16. A LARGE PUBLIC HALL
It was the second week in February, Parliament had just met, andEthelberta appeared for the first time before an audience in London.
There was some novelty in the species of entertainment that the activeyoung woman had proposed to herself, and this doubtless had due effect incollecting the body of strangers that greeted her entry, over and abovethose friends who came to listen to her as a matter of course. Men andwomen who had become totally indifferent to new actresses, new readers,and new singers, once more felt the freshness of curiosity as theyconsidered the promise of the announcement. But the chief inducement toattend lay in the fact that here was to be seen in the flesh a woman withwhom the tongue of rumour had been busy in many romantic ways--a womanwho, whatever else might be doubted, had certainly produced a volume ofverses which had been the talk of the many who had read them, and of themany more who had not, for several consecutive weeks.
What was her story to be? Persons interested in the inquiry--a smallproportion, it may be owned, of the whole London public, and chieflyyoung men--answered this question for themselves by assuming that itwould take the form of some pungent and gratifying revelation of theinnermost events of her own life, from which her gushing lines had sprungas an inevitable consequence, and which being once known, would causesuch musical poesy to appear no longer wonderful.
The front part of the room was well filled, rows of listeners showingthemselves like a drilled-in crop of which not a seed has failed. Theywere listeners of the right sort, a majority having noses of theprominent and dignified type, which when viewed in oblique perspectiveranged as regularly as bow-windows at a watering place. Ethelberta'splan was to tell her pretended history and adventures while sitting in achair--as if she were at her own fireside, surrounded by a circle offriends. By this touch of domesticity a great appearance of truth andnaturalness was given, though really the attitude was at first moredifficult to maintain satisfactorily than any one wherein stricterformality should be observed. She gently began her subject, as ifscarcely knowing whether a throng were near her or not, and, in her fearof seeming artificial, spoke too low. This defect, however, she sooncorrected, and ultimately went on in a charmingly colloquial manner. WhatEthelberta relied upon soon became evident. It was not upon theintrinsic merits of her story as a piece of construction, but upon hermethod of telling it. Whatever defects the tale possessed--and they werenot a few--it had, as delivered by her, the one pre-eminent merit ofseeming like truth. A modern critic has well observed of De Foe that hehad the most amazing talent on record for telling lies; and Ethelberta,in wishing her fiction to appear like a real narrative of personaladventure, did wisely to make De Foe her model. His is a style evenbetter adapted for speaking than for writing, and the peculiarities ofdiction which he adopts to give verisimilitude to his narratives acquiredenormous additional force when exhibited as viva-voce mannerisms. Andalthough these artifices were not, perhaps, slavishly copied from thatmaster of feigning, they would undoubtedly have reminded her hearers ofhim, had they not mostly been drawn from an easeful section in societywhich is especially characterized by the mental condition of knowingnothing about any author a week after they have read him. The few therewho did remember De Foe were impressed by a fancy that his words greetedthem anew in a winged auricular form, instead of by the weaker channelsof print and eyesight. The reader may imagine what an effect this well-studied method must have produced when intensified by a clear, livingvoice, animated action, and the brilliant and expressive eye of ahandsome woman--attributes which of themselves almost compelled belief.When she reached the most telling passages, instead of adding exaggeratedaction and sound, Ethelberta would lapse to a whisper and a sustainedstillness, which were more striking than gesticulation. All that couldbe done by art was there, and if inspiration was wanting nobody missedit.
It was in performing this feat that Ethelberta seemed first to discoverin herself the full power of that self-command which further onward inher career more and more impressed her as a singular possession, until atlast she was tempted to make of it many fantastic uses, leading toresults that affected more households than her own. A talent fordemureness under difficulties without the cold-bloodedness which renderssuch a bearing natural and easy, a face and hand reigning unmoved outsidea heart by nature turbulent as a wave, is a constitutional arrangementmuch to be desired by people in general; yet, had Ethelberta been framedwith less of that gift in her, her life might have been more comfortableas an experience, and brighter as an example, though perhaps duller as astory.
'Ladywell, how came this Mrs. Petherwin to think of such a queer trick astelling romances, after doing so well as a poet?' said a man in thestalls to his friend, who had been gazing at the Story-teller with a raptface.
'What--don't you know?--everybody did, I thought,' said the painter.
'A mistake. Indeed, I should not have come here at all had I not heardthe subject mentioned by accident yesterday at Grey's; and then Iremembered her to be the same woman I had met at some place--Belmaine's Ithink it was--last year, when I thought her just getting on for handsomeand clever, not to put it too strongly.'
'Ah! naturally you would not know much,' replied Ladywell, in an eagerwhisper. 'Perhaps I am judging others by myself a little more than--but,as you have heard, she is an acquaintance of mine. I know her very well,and, in fact, I originally suggested the scheme to her as a pleasant wayof adding to her fame. "Depend upon it, dear Mrs. Petherwin," I said,during a pause in one of our dances together some time ago, "any publicappearance of yours would be successful beyond description."'
'O, I had no idea that you knew her so well! Then it is quite throughyou that she has adopted this course?'
