PEG WOFFINGTON'S PORTRAIT; AND MABEL VANE. BY CHARLES READE. [CHARLES READE: A distinguished English novelist, born at Ipsden, Oxfordshire, June 8, 1814; died at London, April 11, 1884. He graduated at Magdalen College, Oxford (1835); was elected to a Vinerian fellowship (1842); and was admitted to the bar at Lincoln's Inn (1847). He made his début as a novelist with "Peg Woffington” (1852), which had an immediate success. His subsequent works include: "Christie Johnstone"; "It is Never Too Late to Mend"; "Love me Little, Love me Long"; "The Cloister and the Hearth," a powerful historical novel; "Hard Cash"; "Griffith Gaunt"; "Foul Play"; "Put Yourself in his Place." Among his plays are: "Masks and Faces" (with Tom Taylor); "Drink," an adaptation of Zola's "L'Assommoir"; and dramatizations of some of his own novels.] MRS. WOFFINGTON sat in Triplet's apartment; and Triplet, palette in hand, painted away upon her portrait. Mrs. Woffington was in that languid state which comes to women after their hearts have received a blow. She felt as if life was ended, and but the dregs of existence remained; but at times a flood of bitterness rolled over her, and she resigned all hope of perfect happiness in this world, — all hope of loving and respecting the same creature; and at these moments she had but one idea, - to use her own power, and bind her lover to her by chains never to be broken; and to close her eyes, and glide down the precipice of the future. 66 "I think you are master of this art," said she, very languidly, to Triplet, "you paint so rapidly." "Yes, madam," said Triplet, gloomily; and painted on. "Confound this shadow!" added he; and painted on. His soul, too, was clouded. Mrs. Woffington, yawning in his face, had told him she had invited all Mr. Vane's company to come and praise his work; and ever since that he had been morne et silencieux. "You are fortunate," continued Mrs. Woffington, not caring what she said; "it is so difficult to make execution keep pace with conception." "Yes, ma'am ;" and he painted on. "You are satisfied with it?" "Anything but, ma'am ;" and he painted on. "Cheerful soul!- then I presume it is like?" "Not a bit, ma'am ;" and he painted on. Mrs. Woffington stretched. "You can't yawn, ma'am,- you can't yawn." I can. "O yes, stretched again. You are such good company;" and she "I was just about to catch the turn of the lip," remonstrated Triplet. "Well, catch it, it won't run away." "I'll try, ma'am. A pleasant half-hour it will be for me, when they all come here like cits at a shilling ordinary, — each for his cut." "At a sensitive goose!" 66 "That is as may be, madam. Those critics flay us alive!" "You should not hold so many doors open to censure." "No, ma'am. Head a little more that way. I suppose you can't sit quiet, ma'am?—then never mind!" (This resignation was intended as a stinging reproach.) "Mr. Cibber, with his sneering snuff box! Mr. Quin, with his humorous bludgeon! Mrs. Clive, with her tongue! Mr. Snarl, with his abuse! And Mr. Soaper, with his praise! - arsenic in treacle I call it! But there, I deserve it all! For look on this picture, and on this!" Meaning, I am painted as well as my picture!" "O no, no, no! But to turn from your face, madam, — on which the lightning of expression plays continually,- -to this stony, detestable, dead daub!-I could- And I will, too! Imposture! dead caricature of life and beauty, take that!" and he dashed his palette knife through the canvas. "Libelous lie against nature and Mrs. Woffington, take that!" and he stabbed the canvas again; then, with sudden humility: "I beg your pardon, ma'am," said he, " for this apparent outrage, which I trust you will set down to the excitement attendant upon failure. The fact is, I am an incapable ass, and no painter ! Others have often hinted as much; but I never observed it myself till now!" "Right through my pet dimple!" said Mrs. Woffington, with perfect nonchalance. They sat opposite each other, in mournful silence. At length the actress suddenly rose. She struggled fiercely against her depression, and vowed that melancholy should not benumb her spirits and her power. She sat gently down again, and leaned her head on her hand, and thought. She was beautiful as she thought! Her body seemed bristling with mind! At last her thoughtful gravity was illumined by a smile. She had thought out something. "Triplet, the