CHAPTER XXXVI. A GLIMPSE OF MR. GARRICK
Day after day I went to Arlington Street, each time to be turned awaywith the same answer: that Miss Manners was a shade better, but stillconfined to her bed. You will scarce believe me, my dears, when I saythat Mr. Marmaduke had gone at this crisis with his Grace to the Yorkraces. On the fourth morning, I think, I saw Mrs. Manners. She was muchworn with the vigil she had kept, and received me with an apathy tofrighten me. Her way with me had hitherto always been one of kindnessand warmth. In answer to the dozen questions I showered upon her, shereplied that Dorothy's malady was in no wise dangerous, so Dr. James hadsaid, and undoubtedly arose out of the excitement of a London season. AsI knew, Dorothy was of the kind that must run and run until she dropped.She had no notion of the measure of her own strength. Mrs. Manners hopedthat, in a fortnight, she would be recovered sufficiently to be removedto one of the baths.
"She wishes me to thank you for the flowers, Richard. She has themconstantly by her. And bids me tell you how sorry she is that she iscompelled to miss so much of your visit to England. Are you enjoyingLondon, Richard? I hear that you are well liked by the best of company."
I left, prodigiously cast down, and went directly to Mr. Wedgwood's, tochoose the prettiest set of tea-cups and dishes I could find there. Ipitied Mrs. Manners from my heart, and made every allowance for her talkwith me, knowing the sorrow of her life. Here was yet another linkin the chain of the Chartersea evidence. And I made no doubt thatMr. Manner's brutal desertion at such a time must be hard to bear. Icontinued my visits of inquiry, nearly always meeting some person ofconsequence, or the footman of such, come on the same errand as myself.And once I encountered the young man she had championed against hisGrace at Lady Tankerville's.
Rather than face the array of anxieties that beset me, I plungedrecklessly into the gayeties--nay, the excesses--of Mr. Charles Fox andhis associates. I paid, in truth, a very high price for my friendshipwith Mr. Fox. But, since it did not quite ruin me, I look back uponit as cheaply bought. To know the man well, to be the subject of hisregard, was to feel an infatuation in common with the little band ofworshippers which had come with him from Eton. They remained faithful tohim all his days, nor adversity nor change of opinion could shake theirattachment. They knew his faults, deplored them, and paid for them. Andthis was not beyond my comprehension, tho' many have wondered at it. Didhe ask me for five hundred pounds,--which he did,--I gave it freely, andwould gladly have given more, tho' I saw it all wasted in a night whenthe dice rolled against him. For those honoured few of whom I speaklikewise knew his virtues, which were quite as large as the faults,albeit so mingled with them that all might not distinguish.
I attended some of the routs and parties, to all of which, as a youngcolonial gentleman of wealth and family, I was made welcome. I went toa ball at Lord Stanley's, a mixture of French horns and clarionets andcoloured glass lanthorns and candles in gilt vases, and young ladiespouring tea in white, and musicians in red, and draperies and flowers adlibitum. There I met Mr. Walpole, looking on very critically. He wasthe essence of friendliness, asked after my equerry, and said I haddone well to ship him to America. At the opera, with Lord Ossory andMr. Fitzpatrick, I talked through the round of the boxes, from LadyPembroke's on the right to Lady Hervey's on the left, where Dolly'sillness and Lady Harrington's snuffing gabble were the topics ratherthan Giardini's fiddling. Mr. Storer took me to Foote's dressing-roomat the Haymarket, where we found the Duke of Cumberland lounging. I waspresented, and thought his Royal Highness had far less dignity than themonkey-comedian we had come to see.
I must not forget the visit I made to Drury Lane Playhouse with my LordsCarlisle and Grantham and Comyn. The great actor received me graciouslyin such a company, you may be sure. He appeared much smaller off theboards than on, and his actions and speech were quick and nervous. Gast,his hairdresser, was making him up for the character of Richard III.
