Tales and Novels, Vol. VII by Maria Edgeworth

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Tales and Novels, Vol. VII

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"Nine guineas! ma'am," cried Miss Georgiana, "impossible! I can't act at
all--so there's an end of the matter."

"Not an end of the matter quite," said Mrs. Falconer, coolly; "for in that
case I must look out for another Zara."

"And where will you find one, ma'am?"

"The Lady Arlingtons have both fine figures--and, I dare say, would either
of them oblige me."

"Not they. Lady Anne, with her indolence and her languor--a lady who looks
as if she was saying, 'Quasha, tell Quaco to tell Fibba to pick up this pin
that lies at my foot;' do you think she'd get a part by heart, ma'am, to
oblige you--or that she could, if she would, act Zara?--No more than she
could fly!"

"But her sister, Lady Frances, would and could," said Mrs. Falconer. "She
is quick enough, and I know she longs to try Zara."

"Longs!--Lord, ma'am, she longs for fifty things in a minute!--Quick!--Yes,
but don't depend on her, I advise you; for she does not know, for two
seconds together, what she would have or what she would do."

"Then I have resource in one who, I am persuaded, will not disappoint me or
any body else," said Mrs. Falconer.

"Whom can you mean, ma'am?"

"Miss Caroline Percy. Count Altenberg put it into my head: he observed
that she would look the character remarkably well--and I will write to her
directly."

Without power of articulating, Miss Georgiana Falconer fixed her eyes upon
her mother for some moments.

"You think I have lost my senses this morning--I thought, and I am afraid
so did many other people, that you had lost yours last night. Another such
scene, your friends the Lady Arlingtons for spectators, you are ridiculous,
and, of course, undone for life in the fashionable world--establishment,
and every thing else that is desirable, irrevocably out of the question. I
am surprised that a girl of your understanding and really polished manners,
Georgiana, should, the moment any thing crosses or vexes you, show no more
command of temper, grace, or dignity, than the veriest country girl. When
things go wrong, do you see me lose all presence of mind; or rather, do you
ever see me change a muscle of my countenance?"

"The muscles of some people's countenance, ma'am, I suppose, are
differently made from others--mine will change with my feelings, and there
is no remedy, for my feelings unfortunately are uncommonly acute."

"That is a misfortune, indeed, Georgiana; but not without remedy, I trust.
If you will take my advice--"

"Were you ever in love, ma'am?"

"Properly--when every thing was settled for my marriage; but not
improperly, or it might never have come to my wedding-day. Headstrong
child! listen to me, or you will never see that day with Count Altenberg."

"Do you mean, ma'am, to ask Miss Caroline Percy to play Zara?"

"I will answer no question, Georgiana, till you have heard me patiently."

"I only hope, ma'am, you'll put it in the play-bill--or, if you don't, I
will--Zara, Miss Caroline Percy--by particular desire of Count Altenberg."

"Whatever I do, you may hope and be assured, Georgiana, shall be properly
done," cried Mrs. Falconer, rising with dignity; "and, since you are not
disposed to listen to me, I shall leave you to your own inventions, and go
and write my notes."

"La, mamma! dear mamma! _dear'st_ mamma!" cried the young lady, throwing
her arms round her mother, and stopping her. "You that never change a
muscle of your countenance, how hasty you are with your own Georgiana!--sit
down, and I'll listen patiently!"

Mrs. Falconer seated herself, and Miss Georgiana prepared to listen
patiently, armed with a piece of gold fringe, which she rolled and
unrolled, and held in different lights and varied festoons whilst her
mother spoke, or, as the young lady would say, lectured. Mrs. Falconer was
too well aware of the impracticableness of her daughter's temper to tell
her upon this occasion the whole truth, even if her own habits would have
permitted her to be sincere. She never mentioned to Georgiana that she had
totally given up the scheme of marrying her to Count Altenberg, and that
she was thoroughly convinced there was no chance of her winning him; but,
on the contrary, she represented to the young lady that the Count had only
a transient fancy for Miss Caroline Percy, which would never come to any
serious proposal, unless it was opposed; that in a short time they should
go to town, and the Count, of course, would return with Lord Oldborough:
then the game would be in her own hands, provided, in the mean time,
Georgiana should conduct herself with prudence and temper, and let no
creature see or suspect any sort of anxiety; for that would give such an
advantage against her, and such a triumph to Caroline and her friends, who,
as Mrs. Falconer said, were, no doubt, all on the watch to "interpret," or
misinterpret, "motions, looks, and eyes." "My dear," concluded the mother,
"your play is to show yourself always easy and happy, whatever occurs;
occupied with other things, surrounded by other admirers, and encouraging
them properly--properly of course to pique the jealousy of your Count."

