Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

“Dear, dear!” cried Kitty, lifting up her hands. “What a wonder it is that any persons can be prevailed upon to go evening after evening to the playhouses! Why, I myself go--yes, frequently. Indeed--perhaps I should blush to confess it--I am a constant attender at Drury Lane. I do not believe I should be able to live without going to the playhouse!”

“Tell the truth, madam,” cried Mr. Bates, stretching out an eloquent forefinger at her as she sat on the settle looking at her hands on her lap, “have you ever sat out an entire play?”

Kitty looked up and laughed loud and long, so that Mr. Bates felt greatly flattered. He began to believe that he had just said a very clever thing.

“Well, there I allow that you have me,” said Kitty. “Sir, I admit that as a rule I do not remain seated during even an entire act of a play.”

“Ah,” cried Mr. Bates triumphantly, “I knew that you were a sensible woman, asking your pardon again for my presumption. Your confession bears out my contention; and let me tell you that, on the stage, matters, so far from improving, are steadily degenerating. I hear that that young man Garrick is now more in vogue than that fine old actor, Mr. Quin. Think of it, madam! A wine merchant they say this Garrick was. Have you ever seen him?”

“Oh, yes,” said Kitty; “I have seen him.”

“And what may he be like?”

“Mr. Garrick is like no one, and no one is like Mr. Garrick,” said Kitty warmly.

“Ah!” Mr. Bates' lips were curled with a sneer that caused Kitty's feet to tap the floor nervously. “Ah! A little fellow, I understand--not up to my shoulder.”

“Physically, perhaps not,” Kitty replied. “But the stature of Mr. Garrick varies. I have seen him tower over every one on the stage--over every one in the playhouse; and again I have seen him dwindle until he was no higher than a child.”

Mr. Bates looked surprised.

“How does he manage that? A stage trick, I expect.”

“I dare say 't is so--merely that stage trick--genius.”

“He could not deceive me: I would take his measure,” said Mr. Bates, with a shrewd smirk.

“Still, I have heard that even the players beside him on the stage are sometimes carried away with the force of his acting,” said Kitty.

“A paltry excuse for forgetting their lines!” sneered Mr. Bates. “Ah! no actor could make a fool of me!”

“Would anyone think it necessary to improve on Nature's handiwork in this respect?” asked Kitty demurely.

“How?” For a moment Mr. Bates had his doubts as to whether or not the lady meant to pass a compliment upon him. The demure look upon her face reassured him. “You are right, madam; they could easily see what I am,” he said, tapping his chest.

“They could, indeed, sir,” said Kitty, more demurely than ever.

“I do not doubt, mind you, that there is a certain superficial ability about this Mr. Garrick,” resumed Mr. Bates in a condescending way.

“I am sure that Mr. Garrick would feel flattered could he but know that he had the good opinion of Mr. Bates,” remarked Kitty.

“Yes, I know that I am generous,” said Mr. Bates. “But this Garrick--I wonder what his Hamlet is like.”

“It is _like_ nothing, sir: it is Hamlet,” cried Kitty.

“You have seen it? What is he like when the ghost enters? I have made that scene my own.”

Kitty sprang from the settle.

“Like?” she said. “What is he like? He is like a man in the presence of a ghost at first, and then--then the ghost becomes more substantial than he. You hear a sudden cry--he stands transfixed with horror--you see that he is not breathing, and he makes you one with himself. You cannot breathe. You feel that his hand is on your heart. You are in the power of his grasp. He can do what he pleases with you. If he tightens his grasp you will never breathe again in this world. There is a terrible pause--he draws his breath--he allows you to draw yours; but you feel in that long silence you have been carried away to another world--you are in a place of ghosts--there is nothing real of all that is about you--you have passed into a land of shadows, and you are aware of a shadow voice that can thrill a thousand men and women as though they were but one person:--

“'Angels and ministers of grace defend us!'

“Bah! what a fool I am!” cried Kitty, flinging herself excitedly upon the settle. “Imitate Mr. Garrick? Sir, he is inimitable! One may imitate an actor of Hamlet. David Garrick is not that; he is, I repeat, Hamlet himself.”

