit me down and cry till my heart breaks--give him
back to me, beautiful, terrible, woman; for with all your gifts you
cannot love him as his poor Mabel does. Oh, give him back to me--and I
will love you and kiss your feet, and pray for you till my dying day
(_kneels to her and sobs_). Ah!--a tear! it is alive! (_runs to
Triplet and hides her head_) I am frightened! I am frightened!
[_Woffington steps out of frame and stands with one hand on her brow,
in a half-despairing attitude. She waves her hand to Triplet to
retire--Mabel stands trembling._]
WOFF. We would be alone.
TRIP. (_in consternation_). But, Mrs. Woffington, but, ladies!
WOFF. Leave us!
TRIP. I will retire into my sleeping apartment (_retires into inner
room R. H., and puts out his head_). Be composed, ladies. Neither of
you could help it.
WOFF. Leave us, I say! (_he vanishes suddenly_).
(_A long uneasy pause._)
WOFF. (_with forced coldness_). At least, madam, do me the justice to
believe I did not know Mr. Vane was married.
MABEL. I am sure of it--I feel you are as good as you are gifted.
WOFF. Mrs. Vane, I am not--you deceive yourself.
MABEL. Then, heaven have mercy on me! but you are--I see it in your
face, ah! you know you pity me!
WOFF. I do, madam--and I could consent never more to see your--Mr.
Vane.
MABEL. Ah, but will you give me back his heart? What will his presence
be to me if his love remain behind?
WOFF. But, how, madam?
MABEL. The magnet can repel as well as attract--you who can
enchant--can you not break your own spell?
WOFF. You ask much of me!
MABEL. Alas, I do!
WOFF. But I could do even this.
MABEL. You could!
WOFF. And perhaps if you--who have not only touched my heart, but won
my respect, say to me--"do so," I shall do it (_Mabel clasps her
hands_). There is only one way--but that way is simple. Mr. Vane
thinks better of me than I deserve--I have only to make him (_with a
trembling lip_) believe me worse than I am, and he will return to you,
and love you better, far better, for having known, admired, and
despised, Peg Woffington.
MABEL. Oh! I shall bless you every hour of my life (_pause_). But rob
you of your good name! bid a woman soil her forehead so for me!
(_sighs, long pause_) With heaven's help I do refuse your offer; it is
better I should die with my heart crushed, but my conscience
unstained; for so my humble life has passed till now.
WOFF. Humble! such as you are the diamonds of the world!!! Angel of
truth and goodness, you have conquered! The poor heart we both
overrate shall be your's again. In my hands 'tis painted glass at
best--but set in the lustre of your love, it may become a priceless
jewel. Can you trust me?
MABEL. With my life!
WOFF. And will you let me call you friend?
MABEL. Friend! no--not friend!
WOFF. Alas!
MABEL. Let me call you sister? I have no sister! (_timidly and
pleadingly_)
WOFF. Sister! oh, yes! call me sister! (_they embrace_) You do not
know what it is to me, whom the proud ones of the world pass by with
averted looks, to hear that sacred name from lips as pure as yours.
Let me hold you in my arms--so--a little while--if you knew the good
it does me to feel your heart beating close to mine--(_pause_); and
now to bring back this truant--how this heart flutters--you must
compose yourself (_goes to door leading to inner room and opens it_).
And I have need to be alone awhile (_puts her in, comes forward and
sits a moment with her hands pressed over her forehead_). 'Twas a
terrible wrench--but 'tis over; and now--"about my brains" as Hamlet
says--to bring back the husband to his duty--what a strange office for
a woman like me! How little the world knows about us after all (_she
sighs and sobs convulsively_). I ought to feel very happy--pshaw! On
with the mask and spangles, Peggy--and away with the fumes of this
pleasant day-dream--how to bring Pomander hither? Let me see--this
paper (_takes paper Mabel sent up_) signed in her hand; Mabel
Vane--what if by its aid--I have it--pen--ink--one never can find
writing materials in an author's room (_goes to door and calls_).
Triplet! (_enter Triplet from inner room_). Pens and ink--quick!
TRIP. (_gets them, looking at her_). Here, madam--and paper?
WOFF. No, I have that here (_she writes--he watches her_).
TRIP. Her eyes are red--and Mrs. Vane all of a flutter inside. There's
been a storm--but they haven't torn each other in pieces, that's one
comfort. But has she relented, I wonder?
WOFF. Triplet! This note to Sir Charles Pomander.