"My Count!" said Georgiana, with half a smile; "but Miss--You say this
fancy of his will pass away--but when? When?"

"You young people always say, '_but when?_' you have no idea of looking
forward: a few months, a year, more or less, what does it signify?
Georgiana, are you in such imminent danger of growing old or ugly?"

Georgiana turned her eyes involuntarily towards the glass, and smiled.

"But, ma'am, you were not in earnest then about getting another Zara."

"The offer I made--the compliments I paid in the note I wrote this morning,
were all necessary to cover your mistakes of the night."

"Made! Wrote!" cried the young lady, with terror in her voice and eyes:
"Good Heavens! mother, what have you done?"

"I had no doubt at the time I wrote," continued Mrs. Falconer, coolly, "I
had no other idea, but that Miss Caroline Percy would decline."

"Oh! ma'am," cried Georgiana, half crying, then stamping with passion, "Oh!
ma'am, how could you imagine, or affect to imagine, that that girl, that
odious girl, who was born to be my plague, with all her affected humility,
would decline?--Decline!--no, she will be transported to come sweeping in,
in gorgeous tragedy--Zara! Marcia! If the whole family can beg or borrow
a dress for her, we are undone--that's our only chance. Oh! mother, what
possessed you to do this?"

"Gently, pretty Passionate, and trust to my judgment in future," putting
into her daughter's hands Mrs. Percy's note.

"Miss Caroline Percy--sorry--out of her power!--Oh! charming!--a fine
escape!" cried Georgiana, delighted. "You may be sure it was for want of
the dress, though, mamma."

"No matter--but about yours, my dear?"

"Oh! yes, ma'am--my dress; that's the only difficulty now."

"I certainly wish you, my darling, to appear well, especially as all the
world will be here: the two Clays--by-the-bye, here's their letter--they
come to-morrow--and in short the whole world; but, as to money, there's but
one way of putting your father into good-humour enough with you to touch
upon that string."

"One way--well, if there be one way--any way."

"Petcalf!"

"Oh! Petcalf is my abhorrence--"

"There is the thing! He was speaking to your father seriously about you,
and your father sounded me: I said you would never agree, and he was quite
displeased--that and Mrs. Sparkes' bill completely overset him. Now, if you
had your wish, Georgiana--what would be your taste, child?"

"My wish! My taste!--Oh! that would be for a delicate, delicate, soft,
sentimental blue satin, with silver fringe, looped with pearl, for my first
act; and in my last--"

"Two dresses! Oh! you extravagant! out of all possibility."

"I am only wishing, telling you my taste, dear mamma. You know there must
be a change of dress, in the last act, for Zara's nuptials--now for my
wedding dress, mamma, my taste would be

'Shine out, appear, be found, my lovely Zara,'

in bridal white and silver. You know, ma'am, I am only supposing."

"Well then, supposition for supposition," replied Mrs. Falconer: "supposing
I let your father hope that you are not _so_ decided to abhor poor
Petcalf--"

"Oh! dear mamma, I am so persecuted about that Petcalf! and compared with
Count Altenberg, my father must be blind, or think me an idiot."

"Oh! between him and the Count there is no comparison, to be sure; but I
forgot to mention, that what your father builds upon is our poor old friend
the general's death--Clay here, in a postscript, you see, mentions the gout
in his stomach--so I am afraid he is as good as gone, as your father says,
and then _The Lodge_ in _Asia Minor_ is certainly a pretty place to sit
down upon if one could do no better."

"But, ma'am, the Count's vast possessions and rank!"

"I grant you all that, my dear; but our present object is the play--Zara's
royal robes cannot be had for nothing, you know--you never listened to my
infallible means of obtaining your wish: I think I can engage that the
commissioner will not refuse us, if you will empower me to say to him, that
by this time twelvemonth, if nothing better offers--mind my _if_--Petcalf
shall be rewarded for his constancy."

"If--Oh! dear me! But before this time twelvemonth the Count--"

"Or one of the Clays might offer, and in that case, my _if_ brings you off
safe with your father."

"Well, then, mamma, upon condition that you will promise me, upon your
word, you will lay a marked emphasis upon your _if_--I believe, for Zara's
sake, I must--"

"I knew you would behave at last like a sensible girl," said Mrs. Falconer:
"I'll go and speak to your father directly."

