CHAPTER III.
THE REAL ACTORS SPECTATORS TO THE FALSE ONES.
IT was a brilliant night at the theatre. The boxes were crowded to
excess. Every eye was directed towards Lord Bolingbroke, who, with his
usual dignified and consummate grace of manner, conversed with the
various loiterers with whom, from time to time, his box was filled.
"Look yonder," said a very young man, of singular personal beauty, "look
yonder, my Lord, what a panoply of smiles the Duchess wears to-night,
and how triumphantly she directs those eyes, which they say were once so
beautiful, to your box."
"Ah," said Bolingbroke, "her Grace does me too much honour: I must not
neglect to acknowledge her courtesy; "and, leaning over the box,
Bolingbroke watched his opportunity till the Duchess of Marlborough, who
sat opposite to him, and who was talking with great and evidently joyous
vivacity to a tall, thin man, beside her, directed her attention, and
that of her whole party, in a fixed and concentrated stare, to the
imperilled minister. With a dignified smile Lord Bolingbroke then put
his hand to his heart, and bowed profoundly; the Duchess looked a little
abashed, but returned the courtesy quickly and slightly, and renewed her
conversation.
"Faith, my Lord," cried the young gentleman who had before spoken, "you
managed that well! No reproach is like that which we clothe in a smile,
and present with a bow."
"I am happy," said Lord Bolingbroke, "that my conduct receives the grave
support of a son of my political opponent."
"/Grave/ support, my Lord! you are mistaken: never apply the epithet
grave to anything belonging to Philip Wharton. But, in sober earnest, I
have sat long enough with you to terrify all my friends, and must now
show my worshipful face in another part of the house. Count Devereux,
will you come with me to the Duchess's?"
"What! the Duchess's immediately after Lord Bolingbroke's!--the Whig
after the Tory: it would be as trying to one's assurance as a change
from the cold bath to the hot to one's constitution."
"Well, and what so delightful as a trial in which one triumphs? and a
change in which one does not lose even one's countenance?"
"Take care, my Lord," said Bolingbroke, laughing; "those are dangerous
sentiments for a man like you, to whom the hopes of two great parties
are directed, to express so openly, even on a trifle and in a jest."
"'Tis for that reason I utter them. I like being the object of hope and
fear to men, since my miserable fortune made me marry at fourteen, and
cease to be aught but a wedded thing to the women. But sup with me at
the Bedford,--you, my Lord, and the Count."
"And you will ask Walpole, Addison, and Steele,* to join us, eh?" said
Bolingbroke. "No, we have other engagements for to-night; but we shall
meet again soon."
* All political opponents of Lord Bolingbroke.
And the eccentric youth nodded his adieu, disappeared, and a minute
afterwards was seated by the side of the Duchess of Marlborough.
"There goes a boy," said Bolingbroke, "who, at the age of fifteen, has
in him the power to be the greatest man of his day, and in all
probability will only be the most singular. An obstinate man is sure of
doing well; a wavering or a whimsical one (which is the same thing) is
as uncertain, even in his elevation, as a shuttlecock. But look to the
box at the right: do you see the beautiful Lady Mary?"
"Yes," said Mr. Trefusis, who was with us, "she has only just come to
town. 'Tis said she and Ned Montagu live like doves."
"How!" said Lord Bolingbroke; "that quick, restless eye seems to have
very little of the dove in it."
"But how beautiful she is!" said Trefusis, admiringly. "What a pity
that those exquisite hands should be so dirty! It reminds me" (Trefusis
loved a coarse anecdote) "of her answer to old Madame de Noailles, who
made exactly the same remark to her. 'Do you call my hands dirty?'
cried Lady Mary, holding them up with the most innocent /naivete/. 'Ah,
Madame, /si vous pouviez voir mes pieds!'"
"/Fi donc/," said I, turning away; "but who is that very small, deformed
man behind her,--he with the bright black eye?"
"Know you not?" said Bolingbroke; "tell it not in Gath!--'tis a rising
sun, whom I have already learned to worship,--the young author of the
'Essay on Criticism,' and 'The Rape of the Lock.' Egad, the little poet
seems to eclipse us with the women as much as with the men. Do you mark
how eagerly Lady Mary listens to him, even though the tall gentleman in
black, who in vain endeavours to win her attentions, is thought the
handsomest gallant in London? Ah, Genius is paid by smiles from all
females but Fortune; little, methinks, does that young poet, in his
first intoxication of flattery and fame, guess what a lot of contest and
strife is in store for him. The very breath which a literary man
respires is hot with hatred, and the youthful proselyte enters that
career which seems to him so glittering, even as Dame Pliant's brother
in the 'Alchemist' entered town,--not to be fed with luxury, and diet on
pleasure, but 'to learn to quarrel and live by his wits.'"
The play was now nearly over. With great gravity Lord Bolingbroke
summoned one of the principal actors to his box, and bespoke a play for
the next week; leaning then on my arm, he left the theatre. We hastened
to his home, put on our disguises, and, without any adventure worth
recounting, effected our escape and landed safely at Calais.
