CHAPTER XXXI. "UPSTAIRS INTO THE WORLD"
It will be difficult, my dears, without bulging this history out of allproportion, to give you a just notion of the society into which I fellafter John Paul left London. It was, above all, a gaming society.From that prying and all-powerful God of Chance none, great or small,escaped. Guineas were staked and won upon frugal King George and hisbeef and barley-water; Charles Fox and his debts; the intrigues ofChoiseul and the Du Barry and the sensational marriage of the Dued'Orleans with Madame de Montesson (for your macaroni knew his Parisas well as his London); Lord March and his opera singer; and eventhe doings of Betty, the apple-woman of St. James's Street, and thebeautiful barmaid of Nando's in whom my Lord Thurlow was said to beinterested. All these, and much more not to be repeated, were duly setdown in the betting-books at White's and Brooks's.
Then the luxury of the life was something to startle a provincial, eventho' he came, as did I, from one of the two most luxurious coloniesof the thirteen. Annapolis might be said to be London on a smallscale,--but on a very small scale. The historian of the future need lookno farther than our houses (if any remain), to be satisfied that we hadmore than the necessities of existence. The Maryland aristocrat with histown place and his country place was indeed a parallel of the patricianat home. He wore his English clothes, drove and rode his English horses,and his coaches were built in Long Acre. His heavy silver service camefrom Fleet Street, and his claret and Champagne and Lisbon and Madeirawere the best that could be bought or smuggled. His sons were ofteneducated at home, at Eton or Westminster and Oxford or Cambridge.So would I have been if circumstances had permitted. So was JamesFotheringay, the eldest of the family, and later the Dulany boys, andhalf a dozen others I might mention. And then our ladies! 'Tis butnecessary to cite my Aunt Caroline as an extreme dame of fashion, whohad her French hairdresser, Piton.
As was my aunt to the Duchess of Kingston, so was Annapolis to London.To depict the life of Mayfair and of St. James's Street during a seasonabout the year of grace 1770 demands a mightier pen than wields thewriter of these simple memoirs.
And who was responsible for all this luxury and laxity? Who but thegreat Mr. Pitt, then the Earl of Chatham, whose wise policy had madeBritain the ruler of the world, and rich beyond compare. From allcorners of the earth her wealth poured in upon her. Nabob and Caribbeecame from East and West to spend their money in the capital. Andfortunes near as great were acquired by the City merchants themselves.One by one these were admitted within that charmed circle, whose mottofor ages had been "No Trade," to leaven it with their gold. And to keepthe pace,--nay, to set it, the nobility and landed gentry were sorepressed. As far back as good Queen Anne, and farther, their ancestorshad gamed and tippled away the acres; and now that John and William,whose forebears had been good tenants for centuries, were setting theirfaces to Liverpool and Birmingham and Leeds, their cottages were empty.So Lord and Squire went to London to recuperate, and to get their shareof the game running. St. James's Street and St. Stephen's became theirpreserves. My Lord wormed himself into a berth in the Treasury, robbedthe country systematically for a dozen of years, and sold the placesand reversions under him to the highest bidder. Boroughs were to behad somewhat dearer than a pair of colours. And my Lord spent hisspare time--he had plenty of it--in fleecing the pigeons at White'sand Almack's. Here there was no honour, even amongst thieves. And younggentlemen were hurried through Eton and Oxford, where they learnedto drink and swear and to call a main as well as to play tennis andbilliards and to write Latin, and were thrust into Brooks's beforethey knew the difference in value between a farthing and a banknote: atnineteen they were hardened rake, or accomplished men of the world, orboth. Dissipated noblemen of middle age like March and Sandwich, witsand beaus and fine gentlemen like Selwyn and Chesterfield and Walpole,were familiarly called by their first names by youngsters like Fox andCarlisle and Comyn. Difference of age was no difference. Young LordCarlisle was the intimate of Mr. Selwyn, born thirty years before him.