Mrs. Falconer thus fairly gained her point, by setting Georgiana's passion
for dress against her passion for Count Altenberg; and having, moreover,
under false pretences, extorted from the young lady many promises to keep
her temper prudently, and to be upon the best terms possible with her
rival, the mother went away perfectly satisfied with her own address.

The father was brought to perform his part, not without difficulty--Carte
blanche for Zara's sentimental blue and bridal white robes was obtained,
silver fringe and pearls inclusive: the triumphant Zara rang for the base
confidante of her late distresses--Lydia Sharpe re-entered, with the
four dresses upon sale; but she and her guineas, and the most honourable
appraisers, all were treated with becoming scorn--and as Lydia obeyed her
young lady's orders to replace her clothes in her wardrobe, and never to
think of them more, they suddenly rose in value in her estimation, and
she repented that she had been quite so much of an extortioner. She knew
the difference of her mistress's tone when disappointed or successful,
and guessed that supplies had been obtained by some means or other: "New
dresses, I smell, are the order of the day," said Lydia Sharpe to herself;
"but I'll engage she will want me presently to make them up: so I warrant I
won't come down off my high horse till I see why--Miss Georgiana Falconer,
ma'am, I beg pardon--you are the mistress--I meant only to oblige and
accommodate when called upon--but if I'm not wanted, I'm not wanted--and I
hope ladies will find them that will be more abler and willinger to serve
them."

So saying, half flouncing, half pouting, she retired. Her young mistress,
aware that Lydia's talents and expeditious performance, as a mantua-maker
and a milliner, were essential to the appearance of Zara, suppressed her
own resentment, submitted to her maid's insolence, and brought her into
humour again that night, by a present of the famous white satin.

In due time, consequently, the Turkish dresses were in great forwardness.
Lest we should never get to the play, we forbear to relate all the various
frettings, jealousies, clashing vanities, and petty quarrels, which
occurred between the actresses and their friends, during the getting up
of this piece and its rehearsals. We need mention, only that the seeds of
irreconcileable dislike were sown at this time, between the Miss Falconers
and their dear friends, the Lady Arlingtons: there was some difficulty made
by Lady Anne about lending her diamond crescent for Zara's turban--Miss
Georgiana could never forgive this; and Lady Frances, on her part, was
provoked, beyond measure, by an order from the duke, her uncle, forbidding
her to appear on the stage. She had some reason to suspect that this order
came in consequence of a treacherous hint in a letter of Georgiana's to
Lady Trant, which went round, through Lady Jane Granville to the duke, who
otherwise, as Lady Frances observed, "in the midst of his politics, might
never have heard a word of the matter."

Mrs. Falconer had need of all her power over the muscles of her face,
and all her address, in these delicate and difficult circumstances. Her
daughter Arabella, too, was sullen--the young lady was subject to her
brother John's fits of obstinacy. For some time she could not be brought to
undertake the part of Selima; and no other Selima was to be had. She did
not see why she should condescend to play the confidante for Georgiana's
Zara--why she was to be sacrificed to her sister; and Sir Robert Percy, her
admirer, not even to be invited, because the other Percys were to come.

Mrs. Falconer plied her well with flattery, through Colonel Spandrill; and
at last Arabella was pacified by a promise that the following week "Love
in a Village," or "The Lord of the Manor," should be acted, in which she
should choose her part, and in which her voice and musical talents would
be brought forward--and Sir Robert Percy and his friends should be the
principal auditors.

Recovered, or partly recovered, from her fit of the sullens, she was
prevailed upon to say she would try what she could do in Selima.

The parts were learnt by heart; the dresses, after innumerable alterations,
finished to the satisfaction of the heroes and heroines of the drama.

Their quarrels, and the quarrels of their friends and of their servants,
male and female, were at last hushed to temporary repose, and--the great,
the important day arrived.

The preceding evening, Mrs. Falconer, as she sat quite exhausted in the
green-room, was heard to declare, she was so tired, that she would not go
through the same thing again, for one month, to be Queen of England.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

The theatre at Falconer-court was not very spacious, but it was elegantly
fitted up, extremely well lighted, and had a good effect. There was a
brilliant audience, an excellent band of music, and the whole had a gay and
festive appearance.

The Percy family, as they came from a great distance, were late. The house
was crowded. Mrs. Falconer was obliged to seat Mrs. Percy and her daughters
with the Lady Arlingtons on a bench upon the stage: a conspicuous
situation, which had been reserved for their ladyships.