TRIP. Madam (_takes it_). What is it, I wonder? However, 'tis not my
business (_going--pauses_). But it is my business--I'm not a
postman--if I carry letters I ought to know the contents (_returns_).
Madam--
WOFF. Well!
TRIP. Madam--I--I--
WOFF. I see--you wish to know the contents of that letter--hear them:
"Follow the bearer."
TRIP. Madam!
WOFF. (_reads_). I am here without my husband's knowledge.
TRIP. Mrs. Woffington!
WOFF. (_reads_). Alone and unprotected--signed "Mabel Vane."
TRIP. Her own signature too! Mrs. Woffington--you are a great
actress--you have been cruelly wronged--you have saved me from
despair, and my children from starvation; but before I will carry that
letter, I will have my hands hacked off at the wrists.
WOFF. (_aside_). What a good creature this is. Then you refuse to obey
my orders.
TRIP. No! no! ask me to jump out of that window--to burn my favourite
tragedy--to forswear pen and ink for ever--anything but carry that
letter, and I will do it.
WOFF. Well--leave the letter! (_Triplet runs for his hat_) Where are
you going?
TRIP. To bring the husband to his wife's feet--and so to save one
angel--that's the lady in the other room--from despair; and another
angel--that's you, from a great crime. Trust poor Jemmy Triplet for
once to bring this domestic drama to a happy denouement!
[_Exit L._
WOFF. How innocently he helps my plot! I must have all the puppets
under my hand. If I know Sir Charles, he is still on the watch (_goes
to window_). Yes! (_goes to inner door_) Here--your eldest boy, Mrs.
Triplet; I want him (_enter Lysimachus R. door_). Lysimachus, you
see that gentleman, run down--give him this letter--and then show him
up here (_exit Lysimachus L. door_). And now Mrs. Vane's mantle, the
hood well forward--so--we are nearly of a height--he does not know I
am here--if I can but imitate her voice and rustic shyness--_allons_,
Peggy 'tis seldom you acted in so good a cause (_she assumes the air
of Mrs. Vane_).
[_Enter Pomander behind--Woffington appears sunk in grief--he comes
forward--she starts and gives a little shriek._]
POM. My dear Mrs. Vane (_she shrinks_). Do not be alarmed--loveliness
neglected, and simplicity deceived, give irresistible claims to
respect as well as adoration. Had fate given me this hand (_he takes
her hand_)--
WOFF. Oh, please sir!
POM. Would I have abandoned it for that of a Woffington--as artificial
and hollow a jade as ever winked at a side-box. Oh, had I been your
husband, madam--how would I have revelled in the pastoral pleasures
you so sweetly recalled yesterday--the Barbary mare--
WOFF. (_timidly_). Hen!
POM. Ah, yes, the Barbary hen; and old dame--dame--
WOFF. Best, please sir!
POM. Yes, Best--that happy though elderly female for whom you have
condescended to make puddings.
WOFF. Alas, sir!
POM. You sigh! It is not yet too late to convert me. Upon this white
hand I swear to become your pupil, as I am your adorer (_he kisses
it_); let me thus fetter it with a worthy manacle. (_Aside._ What will
innocence say to my five hundred guinea diamond?)
WOFF. La, sir! how pretty!
POM. Let me show how poor its lustre is to that of your eyes (_he
tries to draw back her hood_).
WOFF. Oh, sir--hark! (_she suddenly starts away and listens in an
attitude of alarm_).
POM. Ah! (_noise without_). Footsteps on the stairs! (_goes to door
and opens it, listening_).
VANE (_without_). Another flight!
POM. Ha! Vane's voice, by all that's mal-à-propos; (_Woffington
screams and rushes into inner apartment_) and now for Monsieur le mari
(_Triplet appears at the door leading to the staircase, with his back
to the stage and speaking off_).
TRIP. Have a care, sir! There is a hiatus in the fourth step--and now
for the friend who waits to forget grief and suspicion in your
arms--that friend is----
[_Enter Vane--Triplet turns round and recognizes Pomander._]
The Devil!
POM. You flatter me!
VANE. So this is the mysterious rencontre--pray, Sir Charles, what is
it you want to forget in my arms?
POM. In your arms! (_Aside._ Confounds himself with his wife.) Perhaps
you had better explain, my friend?
TRIP. Nay, sir--be yours the pleasing duty!
VANE. In one word, Sir Charles Pomander, why are you here? and for
what purpose am I sent for?
POM. In two words my dear fellow, I don't choose to tell you why I am
here--and 'twas not I who sent for you.