And whilst I am speaking of intimacies, that short one which sprangup between me and the renowned Charles Fox has always seemed the mostunaccountable: not on my part, for I fell a victim to him at once. Penand paper, brush and canvas, are wholly inadequate to describe thecharm of the man. When he desired to please, his conversation and theexpression of his face must have moved a temperament of stone itself.None ever had more devoted friends or more ardent admirers. They saw hisfaults, which he laid bare before them, but they settled his debts againand again, vast sums which he lost at Newmarket and at Brooks's. And notmany years after the time of which I now write Lord Carlisle was payingfifteen hundred a year on the sum he had loaned him, cheerfully denyinghimself the pleasures of London as a consequence.
It was Mr. Fox who discovered for me my lodgings in Dover Street, vowingthat I could not be so out of fashion as to live at an inn. The briefhistory of these rooms, as given by him, was this: "A young cub hadowned them, whose mamma had come up from Berkshire on Thursday, beat himsoundly on Friday, paid his debts on Saturday, and had taken him backon Sunday to hunt with Sir Henry the rest of his life." Dorothy came oneday with her mother and swept through my apartments, commanded all thefurniture to be moved about, ordered me to get pictures for the walls,and by one fell decree abolished all the ornaments before the landlady,used as she was to the ways of quality, had time to gasp.
"Why, Richard," says my lady, "you will be wanting no end of prettythings to take back to Maryland when you go. You shall come with meto-morrow to Mr. Josiah Wedgwood's, to choose some of them."
"Dorothy!" says her mother, reprovingly.
"And he must have the Chippendale table I saw yesterday at theexhibition, and chairs to match. And every bachelor should have a punchbowl--Josiah has such a beauty!"
But I am running far ahead. Among the notes with which my table wasladen, Banks had found a scrawl. This I made out with difficulty toconvey that Mr. Fox was not attending Parliament that day. If Mr. Carvelwould do him the honour of calling at his lodging, over Mackie's ItalianWarehouse in Piccadilly, at four o'clock, he would take great pleasurein introducing him at Brooks's Club. In those days 'twas far better fora young gentleman of any pretensions to remain at home than go to Londonand be denied that inner sanctuary,--the younger club at Almack's. Manythe rich brewer's son has embittered his life because it was not givenhim to see more than the front of the house from the far side of PallMall. But to be taken there by Charles Fox was an honour falling to few.I made sure that Dolly was at the bottom of it.
Promptly at four I climbed the stairs and knocked at Mr. Fox's door.The Swiss who opened it shook his head dubiously when I asked for hismaster, and said he had not been at home that day.
"But I had an appointment to meet him," I said, thinking it verystrange.
The man's expression changed.
"An appointment, sir! Ah, sir, then you are to step in here." And to myvast astonishment he admitted me into a small room at one side ofthe entrance. It was bare as poverty, and furnished with benches, andnothing more. On one of these was seated a person with an unmistakablenose and an odour of St. Giles's, who sprang to his feet and then satdown again dejectedly. I also sat down, wondering what it could mean,and debating whether to go or stay.
"Exguse me, your honour," said the person, "but haf you seen MisterFox?"
I said that I, too, was waiting for him, whereat he cast at me acunning look beyond my comprehension. Surely, I thought, a man of Fox'sinherited wealth and position could not be living in such a place!Before the truth and humour of the situation had dawned upon me, I hearda ringing voice without, swearing in most forcible English, and the doorwas thrown open, admitting a tall young gentleman, as striking as I haveever seen. He paid not the smallest attention to the Jew, who was bowingand muttering behind me.
"Mr. Richard Carvel?" said he, with a merry twinkle in his eye.
I bowed.
"Gad's life, Mr. Carvel, I'm deuced sorry this should have happened.Will you come w
ith me?"
"Exguse me, your honour!" cried the other visitor.
"Now, what the plague, Aaron!" says he; "you wear out the stairs. Cometo-morrow, or the day after."