Every eye instantly turned upon the beautiful Caroline. She bore the gaze
of public admiration with a blushing dignity, which interested every body
in her favour. Count Altenberg, who had anxiously expected the moment of
her arrival, was, however, upon his guard. Knowing that he was watched by
Mrs. Falconer's friends, he was determined that his secret thoughts should
not be seen. One involuntary glance he gave, but immediately withdrew his
eye, and continued his conversation with the gentleman next to him. After
a few moments had elapsed, he could indulge himself in looking at Caroline
unobserved, for the gaze of public admiration is as transient as it is
eager. It is surprising how short a time any face, however beautiful,
engages numbers who meet together to be seen.

The audience were now happily full of themselves, arranging their seats,
and doing civilities to those of their friends who were worthy of notice.

"Lady Trant! won't your ladyship sit in the front row?"

"I'm vastly well, thank you."

"Lady Kew, I am afraid you won't see over my head."

"Oh! I assure you--perfectly--perfectly."

"Colonel Spandrill, I'll trouble you--my shawl."

"Clay, lend me your opera-glass.--How did you leave all at Bath?"

"I'm so glad that General Petcalf's gout in his stomach did not carry him
off--for young Petcalf could not have acted, you know, to-night.--Mrs.
Harcourt is trying to catch your eye, Lady Kew."

All those who were new to the theatre at Falconer-court, or who were not
intimate with the family, were in great anxiety to inform themselves on
one important point, before the prologue should begin. Stretching to those
who were, or had the reputation of being, good authorities, they asked in
whispers, "Do you know if there is to be any clapping of hands?--Can you
tell me whether it is allowable to say any thing?"

It seems that at some private theatres loud demonstrations of applause
were forbidden. It was thought more genteel to approve and admire in
silence,--thus to draw the line between professional actors and actresses,
and gentlemen and lady performers. Upon trial, however, in some instances,
it had been found that the difference was sufficiently obvious, without
marking it by any invidious distinction. Young and old amateurs have
acknowledged, that the silence, however genteel, was so dreadfully awful,
that they preferred even the noise of vulgar acclamations.

The cup of flattery was found so sweet, that objections were no longer made
to swallowing it in public.

The overture finished, the prologue, which was written by Mr. Seebright,
was received with merited applause. And, after a buzz of requests and
promises for copies, the house was silent--the curtain drew up, and the
first appearance of Zara, in the delicate sentimental blue satin, was
hailed with plaudits, long and loud--plaudits which were reiterated at the
end of her first speech, which was, indeed, extremely well recited. Count
Altenberg leaned forward, and seemed to listen with delight; then stood up,
and several times renewed his plaudits; at first, with an appearance of
timidity, afterwards, with decision and energy. Miss Georgiana Falconer
really acted uncommonly well, so that he could without flattery applaud;
and if he did exaggerate a little in the expression of his admiration, he
deemed it allowable. He had another object: he was absolutely determined
to see whether or not Caroline was capable of the mean passions which had
disgusted him in her rival. He reflected that he had seen her only when
she was triumphant; and he was anxious to know how she would appear in
different circumstances. Of her high intellectual endowments he could not
doubt; but temper is not always a blessing given to the fair, or even to
the wise. It may seem strange that a gallant man should think of a beauty's
temper; and, probably, if Count Altenberg had considered Caroline only as
a beauty, he would not have troubled himself to make, on this point, any
severe and dangerous scrutiny.

The play went on--Zara sustaining the interest of the scene. She was but
feebly supported by the sulky Selima, and the other parts were but ill
performed. The faults common to unpractised actors occurred: one of
Osman's arms never moved, and the other sawed the air perpetually, as if
in pure despite of Hamlet's prohibition. Then, in crossing over, Osman was
continually entangled in Zara's robe; or, when standing still, she was
obliged to twitch her train thrice before she could get it from beneath his
leaden feet. When confident that he could repeat a speech fluently, he was
apt to turn his back upon his mistress; or, when he felt himself called
upon to listen to his mistress, he would regularly turn his back upon the
audience. But all these are defects permitted by the licence of a private
theatre, allowable by courtesy to gentlemen-actors; and things went on as
well as could be expected. Osman had not his part by heart, but still Zara
covered all deficiencies: and Osman did no worse than other Osmans had done
before him, till he came to the long speech, beginning with,

"The sultans, my great ancestors, bequeath'd
Their empire to me, but their tastes they gave not."

