Crowded with fine people, and blazing with light, were the rooms of the Countess of B, as, flushed from a late dinner at Savilles, young Godolphin made his appearance in the scene. He was not of those numerous gentlemen, the stock-flowers of the parterre, who stick themselves up against walls in the panoply of neckclothed silence. He came not to balls from the vulgar motive of being seen there in the most conspicuous situationa motive so apparent among the stiff exquisites of England. He came to amuse himself; and if he found no one capable of amusing him, he saw no necessity in staying. He was always seen, therefore, conversing or dancing, or listening to musicor he was not seen at all.
In exchanging a few words with a Colonel D, a noted roue and gamester, he observed, gazing on him very intentlyand as Percy thought, very rudelyan old gentleman in a dress of the last century. Turn where he would, Godolphin could not rid himself of the gaze; so at length he met it with a look of equal scrutiny and courage. The old gentleman slowly approached. Percy Godolphin, I think? said he.
That is my name, sir, replied Percy. Yours
No matter! Yet stay! you shall know it. I am Henry Johnstoneold Harry Johnstone. You have heard of him?your fathers first cousin. Well, I grieve, young sir, to find that you associate with that rascal SavilleNay, never interrupt me sir!I grieve to find that you, thus young, thus unguarded, are left to be ruined in heart and corrupted in nature by any one who will take the trouble! Yet I like your countenance!I like your countenance!it is open, yet thoughtful; frank, and yet it has something of melancholy. You have not Charless coloured hair; but you are much youngermuch. I am glad I have seen you; I came here on purpose; good-night!and without waiting for an answer, the old man disappeared.
Godolphin, recovering from his surprise, recollected that he had often heard his father speak of a rich and eccentric relation named Johnstone. This singular interview made a strong but momentary impression on him. He intended to seek out the old mans residence; but one thing or another drove away the fulfilment of the intention, and in this world the relations never met again.
Percy, now musingly gliding through the crowd, sank into a seat beside a lady of forty-five, who sometimes amused herself in making love to himbecause there could be no harm in such a mere boy!and presently afterwards, a Lord George Somebody, sauntering up, asked the lady if he had not seen her at the play on the previous night.
O, yes! we went to see the new actress. How pretty she is!so unaffected too;how well she sings!
Pretty weller! replied Lord George, passing his hand through his hair. Very nice girler!good ankles. Devilish hoter, is it noterer? What a bore this is: eh! Ah! Godolphin! dont forget Wattierser! and his lordship erd himself off.
What actress is this?
Oh, a very good one indeed!came out in The Belles Stratagem. We are going to see her to-morrow; will you dine with us early, and be our cavalier?
Nothing will please me more! Your ladyship has dropped your handkerchief.
Thank you! said the lady, bending till her hair touched Godolphins cheek, and gently pressing the hand that was extended to her. It was a wonder that Godolphin never became a coxcomb.
He dined at Wattiers the next day according to appointment: he went to the play; and at the moment his eye first turned to the stage, a universal burst of applause indicated the entrance of the new actressFanny Millinger!
CHAPTER VIII
GODOLPHINS PASSION FOR THE STAGE.THE DIFFERENCE IT ENGENDERED IN HIS HABITS OF LIFENow this event produced a great influence over Godolphins habitsand I suppose, therefore, I may add, over his character. He renewed his acquaintance with the lively actress.
What a change! cried both.
The strolling player risen into celebrity!
And the runaway boy polished into fashion!
You are handsomer than ever, Fanny.
I return the compliment, replied Fanny; with a curtsey.
And now Godolphin became a constant attendant at the theatre. This led him into a mode of life quite different from that which he had lately cultivated.
There are in London two sets of idle men: one set, the butterflies of balls; the loungers of the regular walks of society; diners out; the old familiar faces, seen everywhere, known to every one: the other set, a more wild, irregular, careless race; who go little into parties, and vote balls a nuisance; who live in clubs; frequent theatres; drive about late o nights in mysterious-looking vehicles and enjoy a vast acquaintance among the Aspasias of pleasure. These are the men who are the critics of theatricals: black-neckclothed and well-booted, they sit in their boxes and decide on the ankles of a dancer or the voice of a singer. They have a smattering of literature, and use a great deal of French in their conversation: they have something of romance in their composition, and have been known to marry for love. In short, there is in their whole nature, a more roving, liberal, Continental character of dissipation, than belongs to the cold, tame, dull, prim, hedge-clipped indolence of more national exquisitism. Into this set, out of the other set, fell young Godolphin; and oh! the merry mornings at actresses houses; the jovial suppers after the play; the buoyancy, the brilliancy, the esprit, with which the hours, from midnight to cockcrow, were often pelted with rose-leaves and drowned in Rhenish.
By degrees, however, as Godolphin warmed into his attendance at the playhouses, the fine intellectual something that lay yet undestroyed at his heart stirred up emotions which he felt his more vulgar associates were unfitted to share.
There is that in theatrical representation which perpetually awakens whatever romance belongs to our character. The magic lights; the pomp of scene; the palace, the camp; the forest; the midnight wold; the moonlight reflected on the water; the melody of the tragic rhythm; the grace of the comic wit; the strange art that give such meaning to the poets lightest word;the fair, false, exciting life that is detailed before uscrowding into some three little hours all that our most busy ambition could desirelove, enterprise, war, glory! the kindling exaggeration of the sentiments which belong to the stagelike our own in our boldest moments: all these appeals to our finer senses are not made in vain. Our taste for castle-building and visions deepens upon us; and we chew a mental opium which stagnates all the other faculties, but wakens that of the ideal.
Godolphin was peculiarly fascinated by the stage; he loved to steal away from his companions, and, alone, and unheeded, to feast his mind on the unreal stream of existence that mirrored images so beautiful. And oh! while yet we are youngwhile yet the dew lingers on the green leaf of springwhile all the brighter, the more enterprising part of the future is to comewhile we know not whether the true life may not be visionary and excited as the falsehow deep and rich a transport is it to see, to feel, to hear Shakspeares conceptions made actual, though all imperfectly, and only for an hour! Sweet Arden! are we in thy forest?thy shadowy groves and unfrequented glens? Rosalind, Jaques, Orlando, have you indeed a being upon earth! Ah! this is true enchantment! and when we turn back to life, we turn from the colours which the Claude glass breathes over a winters landscape to the nakedness of the landscape itself!