Mr. Bates was breathing hard. There was a considerable pause before he found words to say,--“Madam, for one who has no stage training, I protest that you display some power. You have almost persuaded me to admire another actor's Hamlet--a thing unheard of on the stage. I, myself, play the part of the Prince of Denmark. It would gratify me to be permitted to rehearse a scene in your presence. You would then see on what points Mr. Garrick resembles me.”

“Oh, lord!” muttered Kitty, making a face behind Mr. Bates' back.

“There is the scene at the grave. I am reckoned amazing in that scene.”

“Amazing? I do not doubt it.”

“I wonder how Mr. Garrick acts the grave scene.”

“Oh, sir,'t is his humour to treat it paradoxically.” Kitty was now herself again. “He does not treat the grave scene gravely but merrily.”

“Merrily?”

“Why not? Novelty is everything in these days. Does not Mr. Macklin make Shylock a serious and not a comic character? An innovation on the stage draws the town.”

“Faith, madam, to act the grave scene in a burst of merriment is past an innovation.”

“Not at all, sir. With Mr. Garrick it seems quite natural. He is one of those actors who are superior to nature. I am sure you have met some such.”

“I never met one who was otherwise.”

“Ah, then you will see how Mr. Garrick could enter upon the scene, beginning to play bowls with Horatio, using skulls for the game; this goes on for some time, while they quarrel on the score of the score. They fling their skulls at one another, and then they take to fencing with two thigh bones which they pick up. Hamlet runs Horatio through with his bone, and he falls atop of the first grave-digger, who has been watching the fight, and in pantomime--much is done by pantomime nowadays--laying odds on Hamlet. Both topple over into the grave, and Hamlet stands on the brink, convulsed with laughter. This, you observe, gives extra point to Hamlet's enquiry, 'Whose grave is that, sirrah?' and certainly extraordinary point to the man's reply, 'Mine, sir.' Has it ever occurred to you to act the scene after that fashion?”

“Never, madam--never, I swear,” cried Mr. Bates heartily.

“Ah, there you see is the difference between Mr. Garrick and you,” said Kitty. “Do you bring on Hamlet's Irish servant, Mr. Bates?”

“Hamlet's Irish servant?”

“Is it possible that you have not yet followed the new reading in the scene where Hamlet comes upon the king praying?”

“I know the scene,” cried Mr. Bates, throwing himself into an attitude as he began: “Oh, my offense is rank; it smells to heaven!”

“That is it,” cried Kitty, interrupting him. “Well, then Hamlet appears with his Irish servant.”

“'Tis the first I've heard of him.”

“Let it not be the last.'T is a new reading. Hamlet enters, sees the king, and then turns to his Irish servant saying, 'Now might I do it, Pat'--the man's name is Patrick, you perceive?”

“Madam, a more ridiculous innovation I protest I never heard of,” said Mr. Bates.

“By my faith, sir,'t is not more ridiculous than some stage innovations that I could name,” said Kitty.

“I could understand Kitty Clive introducing such a point into one of the farces in which I hear she is a merry baggage, but--”

“You have never seen Kitty Clive then?”

“Never, but I hear she is a romp. Are you an admirer of hers, madam?”

“Sir, she has no more devoted admirer than myself,” said Kitty, looking at the man straight in the face.

“Is she not a romp?”

“Oh, surely, a sad, sad romp. She has by her romping, saved many a play from being damned.”

“She is so great a favorite with playgoers, I doubt her ability,” said Mr. Bates. “I doubt if she could move me. What is the nature of her merriment?”

“Extravagance, sir, extravagance. She bounces on as a hoyden, and pulls a long face like this”--even Mr. Bates roared at Kitty's long face--“behind the back of the very proper gentleman who has come to woo her. She catches the point of his sword sheath so that when he tries to turn he almost falls. She pretends that he has struck her with his sword and she howls with pain. He hastens to comfort her--down goes a chair, and he topples over it. 'Murder, murder!' she cries, and snatches up the shovel as if to defend herself. My gentleman recovers, and hastens to assure her of his honourable intentions. She keeps him off with her shovel. He drops his hat, and she shovels it up and runs around the room to throw it on the fire. He follows her over tables, chairs, and a sofa or two. 'Tally ho!' she cries and gives a view-halloo. Round the room they go, and just as he is at the point of catching her she uses the shovel as a racket, and sends the hat flying, and at the same stroke, sends her lover sprawling.”