Powerful prompting got him through the first six lines decently enough,
till he came to

--"wasting tenderness in wild profusion,
I might look down to my surrounded feet,
And bless contending beauties,"

At this he bungled sadly--his hearing suddenly failing as well as his
memory, there was a dead stop. In vain the prompter, the scene-shifter, the
candle-snuffer, as loud as they could, and much louder than they ought,
reiterated the next sentence,

"I might speak,
Serenely slothful."

It was plain that Osman could not speak, nor was he "serene." He had begun,
as in dangers great he was wont, to kick his left ankle-bone rapidly
with his right heel; and through the pomp of Osman's oriental robes and
turban young Petcalf stood confessed. He threw back an angry look at the
prompter--Zara terrified, gave up all for lost--the two Lady Arlingtons
retreated behind the scenes to laugh--the polite audience struggled not
to smile. Count Altenberg at this moment looked at Caroline, who, instead
of joining in the laugh, showed by her countenance and manner the most
good-natured sympathy.

Zara, recovering her presence of mind, swept across the stage in such a
manner as to hide from view her kicking sultan; and as she passed, she
whispered the line to him so distinctly, that he caught the sound, left off
kicking, went on with his speech, and all was well again. Count Altenberg
forgot to join in the cheering plaudits, he was so much charmed at that
instant by Caroline's smile.

Fortunately for Zara, and for the audience, in the next scenes the part
of Lusignan was performed by a gentleman who had been well used to
acting--though he was not a man of any extraordinary capacity, yet, from
his _habit of the boards_, and his being perfect in his part, he now seemed
quite a superior person. It was found unaccountably easier to act with this
son of labour than with any other of the gentlemen-performers, though they
were all natural geniuses.

The moment Zara appeared with Lusignan, her powers shone forth--nothing
spoiled the illusion, the attention of the audience was fixed, their
interest was sustained, their feelings touched. The exercise of the fan
ceased in the front rows, glasses of lemonade were held untasted, and
nobody consulted the play-bill. Excited by success, sympathy, and applause
the most flattering, Zara went on with increasing eclat.

Meanwhile the Percy family, who were quite intent upon the play, began to
find their situation disagreeable from some noise behind the scenes. A
party of ladies, among whom was Lady Frances Arlington, stood whispering so
loud close to Caroline that their voices were heard by her more distinctly
than those of the actors. Lady Frances stood half hid between the side
scenes, holding a little white dog in her arms.

"Hush!" cried her ladyship, putting her fingers on her lips--her companions
became silent instantly. The house was now in profound attention. Zara was
in the midst of her favourite speech,

"Would you learn more, and open all my heart?
Know then that, spite of this renew'd injustice,
I do not--cannot--wish to love you less;
--That long before you look'd so low as Zara,
She gave her heart to Osman."

At the name of _Osman_, the dog started and struggled--Lady Frances
appeared to restrain him, but he ran on the stage--leaped up on Zara--and
at the repetition of the name of _Osman_ sat down on his hind legs, begged
with his fore-paws, and began to whine in such a piteous manner that the
whole audience were on the brink of laughter--Zara, and all her attendants
and friends, lost their presence of mind.

Caroline sprang forward quite across the stage, caught the dog in her arms,
and carried him off. Count Altenberg, no longer master of himself, clapped
his hands, and the whole house resounded with applause.

Miss Georgiana Falconer misunderstood the cause of the plaudits, imagined
that she was _encored_, cast down her eyes, and, as soon as there was
silence, advanced and recommenced her speech, of which Count Altenberg did
not hear one word.

This malicious trick had been contrived by Lady Frances Arlington, to
revenge herself on Miss Georgiana Falconer for having prevented her
from taking a part in the play. Her ladyship had, in the course of the
rehearsals, privately drilled her dog to answer to the name of Osman, when
that name was pronounced in Zara's tragic tone. The dog had been kept out
of the way till Zara was in the midst of that speech in which she calls
repeatedly on the name of Osman. This trick had been so well contrived,
that all but those who were in the secret imagined that the appearance of
the dog at this unlucky moment had been accidental. The truth began indeed
to be soon whispered in confidence.

But to return to Count Altenberg. At the commencement of the play, when
the idea of trying Caroline's temper had occurred to him, he had felt
some anxiety lest all the high expectations he had formed, all the bright
enchantment, should vanish. In the first act, he had begun by joining
timidly in the general applause of Zara, dreading lest Caroline should not
be blessed with that temper which could bear the praises of a rival "with
unwounded ear." But the count applauded with more confidence in the second
act; during the third was quite at his ease; and in the fifth could not
forgive himself for having supposed it possible that Caroline could be
liable to any of the foibles of her sex.