VANE (_to Triplet_). Speak, sirrah--your riddling message!
TRIP. There's nothing for it but the truth. Then, sir--the friend I
expected you would find here was Mrs.----
POM. (_to Trip._). Stop, my deplorable-looking friend: (_to Vane_)
when the answer to such a question begins with a mistress, I think you
had better not enquire further: (_to Trip._) Don't complete the name.
VANE. I command you to complete it, or----
TRIP. Gentlemen, gentlemen, how am I to satisfy both of you?
POM. My dear Vane, remember it is a lady's secret--the only thing in
the world one is bound to keep, except one's temper, which,
by-the-bye, you're losing rapidly.
VANE (_aside_). He spoke of griefs and suspicions to be forgiven and
forgotten. Mabel has left my house. (_crosses to C._) Sir Charles
Pomander, I insist on knowing who this lady is. If it is as I fear, I
have the best right to ask.
POM. But the worst right to be answered.
VANE. How am I to construe this tone, sir?
POM. Do as we did at school with a troublesome passage--don't construe
it at all.
VANE. Sir Charles Pomander, you are impertinent.
POM. My dear Vane, you are in a passion.
VANE. By heaven, sir----
TRIP. Gentlemen, gentlemen, I give you my word. Mr. Vane, she does not
know of Sir Charles Pomander's presence here.
VANE. She? s'death, who?
TRIP. Mrs. Vane!
VANE. My wife--here--and with him?
TRIP. No--not with _him!_
POM. I regret to contradict you, my dilapidated friend, or to hurt
you, my dear Vane; but really, in self-defence--you know this
signature (_offers paper written by Woffington_).
VANE. Mabel's hand!
POM. Yes--what my attentions began, your little peccadilloes
finished--cause and effect, my dear fellow,--pure cause and effect.
VANE. Coxcomb and slanderer! draw and defend yourself.
[_draws._
POM. If you will have it!
[_draws._
TRIP. (_throwing himself between them_). Hold! hold!
(_Woffington suddenly opens the inner room door, and presents herself
at the threshold: her hood is drawn over her face_).
TRIP. Mrs. Vane!
VANE. Mabel! wife! say that this is not true--that you were lured by
stratagem. Oh, speak! belie this coxcomb! You know how bitterly I
repented the infatuation that brought me to the feet of another.
(_Woffington bursts into a laugh, and throws back the hood._)
POM. Woffington!
VANE. She here!
WOFF. There, Sir Charles, did I not wager he would confess he was
heartily ashamed of himself? (_crosses to C._)
TRIP. (_aside_). I have a glimmer of comprehension.
WOFF. Yes--we have had our laugh--and Mr. Vane his lesson; as for Mrs.
Vane--this way, madam, and satisfy yourself.
(_Mabel appears._)
MABEL. Ernest--dear Ernest!
VANE (_sternly_). Mabel, how came you here?
WOFF. In such very questionable company as a town rake and a profane
stage-player? Mrs. Vane might have asked the same question yesterday.
Why Mrs. Vane somehow fancied you had mislaid your heart in Covent
Garden green-room, and that I had feloniously appropriated it: she
came here in search of stolen goods--would you could rummage here,
madam, and satisfy yourself if you still want proof, that I have no
such thing as a heart about me--not even one of my own.
TRIP. I deny that--a better heart than Mrs. Woffington's----
WOFF. What on earth do you know about it, man?
VANE (_to Mabel_). But this letter?
WOFF. Was written by me on a paper which by accident bore Mrs. Vane's
signature. The fact is, I had a wager with Sir Charles here--his
diamond ring against my left-hand glove--that I could bewitch a
certain country gentleman's imagination, though his heart all the
while belonged to its rightful owner, and I have won (_sighs_).
VANE. What a dupe I have been--am I enough humiliated?
POM. Ha! ha! ha! My poor fellow, you had better return to
Huntingdonshire, and leave town and the players to us, who know how to
deal with them.
WOFF. And are quite safe against being taken in--eh! Sir Charles?
(_points to ring on her finger_).
POM. Oh, perfectly--we know each other's cards--retain that ring as a
mark of my----
(_Woffington holds up her finger._)
POM. Respect!
WOFF. No, no--I accept your ring; but I shall always hate you.
POM. I welcome the sentiment--I can endure anything but your
indifference.
VANE. And you, Mabel, will you forgive my infatuation?
MABEL. I forgive all, Ernest--(_crosses to Woffington, aside to her_)
what do we not owe you, sister?