"'Ods!" said Mr. Garrick, "your Lordships come five minutes too late.Goldsmith is but just gone hence, fresh from his tailor, Filby, of WaterLane. The most gorgeous creature in London, gentlemen, I'll be sworn.He is even now, so he would have me know, gone by invitation to my LordDenbigh's box, to ogle the ladies."
"And have you seen your latest lampoon, Mr. Garrick?" asks Comyn,winking at me.
Up leaps Mr. Garrick, so suddenly as to knock the paint-pot from Gast'shand.
"Nay, your Lordship jests, surely!" he cried, his voice shaking.
"Jests!" says my Lord, very serious; "do I jest, Carlisle?" And turningto Mr. Cross, the prompter, who stood by, "Fetch me the St. James'sEvening Post," says he.
"'Ods my life!" continues poor Garrick, almost in tears; "I have loanedFoote upwards of two thousand pounds. And last year, as your Lordshipremembers, took charge of his theatre when his leg was cut off. 'Pon mysoul, I cannot account for his ingratitude."
"'Tis not Foote," says Carlisle, biting his lip; "I know Foote's mark."
"Then Johnson," says the actor, "because I would not let him have myfine books in his dirty den to be kicked about the floor, but put mylibrary at his disposal--"
"Nay, nor Johnson. Nor yet Macklin nor Murphy."
"Surely not--" cries Mr. Garrick, turning white under the rouge. Thename remained unpronounced.
"Ay, ay, Junius, in the Evening Post. He has fastened upon you at last,"answers Comyn, taking the paper.
"'Sdeath! Garrick," Carlisle puts in, very solemn, "what have youdone to offend the Terrible Unknown? Talebearing to his Majesty, I'llwarrant! I gave you credit for more discretion."
At these words Mr. Garrick seized the chair for support, and swungheavily into it. Whereat the young lords burst into such a tempest oflaughter that I could not refrain from joining them. As for Mr. Garrick,he was so pleased to have escaped that he laughed too, though with apalpable nervousness.
[Note by the editor. It was not long after this that Mr. Garrick's punishment came, and for the self-same offence.]
"By the bye, Garrick," Carlisle remarked slyly, when he had recovered,"Mrs. Crewe was vastly taken with the last 'vers' you left on herdressing-table."
"Was she, now, my Lord?" said the great actor, delighted, but scarceover his fright. "You must know that I have writ one to my LadyCarlisle, on the occasion of her dropping her fan in Piccadilly."Whereupon he proceeded to recite it, and my Lord Carlisle, beingsomething of a poet himself, pronounced it excellent.
Mr. Garrick asked me many questions concerning American life andmanners, having a play in his repertory the scene of which was laid inNew York. In the midst of this we were interrupted by a dirty fellow whoran in, crying excitedly:
"Sir, the Archbishop of York is getting drunk at the Bear, and swearshe'll be d--d if he'll act to-night."
"The archbishop may go to the devil!" snapped Mr. Garrick. "I do notknow a greater rascal, except yourself."
I was little short of thunderstruck. But presently Mr. Garrick addedcomplainingly:
"I paid a guinea for the archbishop, but the fellow got me threemurderers to-day and the best alderman I ever clapped eyes upon. So weare square."
After the play we supped with him at his new house in Adelphi Terrace,next Topham Beauclerk's. 'Twas handsomely built in the Italian style,and newly furnished throughout, for Mr. Garrick travelled now with acoach and six and four menservants, forsooth. And amongst other thingshe took pride in showing us that night was a handsome snuffbox which theKing of Denmark had given him the year before, his Majesty's portraitset in jewels thereon.
