Home > Authors Index > Edward Bulwer-Lytton > Godolphin > This page
Godolphin, a novel by Edward Bulwer-Lytton |
||
Chapter 8. Godolphin's Passion For The Stage... |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER VIII. GODOLPHIN'S PASSION FOR THE STAGE.--THE DIFFERENCE IT ENGENDERED IN HIS HABITS OF LIFE
"What a change!" cried both. "The strolling player risen into celebrity!" "And the runaway boy polished into fashion!" "You are handsomer than ever, Fanny." "I return the compliment," replied Fanny; with a curtsey. And now Godolphin became a constant attendant at the theatre. This led him into a mode of life quite different from that which he had lately cultivated. There are in London two sets of idle men: one set, the butterflies of balls; the loungers of the regular walks of society; diners out; the "old familiar faces," seen everywhere, known to every one: the other set, a more wild, irregular, careless race; who go little into parties, and vote balls a nuisance; who live in clubs; frequent theatres; drive about late o' nights in mysterious-looking vehicles and enjoy a vast acquaintance among the Aspasias of pleasure. These are the men who are the critics of theatricals: black-neckclothed and well-booted, they sit in their boxes and decide on the ankles of a dancer or the voice of a singer. They have a smattering of literature, and use a great deal of French in their conversation: they have something of romance in their composition, and have been known to marry for love. In short, there is in their whole nature, a more roving, liberal, Continental character of dissipation, than belongs to the cold, tame, dull, prim, hedge-clipped indolence of more national exquisitism. Into this set, out of the other set, fell young Godolphin; and oh! the merry mornings at actresses' houses; the jovial suppers after the play; the buoyancy, the brilliancy, the esprit, with which the hours, from midnight to cockcrow, were often pelted with rose-leaves and drowned in Rhenish. By degrees, however, as Godolphin warmed into his attendance at the playhouses, the fine intellectual something that lay yet undestroyed at his heart stirred up emotions which he felt his more vulgar associates were unfitted to share. There is that in theatrical representation which perpetually awakens whatever romance belongs to our character. The magic lights; the pomp of scene; the palace, the camp; the forest; the midnight wold; the moonlight reflected on the water; the melody of the tragic rhythm; the grace of the comic wit; the strange art that give such meaning to the poet's lightest word;--the fair, false, exciting life that is detailed before us--crowding into some three little hours all that our most busy ambition could desire--love, enterprise, war, glory! the kindling exaggeration of the sentiments which belong to the stage--like our own in our boldest moments: all these appeals to our finer senses are not made in vain. Our taste for castle-building and visions deepens upon us; and we chew a mental opium which stagnates all the other faculties, but wakens that of the ideal. Godolphin was peculiarly fascinated by the stage; he loved to steal away from his companions, and, alone, and unheeded, to feast his mind on the unreal stream of existence that mirrored images so beautiful. And oh! while yet we are young--while yet the dew lingers on the green leaf of spring--while all the brighter, the more enterprising part of the future is to come--while we know not whether the true life may not be visionary and excited as the false--how deep and rich a transport is it to see, to feel, to hear Shakspeare's conceptions made actual, though all imperfectly, and only for an hour! Sweet Arden! are we in thy forest?--thy "shadowy groves and unfrequented glens"? Rosalind, Jaques, Orlando, have you indeed a being upon earth! Ah! this is true enchantment! and when we turn back to life, we turn from the colours which the Claude glass breathes over a winter's landscape to the nakedness of the landscape itself! _ |
||