in the green-room of one of the great london theatres—david garrick's, perhaps—the stage company and their friends were waiting the call-boy and the rising of the curtain.
as strange boards as any—as broad contrasts. here a king, with his crown cast down; there a beggar, with his wallet laid aside. but kings and beggars are not affording the glaring discrepancies of hogarth's "olympus in a barn," but suggesting and preserving the distinctions far below the buskins, the breastplate, the sandals, the symars. here are heroes, with the heroism only skin deep; and peers, like their graces of bolton and wharton, with less of the lofty, self-denying graces and the ancient chivalry, than the most grovelling of ploughmen.
among the crowd, lady betty is biding her time, very nonchalant, and a little solitary in her state. ladies who are independent, exclusive, and inflexible, however admired and respected, are generally left to enjoy their own opinions unmolested and at their leisure, whether behind the stage curtain or elsewhere.
just then a country gentleman, whose murrey coat has a certain country cut, while his complexion breathes of hay-fields and hedge sides, is introduced, gazes round, and steps up to her. mistress betty cries out, "la!"—an [page 87]exclamation not a whit vulgar in her day—"the justice!" and she holds forth both her hands. "how are dear mistress prissy and mistress fiddy? have you come up to town for any time, sir? i wish prosperity to your business."
he has not held such kind, unaffected, friendly hands since they parted; he has only once before held a hand that could have led a jaffier to confess his conspiracy—that could have clung to a crushed man, and striven to raise him when calamity, like a whirlwind, cast him down.
the squire is sensibly moved, and mistress betty vindicates her womanliness by jumping at a conclusion and settling in her own mind that his brain is addled with this great london—its politicians, its mohawks, its beggars in axe lane, its rich tradesmen in cranbourne alley, its people of quality, fashion, and taste in their villas at twickenham.
he asks if she is on in belvidera, and when he hears that it is another actress's benefit, and that she has only consented to appear in a secondary part in a comedy of sir john's, who is now a great castle-builder, he does not trouble himself to enter a box; at which she is half flattered, half perplexed. he waits, hot and excited, until her short service is over. he will not call upon her at her lodgings, because, in his delicacy, he has so keen a remembrance of her exposed position.
in the corner behind the curtain, bounded by the refreshment table, and filled with the prompter's monotonous drawl,—far, far from his barley ripe for the mowing, his boxwood peacocks, his greyhaired hal and his buxom [page 88]milkmaids; far from old madam, the pedantic, formal vicar, young madam, brisk, hot, and genial, and his old charmers prissy and fiddy,—the squire told his tale of true love. the man threw down the costs and besought mistress betty lumley, lady betty, to renounce the stage, forsake fame, quit studies, rehearsals, opening-nights, and concluding curtsies amidst the cheers of thousands, to go down with him to rural larks' hall, to grow younger, happier, and better every day, and die like lady loudon in her hundredth year, universally regretted,—above all, to fill up the gulf which had yawned in the market-place of his existence since that night at bath.
it was a primitive proceeding. lady betty was amazed at the man's assurance, simplicity, and loyalty. he spoke plainly—almost bluntly—but very forcibly. it was no slight or passing passion which had brought the squire, a gentleman of a score and more of honourable descents, to seek such an audience-chamber to sue a pasteboard queen. it was no weak love which had dislodged him from his old resting-place, and pitched him to this dreary distance.
mistress betty was taken "all in a heap;" she had heard many a love-tale, but never one with so manly a note. shrewd, sensitive mistress betty was bewildered and confounded, and in her hurry she made a capital blunder. she dismissed him summarily, saw how white he grew, and heard how he stopped to ask if there were no possible alternative, no period of probation to endure, no achievement to be performed by him. she waved him off the faster because she became affrighted at his humility; and got away in her chair, and wrung her hands, [page 89]and wept all night in the long summer twilight, and sat pensive and sick for many days.
in time, mistress betty resumed her profession; but she was unusually languid: she played to disappointed houses, and cherished always, with more romance, the shade of the brave, trustful, somersetshire squire and antiquary. suddenly she adopted the resolution of retiring from the stage in the summer of her popularity, and living on her savings and her poor young brother's bequest. her tastes were simple; why should she toil to provide herself with luxuries? she had no one now for whose old age she could furnish ease, or for the aims and accidents of whose rising station she need lay by welcome stores; she had not even a nephew or niece to tease her. she would not wear out the talents a generous man had admired on a mass of knaves and villains, coxcombs and butterflies; she would not expose her poor mind and heart to further deterioration. she would fly from the danger; she would retire, and board with her cousin ward, and help her with a little addition to her limited income, and a spare hand in her small family; and she would jog-trot onwards for the rest of her life, so that when she came to die, mistress prissy and mistress fiddy would have no cause to be ashamed that so inoffensive, inconspicuous, respectable a person had once been asked to stand to them in the dignified relation of aunt. the public vehemently combated mrs. betty's verdict, in vain; they were forced to lament during twice nine days their vanished favourite, who had levanted so unceremoniously beyond the reach of their good graces.