"Ay, 'tis always 'to-morrow' with you fine gentlemen. But I vill bringthe bailiffs, so help me--"
"Damn 'em!" says the tall young gentleman, as he slammed the door and soshut off the wail. "Damn 'em, they worry Charles to death. If he wouldonly stick to quinze and picquet, and keep clear of the hounds*, he neednever go near a broker."
[*"The "hounds," it appears, were the gentlemen of sharp practices at White's and Almack's.--D. C. C.]
"Do you have Jews in America, Mr. Carvel?" Without waiting foran answer, he led me through a parlour, hung with pictures, andbewilderingly furnished with French and Italian things, and Japan andChina ware and bronzes, and cups and trophies. "My name is Fitzpatrick,Mr. Carvel,--yours to command, and Charles's. I am his ally for offenceand defence. We went to school together," he explained simply.
His manner was so free, and yet so dignified, as to charm me completely.For I heartily despised all that fustian trumpery of the age. Then camea voice from beyond, calling:--
"That you, Carvel? Damn that fellow Eiffel, and did he thrust you intothe Jerusalem Chamber?"
"The Jerusalem Chamber!" I exclaimed.
"Where I keep my Israelites," said he; "but, by Gad's life! I think theyare one and all descended from Job, and not father Abraham at all. Hemust have thought me cursed ascetic, eh, Fitz? Did you find the bencheshard? I had 'em made hard as the devil. But if they were of stone, I vowthe flock could find their own straw to sit on."
"Curse it, Charles," cut in Mr. Fitzpatrick, in some temper, "can't yoube serious for once! He would behave this way, Mr. Carvel, if he werebeing shriven by the Newgate ordinary before a last carting to Tyburn.Charles, Charles, it was Aaron again, and the dog is like to snap atlast. He is talking of bailiffs. Take my advice and settle with him.Hold Cavendish off another fortnight and settle with him."
Mr. Fox's reply was partly a laugh, and the rest of it is not to beprinted. He did not seem in the least to mind this wholesale disclosureof his somewhat awkward affairs. And he continued to dress, or to bedressed, alternately swearing at his valet and talking to Fitzpatrickand to me.
"You are both of a name," said he. "Let a man but be called Richard, andI seem to take to him. I' faith, I like the hunchback king, and believeour friend Horry Walpole is right in defending him, despite Davie Hume.I vow I shall like you, Mr. Carvel."
I replied that I certainly hoped so.
"Egad, you come well enough recommended," he said, pulling on hisbreeches. "No, Eiffel, cursed if I go en petit maitre to-day. How doesthat strike you for a demi saison, Mr. Buckskin? I wore three of 'emthrough the customs last year, and March's worked olive nightgown tuckedunder my greatcoat, and near a dozen pairs of shirts and stockings. Andeach of my servants had on near as much. O Lud, we were amazing-likebeef-eaters or blower pigeons. Sorry you won't meet my brother,--he thatwill have the title. He's out of town."
Going on in this discursory haphazard way while he dressed, he made mefeel much at home. For the young dictator--so Mr. Fitzpatrick informedme afterward--either took to you or else he did not, and stood upon noceremony. After he had chosen a coat with a small pattern and his feethad been thrust into the little red shoes with the high heels, importedby him from France, he sent for a hackney-chaise. And the three of usdrove together to Pall Mall. Mr. Brooks was at the door, and bowed fromhis hips as we entered.
"A dozen vin de Graves, Brooks!" cries Mr. Fox, and ushers me intoa dining room, with high curtained windows and painted ceiling, andchandeliers throwing a glitter of light. There, at a long table,surrounded by powdered lackeys, sat a bevy of wits, mostly in blue andsilver, with point ruffles, to match Mr. Fox's costume. They greetedmy companions uproariously. It was "Here's Charles at last!" "Howdy,Charles!" "Hello, Richard!" and "What have you there? a new Caribbee?"They made way for Mr. Fox at the head of the table, and he took the seatas though it were his right.