WOFF. Nothing that word does not pay for. (_Aside_) Alas! and so ends
the game. You and I have the tricks, I think, Sir Charles--Mrs. Vane
the honors.--Mr. Vane will quit hazard and the clubs for Willoughby
Manor and the double dummy of a matrimonial rubber. As for me, I
revoke my lead of hearts.
POM. After taking my ace of diamonds!
TRIP. And poor Jemmy Triplet I suppose must once again take up his
solitary hand at patience.
WOFF. Unless Manager Rich is fool enough to accept my judgment for
gospel--and then--but whom have we here?
[_Enter Cibber, Quin, Mrs. Clive, Snarl and Soaper; Snarl and Soaper
cross behind to R. H._]
CIB. Ah! Mrs. Vane--Mr. Vane--Sir Charles--Peggy--Bonjour, Mesdames et
Messieurs--Mr. Triplet, I congratulate you--stap my vitals!
TRIP. Congratulate me!
CLIVE. Yes--Quin here, who's a good natured bear, declares we behaved
shamefully to you to-day, and so as Mr. Rich has just told us of your
good fortune----
TRIP. My good fortune! there must be some mistake. You've come to the
wrong house.
QUIN. No; you have a prospect henceforward of dining every day of your
life. 'Tis a great comfort, and I wish you appetite to enjoy it, Mr.
Triplet.
TRIP. Am I awake? Pinch me, somebody--(_Woffington pinches him_) thank
you--I _am_ awake.
CIB. Manager Rich, thanks to Peggy's influence here, and a good word
or two from one who shall be nameless, has accepted one of your
tragedies.
TRIP. Oh, Lord!
SOAP. He! he! I give you joy, Mr. Triplet; Mr. Snarl and I are so
glad, for as Mr. Snarl said to me, as we left your studio this
morning, "I do so wish they'd play one of Mr. Triplet's tragedies."
SNARL. That I might have the pleasure of criticising it. Mr. Rich did
me the honour to ask which of the three we should accept--I told him,
the shortest.
CLIVE. You'll be pleased to hear, Mrs. Woffington, there's a capital
part for _me._ (_Aside_) Now she could knock me down, I know.
TRIP. One of my tragedies accepted at last! Oh, gracious goodness!
Break it gently to my wife--I know I'm dreaming, but prithee don't
anybody wake me. Oh, Mrs. Woffington--my guardian angel--my preserver!
(_seizes her hand_)
WOFF. No, no--we had better wait, and see on which act of your tragedy
the curtain falls.
TRIP. Ah! I forgot that.
MABEL. I need not wait to express my gratitude--say in what way can I
ever thank you?
WOFF. Dear sister, when hereafter in your home of peace you hear harsh
sentence passed on us, whose lot is admiration, but rarely love,
triumph but never tranquillity--think sometimes of poor Peg
Woffington, and say, stage masks may cover honest faces, and hearts
beat true beneath a tinselled robe--
Nor ours the sole gay masks that hide a face
Where care and tears have left their withering trace,
On the world's stage, as in our mimic art,
We oft confound the actor with the part.
POM. Distrust appearances--an obvious moral--
With which, however, I've no time to quarrel;
Though for my part, I've found, the winning riders
In the world's race are often the outsiders.
VANE. So I have played at love--witched from my will.
MAB. My love was always Ernest, and is still.
CIB. Pshaw! stap my vitals! "Manners make the man,"
They have made _me!_
SNARL. 'Tis about all they can!
SOAP. Yes; Mr. Cibber's epitaph shall be,
He played Lord Foppington at seventy-three.
CLIVE. I'm for plain speaking--let the truth be shown--
SNARL. Truth's in a well--best leave that well alone--
QUIN. Its bitter waters why should _you_ uncork?
No; play like me--an honest knife and fork.
TRIP. That part would be well played by many a poet,
Had he the practice one must have, to know it,
But 'tis the verdict by the public past,
Must sentence scribblers or to feast or fast.
Be kind to-night: in triplet tone I sue,
As actor, manager, and author too.
POM. Mind that for sentence when they call the cause on,
You've at least one Peg here--to hang applause on.
WOFF. Yes; sure those kind eyes and bright smiles one traces,
Are not deceptive _masks_--but honest _faces._
I'd swear it--but if your hands make it certain,
Then all is right on both sides of the curtain.
[CURTAIN FALLS.]
PRINTED BY HARRISON AND SONS,
LONDON GAZETTE OFFICE, ST. MARTIN'S LANE.