“Madam, she is a vulgar jade, I swear,” cried Mr. Bates. He was more out of breath than Kitty, for she had acted the part so vividly that she had forced him involuntarily to take the part of the hoyden's lover, and both he and his hat had suffered. “That scene which you have described bears out my argument that the more outrageous a scene is, the better pleased are the public. Women do not make fools of men in real life.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“No; there you have the absurdity of the stage. Authors set reason and sense at defiance, daily. Shakespeare is one of the worst offenders.”

“What, Shakespeare?”

“Oh, believe me, madam, Shakespeare is a greatly over-rated writer. Look, for instance, at his play of 'Romeo and Juliet': Romeo sees the lady, exchanges a few words with her, and falls at once in love with her. He has only to rant beneath her window by the light of the moon, and forthwith she agrees to marry him, and sure enough, they are married the very next day. Good lord! Would Shakespeare have us believe that men can be so easily fooled? Our moderns have not greatly improved upon Shakespeare.”

“I am with you there, sir, heart and soul.”

“No, they still outrage sense by their plots. A man meets a woman quite by chance. She tells him a cock and bull story that any fool could see outrages probability; but he is captivated in a moment. He falls on his knees before her and vows that she has only to speak to make him the happiest of mortals. All this is, madam, I need scarcely say, quite monstrous and unnatural. Such a proceeding could not occur outside Bedlam.”

“This gentleman should be taught a lesson,” said Kitty to herself, as she watched Mr. Bates swaggering across the room. She became thoughtful for a moment, and then smiled--only for a second, however; then she became grave and her voice faltered as she said: “Sir, I protest that I never before knew--nay, felt--what real eloquence was--eloquence wedded to reason.”

“Nay, madam,” smirked Mr. Bates.

“'T is the truth, sir. May I hope that you will not think me too forward, if I venture to express a humble opinion, sir?” Her voice was low, and it certainly faltered more than before.

“I shall treasure that opinion, madam,” said Mr. Bates. That soft voice produced its impression upon him. He felt that he was in the presence of an amazingly fine woman.

“You will not be offended, sir, if I say that I feel it to be a great pity that one who has such eloquence at his command should spend his time merely repeating the phrases--the very inferior phrases--of others. The Senate, sir, should be your stage. You are not angry, sir?”

She had laid a hand upon his arm and was looking pleadingly up to his face.

“Angry?” cried Mr. Bates, patting her hand, at which she turned her eyes, modestly from his face to the ground.

“Angry? Nay, dear lady, you have but expressed what I have often thought.”

“I am so glad that you are not offended by my presumption, sir,” said Kitty, removing her hand--Mr. Bates did not seem willing to let it go. “If you were offended, I protest that I should be the most wretched of women.”

Mr. Bates marked how her voice broke, He took a step after her, as she went to the settle.

“Dear madam, you deserve to be the happiest rather than the most wretched of your sex,” he said--his voice was also very soft and low.

Kitty turned to him, crying quickly: “And I should be so if--” here she sighed--it seemed to Mr. Bates quite involuntarily. “Pardon me: I--I--that is--sometimes the heart forces the lips to speak when they should remain silent. A woman is a simple creature, sir.”

“A woman is a very fascinating creature, I vow,” cried Mr. Bates, and he felt that he was speaking the truth.

“Ah, Mr. Bates, she has a heart: that is woman's weakness--her heart!” murmured Kitty.

“I protest that she has not a monopoly of that organ,” said Mr. Bates. “May not a man have a heart also, sweet one?”

“Alas!” sighed Kitty, “it has not been my lot to meet with any but those who are heartless. I have often longed--but why should I burden you with the story of my longings--of my sufferings?”

“Your woman's instinct tells you that you have at last met with a man who has a heart. I have a heart, dear creature. Was it my fate brought me into this room to-day? Was it my inscrutable destiny that led me to meet the most charming--”

“Pray, Mr. Bates, be merciful as you are strong!” cried Kitty, pressing one hand to her tumultuous bosom. “Do not compel a poor weak woman to betray her weakness: the conqueror should be merciful. What a voice is yours, sir! What poor woman could resist its melody? Oh, sir, forgive the tears of a weak, unhappy creature.”

