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Updated: May 9, 2025
While sitting attendance on the epilogue Mr. Vane had nothing to distract him from the congregation but a sanguinary sermon in five heads, so his eyes roved over the pews, and presently he became aware of a familiar face watching him closely. The gentleman to whom it belonged finding himself recognized left his seat, and a minute later Sir Charles Pomander entered Mr. Vane's box.
She had no desire for the pomander, and did not know why she had bought it. The pedlar said that whoever wore it had the power to read the future; but she did not really believe that, or care much either. However, she bought the thing and took it up to her room, where she sat turning it about in her hand.
He then went on to say that he had only this morning heard that the intimacy between Mrs. Woffington and a Colonel Murthwaite, although publicly broken off for prudential reasons, was still clandestinely carried on. She had, doubtless, slipped away to meet the colonel. Mr. Vane turned pale. "No! I will not suspect. I will not dog her like a bloodhound," cried he. "I will!" said Pomander. "You!
"He has forgotten everything," said the nurse quickly; "'tis the good doctor's pomander, with spices and perfumes in it to avert contagion." "As it warms in the hand the perfumes give forth," said the doctor. "Now the fever is past there must be a fumigatory.
Even on the stage they have nothing in common. They are puppets all attitude and trick; she is all ease, grace and nature." "Nature!" cried Pomander. "Laissez-moi tranquille. They have artifice nature's libel. She has art nature's counterfeit." "Her voice is truth told by music," cried the poetical lover; "theirs are jingling instruments of falsehood."
Diamond cut diamond; a diplomat stole this march upon an actress, and took her black pawn. One for Pomander! TRIPLET, the Cerberus of art, who had the first bark in this legend, and has since been out of hearing, ran from Lambeth to Covent Garden, on receipt of Mr. Vane's note. But ran he never so quick, he had built a full-sized castle in the air before he reached Bow Street.
"You flatter me!" said Pomander, who had had time to recover his aplomb, somewhat shaken, at first, by Mr. Vane's inopportune arrival. Now it is to be observed that Mr. Vane had not long ago seen his wife lying on her bed, to all appearance incapable of motion. Mr. Vane, before Triplet could recover his surprise, inquired of Pomander why he had sent for him.
"I renounce from this hour," he answered in his passion. "I will acknowledge no religion in whose name such things are done. Look me at that scarlet fruit of hell up yonder. See how daintily he sniffs at his pomander lest his saintly nostrils be offended by the exhalations of our misery. Yet are we God's creatures made in God's image like himself. What does he know of God?
He wiped out the public recollection of it to a great extent by his Evelyn in "Money," Sir Charles Pomander in "Masks and Faces," and Claude Melnotte in "The Lady of Lyons," which he played with me at the Princess's Theater for one night only in the August following the withdrawal of "The Merchant of Venice."
"My poor children!" cried Woffington, and hard to grown-up actors, as she called us, but sensitive to children, she fairly melted as she embraced them. It was at this precise juncture that the door was unceremoniously opened, and the two gentlemen burst upon the scene! My reader now guesses whom Sir Charles Pomander surprised more than he did Mrs. Woffington.
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