'Well, not entirely--I could not say entirely. She said that some day,perhaps, she might do such a thing; and, in short, I reduced her vagueideas to form.'
'I should not mind knowing her better--I must get you to throw ustogether in some way,' said Neigh, with some interest. 'I had no ideathat you were such an old friend. You could do it, I suppose?'
'Really, I am afraid--hah-hah--may not have the opportunity of obligingyou. I met her at Wyndway, you know, where she was visiting with LadyPetherwin. It was some time ago, and I cannot say that I have ever mether since.'
'Or before?' said Neigh.
'Well--no; I never did.'
'Ladywell, if I had half your power of going to your imagination forfacts, I would be the greatest painter in England.'
'Now Neigh--that's too bad--but with regard to this matter, I do speakwith some interest,' said Ladywell, with a pleased sense of himself.
'In love with her?--Smitten down?--Done for?'
'Now, now! However, several other fellows chaff me about her. It wasonly yesterday that Jones said--'
'Do you know why she cares to do this sort of thing?'
'Merely a desire for fame, I suppose.'
'I should think she has fame enough already.'
'That I can express no opinion upon. I am thinking of getting herpermission to use her face in a subject I am preparing. It is a fineface for canvas. Glorious contour--glorious. Ah, here she is again, forthe second part.'
'Dream on, young fellow. You'll make a rare couple!' said Neigh, with aflavour of superciliousness unheeded by his occupied companion.
Further back in the room were a pair of faces whose keen interest in theperformance contrasted much with the languidly permissive air of those infront. When the ten minutes' break occurred, Christopher was the firstof the two to speak. 'Well, what do you think of her, Faith?' he said,shifting restlessly on his seat.
'I like the quiet parts of the tale best, I think,' replied the sister;'but, of course, I am not a good judge of these things. How still thepeople are at times! I continually take my eyes from her to look at thelisteners. Did you notice the fat old lady in the second row, with hercloak a little thrown back? She was absolutely unconscious, and stayedwith her face up and lips parted
like a little child of six.'
'She well may! the thing is a triumph. That fellow Ladywell is here, Ibelieve--yes, it is he, busily talking to the man on his right. If Iwere a woman I would rather go donkey-driving than stick myself up there,for gaping fops to quiz and say what they like about! But she had nochoice, poor thing; for it was that or nothing with her.'
Faith, who had secret doubts about the absolute necessity of Ethelberta'sappearance in public, said, with remote meanings, 'Perhaps it is notaltogether a severe punishment to her to be looked at by well-dressedmen. Suppose she feels it as a blessing, instead of an affliction?'
'She is a different sort of woman, Faith, and so you would say if youknew her. Of course, it is natural for you to criticize her severelyjust now, and I don't wish to defend her.'
'I think you do a little, Kit.'
'No; I am indifferent about it all. Perhaps it would have been betterfor me if I had never seen her; and possibly it might have been betterfor her if she had never seen me. She has a heart, and the heart is atroublesome encumbrance when great things have to be done. I wish youknew her: I am sure you would like each other.'
'O yes,' said Faith, in a voice of rather weak conviction. 'But, as welive in such a plain way, it would be hardly desirable at present.'
* * * * *
Ethelberta being regarded, in common with the latest conjurer, spirit-medium, aeronaut, giant, dwarf or monarch, as a new sensation, she wasduly criticized in the morning papers, and even obtained a notice in someof the weekly reviews.
'A handsome woman,' said one of these, 'may have her own reasons forcausing the flesh of the London public to creep upon its bones by herundoubtedly remarkable narrative powers; but we question if much good canresult from such a form of entertainment. Nevertheless, some praise isdue. We have had the novel-writer among us for some time, and the novel-reader has occasionally appeared on our platforms; but we believe thatthis is the first instance on record of a Novel-teller--one, that is tosay, who relates professedly as fiction a romantic tale which has neverbeen printed--the whole owing its chief interest to the method wherebythe teller identifies herself with the leading character in the story.'
Another observed: 'When once we get away from the magic influence of thestory-teller's eye and tongue, we perceive how improbable, evenimpossible, is the tissue of events to which we have been listening withso great a sense of reality, and we feel almost angry with ourselves athaving been the victims of such utter illusion.'
'Mrs. Petherwin's personal appearance is decidedly in her favour,' saidanother. 'She affects no unconsciousness of the fact that form andfeature are no mean vehicles of persuasion, and she uses the powers ofeach to the utmost. There spreads upon her face when in repose an air ofinnocence which is charmingly belied by the subtlety we discover beneathit when she begins her tale; and this amusing discrepancy between herphysical presentment and the inner woman is further illustrated by themisgiving, which seizes us on her entrance, that so impressionable a ladywill never bear up in the face of so trying an audience. . . . Thecombinations of incident which Mrs. Petherwin persuades her hearers thatshe has passed through are not a little marvellous; and if what isrumoured be true, that the tales are to a great extent based upon her ownexperiences, she has proved herself to be no less daring in adventurethan facile in her power of describing it.'