"This is Mr. Richard Carvel, gentlemen, of Carvel Hall, in Maryland."
They stirred with interest when my name was called, and most of themturned in their chairs to look at me. I knew well the reason, and feltmy face grow hot. Although you may read much of the courtesy of thatage, there was a deal of brutal frankness among young men of fashion.
"Egad, Charles, is this he the Beauty rescued from Castle Yard?"
A familiar voice relieved my embarrassment.
"Give the devil his due, Bully. You forget that I had a hand in that."
"Faith, Jack Comyn," retorted the gentleman addressed, "you're alreadyfamous for clinging to her skirt."
"But cling to mine, Bully, and we'll all enter the temple together. ButI bid you welcome, Richard," said his Lordship; "you come with two ofthe most delightful vagabonds in the world."
Mr. Fox introduced me in succession to Colonel St. John, known in St.James's Street as the Baptist; to my Lord Bolingbroke, ColonelSt. John's brother, who was more familiarly called Bully; to Mr.Fitzpatrick's brother, the Earl of Upper Ossory, who had come up toLondon, so he said, to see a little Italian dance at the Garden; toGilly Williams; to Sir Charles Bunbury, who had married Lady SarahLennox, Fox's cousin, the beauty who had come so near to being queen ofall England; to Mr. Storer, who was at once a Caribbee and a Crichton;to Mr. Uvedale Price. These I remember, but there are more that escapeme. Most good-naturedly they drank my health in Charles's vin de grave,at four shillings the bottle; and soon I was astonished to find myselflaunched upon the story of my adventures, which they had besought meto tell them. When I had done, they pledged me again, and, beginning tofeel at home, I pledged them handsomely in return. Then the conversationbegan. The like of it I have never heard anywhere else in the world.There was a deal that might not be written here, and a deal more thatmight, to make these pages sparkle. They went through the meetings, ofcourse, and thrashed over the list of horses entered at Ipswich, andYork, and Newmarket, and how many were thought to be pulled. Thenfollowed the recent gains and losses of each and every individual ofthe company. After that there was a roar of merriment over Mr.Storer cracking mottoes with a certain Lady Jane; and how youngLord Stavordale, on a wager, tilted the candles and set fire to thedrawing-room at Lady Julia's drum, the day before. Mr. Price told of therage Topham Beauclerk had got Dr. Johnson into, by setting down a markfor each oyster the sage had eaten, and showing him the count. But Mr.Fox, who was the soul of the club, had the best array of any. He relatedhow he had gone post from Paris to Lyons, to order, among other things,an embroidered canary waistcoat for George Selwyn from Jabot. "' Etquel dessin, monsieur?' 'Beetles and frogs, in green.' 'Escargots!grenouilles!' he cries, with a shriek; 'Et pour Monsieur Selwyn!Monsieur Fox badine!' It came yesterday, by Crawford, and I sent it toChesterfield Street in time for George to wear to the Duchess's. He hasbeen twice to Piccadilly after me, and twice here, and swears he willhave my heart. And I believe he is now gone to Matson in a funk."
After that they fell upon politics. I knew that Mr. Fox was alreadynear the head of the King's party, and that he had just received asubstantial reward at his Majesty's hands; and I went not far to guessthat every one of these easy-going, devil-may-care macaronies was afollower or sympathizer with Lord North's policy. But what I heard wasa revelation indeed. I have dignified it by calling it politics. All wasfrankness here amongst friends. There was no attempt made to gloss overugly transactions with a veneer of morality. For this much I honouredthem. But irresistibly there came into my mind the grand and simplecharacters of our own public men in America, and it made me shudder tothink that, while they strove honestly for our rights, this was the typewhich opposed them. Motives of personal spite and of personal gain werelaid bare, and even the barter and sale of offices of trust took placebefore my very eyes. I was silent, though my tongue burned me, until oneof the gentlemen, thinking me neglected, said:
"What a-deuce is to be don
e with those unruly countrymen of yours, Mr.Carvel? Are they likely to be pacified now that we have taken off allexcept the tea? You who are of our party must lead a sorry life amongthem. Tell me, do they really mean to go as far as rebellion?"