picture is quite ruined!" "Yes, madam. And a coach load of criticism coming!" "When we take other people's!" "He, he!" went Triplet. "Those are our best, madam!" "Well, sir, I have got a bright idea." "You don't say so, ma'am!" "Don't be a brute, dear!" said the lady, gravely. Triplet stared. "When I was in France, taking lessons of Dumesnil, one of the actors of the Théâtre Français had his portrait painted by a rising artist. The others were to come and see it. They determined, beforehand, to mortify the painter and the sitter, by abusing the work in good set terms. But somehow this got wind, and the patients resolved to be the physicians. They put their heads together, and contrived that the living face should be in the canvas, surrounded by the accessories: these, of course, were painted. Enter the actors, who played their little prearranged farce; and, when they had each given the picture a slap, the picture rose and laughed in their faces, and discomfited them! By the bye, the painter did not stop there he was not content with a short laugh, he laughed at them five hundred years!" "Good gracious, Mrs. Woffington! "He painted a picture of the whole thing; and as his work is immortal, ours an April snowflake, he has got tremendously the better of those rash little satirists. Well, Trip, what is sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose; so give me the sharpest knife in the house." Triplet gave her a knife, and looked confused, while she cut away the face of the picture, and by dint of scraping, cutting, and measuring, got her face two parts through the canvas. She then made him take his brush and paint all round her face, so that the transition might not be too abrupt. Several yards of green baize were also produced. This was to be disposed behind the easel, so as to conceal her. Triplet painted here, and touched and retouched there. Whilst thus occupied, he said, in his calm, resigned way: "It won't do, madam. I suppose you know that?" "I know nothing," was the reply. "Life is a guess. I don't think we could deceive Roxalana and Lucy this way, because their eyes are without colored spectacles; but, when peo ple have once begun to see by prejudices and judge by jargon, what can't be done with them? Who knows? do you? I don't; so let us try." "I beg your pardon, madam; my brush touched your face." "No offense, sir; I am used to that. And I beg, if you can't tone the rest of the picture up to me, that you will instantly tone me down to the rest. Let us be in tune, whatever it costs, sir." "I will avail myself of the privilege, madam, but sparingly. Failure, which is certain, madam, will cover us with disgrace." "Nothing is certain in this life, sir, except that you are a goose. It succeeded in France; and England can match all Europe for fools. Besides, it will be well done. They say Davy Garrick can turn his eyes into bottled gooseberries. Well, Peg Woffington will turn hers into black currants. you done? I wonder they have not come. Haven't Make haste!" "They will know by its beauty I never did it." "That is a sensible remark, Trip. But I think they will rather argue backwards; that, as you did it, it cannot be beautiful, and so cannot be me. Your reputation will be our shield." "Well, madam, now you mention it, they are like enough to take that ground. They despise all I do; if they did not"You would despise them." At this moment the pair were startled by the sound of a coach. Triplet turned as pale as ashes. Mrs. Woffington had her misgivings; but, not choosing to increase the difficulty, she would not let Triplet, whose self-possession she doubted, see any sign of emotion in her. "Lock the door," said she, firmly, "and don't be silly. Now hold up my green-baize petticoat, and let me be in a half-light. Now put that table and those chairs before me, so that they can't come right up to me; and, Triplet, don't let them come within six yards, if you can help it. Say it is unfinished, and so must be seen from a focus." "A focus! I don't know what you mean." "No more do I; no more will they, perhaps; and, if they don't, they will swallow it directly. Unlock the door are they coming?" "They are only at the first stair.” : "Mr. Triplet, your face is a book, where one may read strange matters. For Heaven's sake, compose yourself: let all the risk lie in one countenance. Look at me, sir. Make your |