She had thrown herself on the settle and had laid her head upon one of its arms.

In an instant he was beside her and had caught her hand.

“Nay, dear one, I cannot forgive the tears that dim those bright eyes,” he whispered in her ear. “You have had a past, madam?”

“Ah, sir,” cried Kitty, from the folds of her handkerchief, “all my life up to the present has been my past--that is why I weep.”

“Is it so sad as that? You have a story?”

“Should I tell it to you?” said Kitty, raising her head suddenly and looking at the face that was so near hers. “I will, I will--yes, I will trust you--you may be able to help me.”

“With my latest breath!” cried Mr. Bates.

“Sir, to be brief, I am a great heiress,” said Kitty, quite calmly. Mr. Bates started, his eyes brightened. “My uncle was trustee of my father's property--it is in two counties,” continued Kitty. “For some years after my father's death I had no reason for complaint. But then a change came. My uncle's son appeared upon the scene, and I soon perceived his true character--a ruined, dissolute scamp, I knew him to be, and when I rejected his advances with scorn, his father, who I fancied was my friend, commenced such a series of persecutions as would have broken a less ardent spirit than mine. They did not move me. They shut me up in a cold, dark dungeon and loaded these limbs of mine with fetters.”

“The infernal ruffians!”

“They fed me with bread and water. They tortured me by playing on the harpsichord outside my prison all the best known airs from the _Beggars' Opera_.

“Horrible!”

“Oh, I thought I should have gone mad--mad; but I knew that that was just what they wanted, in order that they might shut me up in Bedlam, and enjoy my property. I made a resolution not to go mad, and I have adhered to it ever since.”

“Noble girl!”

“At last the time came when I could stand their treatment no longer. I flung my iron fetters to the winds--I burst through the doors of my prison and rushed into the dining-hall where my two persecutors were carousing in their cups. They sprang up with a cry of horror when I appeared. My uncle's hand was upon the bell, when I felled him with a heavy glass decanter. With a yell--I hear it now--his son sprang upon me--he went down beneath the stroke of the ten-light chandelier which I hastily plucked down and hurled at him. I called for a horse and chaise. They were at the door in a moment and I fled all night. But alas! alas! I feel that my flight shall avail me nothing. They are on my track, and I shall be forced to marry at least one of them. But no, no, sooner than submit, with this dagger--”

She had sprung from her place and her hand was grasping something inside her bodice, when Mr. Bates caught her firmly by the wrist.

“You shall do nothing so impious, madam,” he cried.

“Who shall prevent me?” cried Kitty, struggling with him. “Who shall save me from my persecutors?”

“I, madam--I will do it!” cried Mr. Bates.

“You--how?” Kitty had now ceased to struggle.

“I will marry you myself!” shouted Mr. Bates, grasping both her hands.

“But only half an hour has passed since we met,” said Kitty, looking down.

“That is enough, madam, to convince me that my heart is yours. Sweet one, I throw myself at your feet. Let me be your protector. Let me hold you from your persecutors. Dearest lady, marry me and you are safe.”

“Thank heaven--thank heaven I have found a friend!” murmured Kitty.

“You agree?” said Mr. Bates, rising to his feet.

“Oh, sir, I am overcome with gratitude,” cried Kitty, throwing herself into his arms.

“An heiress--and mine,” Mr. Bates whispered.

“Mistress Clive, the gentleman has arrived--oh, lud! what has Kitty been up to?”

The landlord was standing at the door with his hands raised.

“'T is my brother, Jimmy Raftor,” said Kitty, coolly arranging the disordered hood of her cloak before the glass. “Jimmy is one of the best pistol-shots in all Ireland, and that's saying a good deal. Show the gentleman in, Mr. Landlord.”

Mr. Bates stood aghast. “Mistress Clive--not Kitty Clive of Drury Lane?” he faltered.

“I am Kitty Clive of Drury Lane, at your service, sir, if you should need another lesson to convince you that even the most ridiculous story, if plausibly told, will carry conviction to the most astute of men.”

Kitty Clive sank in a mock curtesy; the landlord roared with laughter; Mr. Bates stood amazed in the center of the room.

A QUESTION OF ART