Transcriber's Note
This transcription is based on images digitized by the University of
Toronto and posted by the Internet Archive at:
https://archive.org/details/masksfacesorbefo00tayluoft
In general, this transcription attempts to retain the formatting,
punctuation and spelling of the source text. Some minor
inconsistencies and errors have been corrected.
The following changes were made:
--Dramatis Personæ: Mr Lambert--Added a period after "Mr" for
consistency.
--Dramatis Personæ: Mrs. Leigh Murray--Added a period after the second
"Mrs. Leigh Murray" for consistency.
--p. 2: SOAP. (_aside_), Snarl!--Changed comma after "(_aside_)" to a
period.
--p. 2: SOAP (_crosses slowly to Clive_). My dear Mrs. Clive--Added a
period after "SOAP".
--p. 6: WOFF., (L.) "But like the birds--Deleted the comma after
"WOFF."
--p. 9: I dine to day at Mr. Vane's--Changed "to day" to "to-day".
--p. 14: address to many of your admirers, to wiu your
esteem.--Changed "wiu" to "win".
--p. 21: HUNDS (_aside to Pom._). I've marked her down, sir.--Inserted
a period after "HUNDS".
--p. 23: The true _Preux des Dames_, (_regretfully_) went out with the
full periwig--Deleted the comma after "_Preux des Dames_".
--p. 26: QUIN (_she comes forward, aside to Woff._). Hang it!
Falstaff!--Changed "_she_" to "_he_".
--p. 28: [_Cibber, Snarl, and Soaper, go up._]--Deleted the comma
after "_Soaper_".
--p. 28: VANE. Let me shew you to your apartment (_rings bell, leads
her to door R._)--Added a period after the closing parenthesis.
--p. 36: MABEL. Do you suppose I did not know of his having invited
Mrs. Woffington to his house to day?--Changed "to day" to "to-day".
--p. 37: MABEL, (_bursting into tears_).--Deleted the comma after
"MABEL".
--p. 42: [_Mr. W. seeing Triplet's distress, retreats; but presently
comes back._--Changed "_Mr. W._" to "_Woff._" and added a closing
bracket after "_back._"
--p. 43: and wait outside the door, (_in a familiar tone. Exit
Pompey_).--Deleted the comma after "door".
--p. 43: TRIP. (_deprecatingly._) They are not to die--Moved the
period after "_deprecatingly_" to after the closing parenthesis for
consistency.
--p. 45: TREP. My wife is a good woman, ma'am--Changed "TREP." to
"TRIP."
--p. 47: Here, Triplet, a jig--a jig (_Triplet takes
fiddle._)--Inserted a period after "jig" before the stage direction.
--p. 47: WOFF. Pooh! pooh! let me kiss the brats (_kisses them._)
(_Aside_ Poor things!)--Moved the period after "_kisses them_" to
after the closing parenthesis and added a period after "_Aside_".
--p. 48: (_Aside_ Heaven knows I've as much need of merry music as the
saddest of them)--Added a period after "_Aside_".
--p. 49: WOFF. (_reflecting._) I'll give you a lesson--Moved the
period after "_reflecting_" to after the closing parenthesis for
consistency.
--p. 49: The stage direction "(_Triplet removes the baize and
suppresses a start._)" was printed in the source text to the right of
two lines spoken by Triplet and Soaper. The stage direction has been
placed on a line between Triplet's and Soaper's lines.
--p. 50: SOAP. Well it is a _leetle teaboardy_, perhaps.--Changed
"_teaboardy_" to "_tea-boardy_" for consistency with the previous
line.
--p. 51: SNARL (_fiercely._) Goths!--Moved the period after
"_fiercely_" to after the closing parenthesis for consistency.
--p. 57: TRIP. (_interposing._) Oh, my portrait!--Moved the period
after "_interposing_" to after the closing parenthesis for
consistency.
--p. 58: TRIP. I will retire into my sleeping apartment _retires into
inner room R. H., and puts out his head_), be composed,
ladies.--Inserted an opening parenthesis before "_retires_", changed
the comma after the closing parenthesis to a period, and capitalized
"be".
--p. 62: Here--your eldest boy, Mrs. Triplet; I want him (_enter
Lysimachus R door_).--Added a period after "R".
--p. 63: (_Aside_ What will innocence say to my five hundred guinea
diamond?)--Added a period after "_Aside_".
--p. 64: POM. (_to Trip_). Stop, my deplorable-looking friend--Added a
period after "_Trip_".
--p. 70: TRI. That part would be well played by many a poet--Changed
"TRI." to "TRIP." for consistency.