The blood rushed to my face.
"It is not a question of tea, sir," I answered hotly; "nor yet oftuppence. It is a question of principle, which means more to Englishmenthan life itself. And we are Englishmen."
I believe I spoke louder than I intended, for a silence followed mywords. Fox glanced at Comyn, who of all of them at the table was notsmiling, and said:
"I thought you came of a loyalist family, Mr. Carvel."
"King George has no more loyal servants than the Americans, Mr. Fox, bethey Tory or Whig. And he has but to read our petitions to discover it,"I said.
I spoke calmly, but my heart was thumping with excitement andresentment. The apprehension of the untried is apt to be sharp atsuch moments, and I looked for them to turn their backs upon me for animpertinent provincial. Indeed, I think they would have, all save Comyn,had it not been for Fox himself. He lighted a pipe, smiled, and beganeasily, quite dispassionately, to address me.
"I wish you would favour us with your point of view, Mr. Carvel," saidhe; "for, upon my soul, I know little about the subject."
"You know little about the subject, and you in Parliament!"
I cried.
This started them all to laughing. Why, I did not then understand. But Iwas angry enough.
"Come, let's have it!" said he.
They drew their chairs closer, some wearing that smile of superioritywhich to us is the Englishman's most maddening trait. I did not stopto think twice, or to remember that I was pitted against the greatestdebater in all England. I was to speak that of which I was full, and theheart's argument needs no logic to defend it. If it were my last word, Iwould pronounce it.
I began by telling them that the Americans had paid their share of theFrench war, in blood and money, twice over. And I had the figures in mymemory. Mr. Fox interrupted. For ten minutes at a space he spoke, andin all my life I have never talked to a man who had the English of KingJames's Bible, of Shakespeare, and Milton so wholly at his command.And his knowledge of history, his classical citations, confounded me.I forgot myself in wondering how one who had lived so fast had acquiredsuch learning. Afterward, when I tried to recall what he said, I laughedat his surprising ignorance of the question at issue, and wondered wheremy wits could have gone that I allowed myself to be dazzled and turnedaside at every corner. As his speech came faster he twisted fact intofiction and fiction into fact, until I must needs close my mind and boltthe shutters of it, or he had betrayed me into confessing the rightof Parliament to quarter troops among us. Though my head swam, I clungdoggedly to my text. And that was my salvation. He grew more excited,and they applauded him. In truth, I myself felt near to clapping. Andthen, as I stared him in the eye, marvelling how a man of such vastpower and ability could stand for such rotten practices, the thoughtcame to me (I know not whence) of Saint Paul the Apostle.
"Mr. Fox," I said, when he had paused, "before God, do you believe whatyou are saying?"
I saw them smiling at my earnestness and simplicity. Fox seemedsurprised, and laughed evasively,--not heartily as was his wont.
"My dear Mr. Carvel," he said, glancing around the circle, politicalprinciples are not to be swallowed like religion, but taken rather likemedicine, experimentally. If they agree with you, very good. If not,drop them and try others. We are always ready to listen to remedies,here."
"Ay, if they agree with you!" I exclaimed. "But food for one is poisonfor another. Do you know what you are doing? You are pushing homeinjustice and tyranny to the millions, for the benefit of the thousands.For is it not true, gentlemen, that the great masses of England areagainst the measures you impose upon us? Their fight is our fight. Theyare no longer represented in Parliament; we have never been. Taxationwithout representation is true of your rotten boroughs as well as ofyour vast colonies. You are helping the King to crush freedom abroad inorder that he may the more easily break it at home. You are committing acrime.
