Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 162: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

_ ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. Grace flattered himself that he was no mean dis- ciple of the samie art as that in which the great professor was so wondrous a proficient. If he had chosen that character in reference to his own spare lean figure, he certainly selected a part that in his physical capacity he was well able to represent ; and truth compels me to declare that he looked in- significant enough: for the light of true genius which was wont to beam in the strange dark eyes of Paganini, and shed such a wild lustre over his pale countenance, was utterly wanting in respect to the Duke of Ardleigh. The Duchess repre- sented Catharine de Medici; and she had studied the appropriate costume with the most exquisite taste, while its gorgeous richness set off the fine shape to the most splendid advantage, and rendered her natural queenly beauty all the more dazzling and imposing. Close behind the Duke of Ardleigh was an individual dressed as a Beef-eater, and with a mask upon his countenance. By the stoutness of his person, his stature and his shape, and his sycophantic proximity to the Duke, I had no dif- ficulty in comprehending that this was Mr. Pease- blossom. The ducal host and hostess were stationed near the entrance of the brilliantly lighted saloon, so that they might welcome their guests as they flowed into that magnificent apartment. The Duchess bowed in an affable manner: but the Duke had some passing joke for every wearer of a costume that peculiarly struck his fancy. Thus, when I made my appearance, his Grace said, ‘‘ You shall tell my fortune, red-cloaked dame, before the evening is finished Shan’t she, Pease v But here he stopped short, as he haif turned round towards his toady who stood behind him: for the Duchess threw upon her husband a look which was as much as to warn him against men- tioning any names. Wandering about the saloon, I carried the white rose as if listlessly in my hand: but I anxiously awaited the momert when I should receive the promised information from the Marquis of Dal- rymple. There was a superb band in the orchestra; and the rich sounds of its music went rolling and swelling through the spacious saloon. The guests kept pouring in with rapidity, and the dancing soon commenced. When the gentlemen were choosing partners, I purposely kept myself aloof to avoid a solicitation for my hand, as I did not wish to mingle in the actual amusements of the evening, nor to delay the moment when the Mar- quis of Dalrymple might accost me with the ex- pected intelligence. But as I was seated in a remote corner, a gentleman dressed as a Spanish Cavalier of the sixteenth century, accosted me,— saying in the accustomed tone of masquerading familiarity and Jadinage, “The promptings of my heart convince me that the garb of the old Nor- wood Gipsy conceals a lovely face and a beautiful figure. Will you not, therefore, most fair reader of the future, bestow your hand for the nonce upon Don Leon Cortez of Estremadura ?” I could not possibly refuse; and I was moreover seized with curiosity, for it struck me that the voice, though evidently feigned, was not unfamiliar to my ears. Indeed, a strange suspicion had en- tered into my mind; and as I contemplated the height and symmetry of Don Leon Cortez, that suspicion was strengthenec. In short I became 148 convinced that this was none other than Lora Frederick Ravenscliffe who was leading me to the dance. But so well was his countenance concealed by the mask—so completely was its configuration disguised by the false whiskers and the pointed beard—so entirely were his natural gestures lost in the graceful swaggering of the half proud, half elegant hidalgo—that I was still wrapped in un- certainty as to the truth of my suspicion. I how- ever resolved to be entirely on my guard, and to alter the tones of my voice to the extent of my power. “When the time for unmasking shall arriye,” said my partner, after a few common-place obser- vations, “my prescience will be justified by the revelation of a beautiful face from behind that- vizard. And perhaps,” he continued, contem- plating me earnestly through the holes of his own mask, “ the coarse black gipsy hair will give place to Hyperion ringlets of auburn or of chestnut.” I was now convinced that this. was really Lord Frederick Ravensclife; for he had fully betrayed himself by some of the inflections of his voice. But I saw that he had not the remotest suspicion who I really was;—as indeed how could he enter- tain any such idea? how could he suppose: that I should be amongst the brilliant guests at the ducal house of Ardleigh? I made some observation in answer to his badinage, but in a voice completely feigned; and I was likewise careful to keep my looks averted as much as possible, “T overheard the Duke tell you, most beaut#ul of gipsies,” he continued, “that in the course of the evening you should tell his Grace his fortune. May I hope that for me likewise you will exercise your powers of penetrating into futurity P” “Tt is my vocation—and I must fulfil it,” I answered. ‘ But wherefore do your eyes wander around the room?” I continued. “Do you seek for some one to whom your vows are plighted P Methinks that she who has the greatest claim upon. your heart will not meet you here to- night.” Lord Frederick started visibly; and I could judge what was passing in his mind. He doubt- less wondered whether this was mere randon badi- nage on my part—or whether it had a certain significancy pointing towards the secret which lay in the profundities of his guilty conscience. But the circumstances of the dance temporarily inter- rupted our conversation; and when there was an opportunity for renewing it, Lord Frederick said in a light gay tone, “ Your steps and your move- ments are replete with gliding grace. The gipsy who would seem threescore, is yet a young lady in her teens.” “And if it be so,’ I answered, “is not this a scene for innocent deceptionsP And in that re- spect it is far from being an epitome of the great world which lies beyond these walls.” “There is satire in your words, most inscrutable gipsy,” responded Lord Frederick: and again I could distinguish that he was a prey to more or less uneasiness or uncertainty. “Not satire,” [- rejoined: “I only spoke the truth. Would it not be better if our deeds in that great world to which I am alluding, were so little fraught with cause for self-reproach, that they left our hearts all the more free to enjoy the unmixed delight of such recreative scenes ag this ?” CORNICLOO@ 6S Com