"I tell you we would give up all we own were the glory or honour ofEngland at stake. And yet you call us rebels, and accuse us of meannessand of parsimony. If you wish money, leave the matter to our colonialassemblies, and see how readily you will get it. But if you wish war,persist in trying to grind the spirit from a people who have in themthe pride of your own ancestors. Yes, you are estranging the colonies,gentlemen. A greater man than I has warned you"
And with that I rose, believing that I had given them all mortaloffence. To my astonishment several got to their feet in front of me,huzzaing, and Comyn and Lord Ossory grasped my hands. And Charles Foxreached out over the corner of the table and pulled me back into mychair.
"Bravo, Richard Carvel!" he cried. "Cursed if I don't love a man whowill put up a fight against odds. Who will stand bluff to what hebelieves, and won't be talked out of his boots. We won't quarrel withany such here, my buckskin, I can tell you."
And that is the simple story, my dears, of the beginning of myfriendship with one who may rightly be called the Saint Paul of Englishpolitics. He had yet some distance to go, alas, ere he was to beginthat sturdy battle for the right for which his countrymen and ours willalways bless him. I gave him my hand with a better will than I had everdone anything, and we pressed our fingers numb. And his was not the onlyhand I clasped. And honest Jack Comyn ordered more wine, that they mightdrink to a speedy reconciliation with America.
"A pint bumper to Richard Carvel!" said Mr. Fitzpatrick.
I pledged Brooks's Club in another pint. Upon which they swore thatI was a good fellow, and that if all American Whigs were like me, allcause of quarrel was at an end. Of this I was not so sure, nor couldI see that the question had been settled one way or another. And thatnight I had reason to thank the Reverend Mr. Allen, for the first andlast time in my life, that I could stand a deal of liquor, and yet notroll bottom upward.
The dinner was settled on the Baptist, who paid for it without amurmur. And then we adjourned to the business of the evening. The greatdrawing-room, lighted by an hundred candles, was filled with gaylydressed macaronies, and the sound of their laughter and voices incontention mingled with the pounding of the packs on the mahogany andthe rattle of the dice and the ring of the gold pieces. The sight wasdazzling, and the noise distracting. Fox had me under his especial care,and I was presented to young gentlemen who bore names that had been theboast of England through the centuries. Lands their forebears had won bylance and sword, they were squandering away as fast as ever they could.I, too, was known. All had heard the romance of the Beauty and CastleYard, and some had listened to Horry Walpole tell that foolish story ofGoble at Windsor, on which he seemed to set such store. They guessed atmy weight. They betted upon it. And they wished to know if I could spinMr. Brooks, who was scraping his way from table to table. They gave mechoice of whist, or picquet, or quinze, or hazard. I was carried away.Nay, I make no excuse. Tho' the times were drinking and gaming ones, Ihad been brought up that a gentleman should do both in moderation. Wemounted, some dozen of us, to the floor above, and passed along to aroom of which Fox had the key; and he swung me in on his arm, the otherspressing after. And the door was scarce closed and locked again, beforethey began stripping off their clothes.
To my astonishment, Fox handed me a great frieze coat, which he bade medon, as the others were doing. Some were turning their coats inside out;for luck, said they; and putting on footman's leather guards to savetheir ruffles. And they gave me a hat with a high crown, and a broadbrim to save my eyes from the candle glare. We were as grotesque a setas ever I laid my eyes upon. But I hasten over the scene; which has longbecome distasteful to me. I mention it only to show to what heights offolly the young men had gone. I recall a gasp when they told me theyplayed for rouleaux of ten pounds each, but I took out my pocket-book asboldly as tho' I had never played for less, and laid my stak
e upon theboard. Fox lost, again and again; but he treated his ill-luck withsuch a raillery of contemptuous wit, that we must needs laugh with him.Comyn, too, lost, and at supper excused himself, saying that he hadpromised his mother, the dowager countess, not to lose more than aquarter's income at a sitting. But I won and won, until the fever of itgot into my blood, and as the first faint light of that morning creptinto the empty streets, we were still at it, Fox vowing that he neverwaked up until daylight. That the best things he said in the House cameto him at dawn.
Richard Carvel — Complete Page 32