Presently the news of the trial of Lord Baltimore's horse began to benoised about, and was followed by a deluge of wagers at Brooks's andWhite's and elsewhere. Comyn and Fox, my chief supporters, laid largesums upon me, despite all my persuasion. But the most unpleasant partof the publicity was the rumour that the match was connected with thestruggle for Miss Manners's hand. I was pressed with invitations togo into the country to ride this or that horse. His Grace the Duke ofGrafton had a mount he would have me try at Wak
efield Lodge, and was farfrom pleasant over my refusal of his invitation. I was besieged by youngnoblemen like Lord Derby and Lord Foley, until I was heartily sick ofnotoriety, and cursed the indiscretion of the person who let out thenews, and my own likewise. My Lord March, who did me the honour to layone hundred pounds upon my skill, insisted that I should make one of aparty to the famous amphitheatre near Lambeth. Mr. Astley, the showman,being informed of his Lordship's intention, met us on Westminster Bridgedressed in his uniform as sergeant major of the Royal Light Dragoonsand mounted on a white charger. He escorted us to one of the large boxesunder the pent-house reserved for the gentry. And when the show was overand the place cleared, begged, that I would ride his Indian Chief. Irefused; but March pressed me, and Comyn declared he had staked hisreputation upon my horsemanship. Astley was a large man, about my build,and I donned a pair of his leather breeches and boots, and put IndianChief to his paces around the ring. I found him no more restive, nor asmuch so, as Firefly. The gentlemen were good enough to clap me roundly,and Astley vowed (no doubt because of the noble patrons present) that hehad never seen a better seat.
We all repaired afterwards for supper to Don Saltero's Coffee House andMuseum in Chelsea. And I remembered having heard my grandfather speak ofthe place, and tell how he had seen Sir Richard Steele there, listeningto the Don scraping away at the "Merry Christ Church Bells" on hisfiddle. The Don was since dead, but King James's coronation sword andKing Henry VIII.'s coat of mail still hung on the walls.
The remembrance of that fortnight has ever been an appalling one.Mr. Carvel had never attempted to teach me the value of money. Mygrandfather, indeed, held but four things essential to the conduct oflife; namely, to fear God, love the King, pay your debts, and pursueyour enemies. There was no one in London to advise me, Comyn being but awild lad like myself. But my Lord Carlisle gave me a friendly warning:
"Have a care, Carvel," said he, kindly, "or you will run yourgrandfather through, and all your relations beside. I little realizedthe danger of it when I first came up." (He was not above two and twentythen.) "And now I have a wife, am more crippled than I care to be,thanks to this devilish high play. Will you dine with Lady Carlisle inSt. James's Place next Friday?"
My heart went out to this young nobleman. Handsome he was, as a picture.And he knew better than most of your fine gentlemen how to put a checkon his inclinations. As a friend he had few equals, his purse being everat the command of those he loved. And his privations on Fox's accountwere already greater than many knew.
I had a call, too, from Mr. Dix. I found him in my parlour one morning,cringing and smiling, and, as usual, half an hour away from his point.
"I warrant you, Mr. Carvel," says he, "there are few young gentlemen notborn among the elect that make the great friends you are blessed with."
"I have been fortunate, Mr. Dix," I replied dryly.
"Fortunate!" he cried; "good Lord, sir! I hear of you everywhere withMr. Fox, and you have been to Astley's with my Lord March. And I have adraft from you at Ampthill."
"Vastly well manoeuvred, Mr. Dix," I said, laughing at the guilty changein his pink complexion. "And hence you are here."
He fidgeted, and seeing that I paid him no attention, but went on withmy chocolate, he drew a paper from his pocket and opened it.
"You have spent a prodigious sum, sir, for so short a time," said he,unsteadily. "'Tis very well for you, Mr. Carvel, but I have to rememberthat you are heir only. I am advancing you money without advices fromhis Worship, your grandfather. A most irregular proceeding, sir, and onelikely to lead me to trouble. I know not what your allowance may be."
"Nor I, Mr. Dix," I replied, unreasonably enough. "To speak truth, Ihave never had one. You have my Lord Comyn's signature to protect you,"I went on ill-naturedly, for I had not had enough sleep. "And in caseMr. Carvel protests, which is unlikely and preposterous, you shall haveten percentum on your money until I can pay you. That should be no poorinvestment."
He apologized. But he smoothed out the paper on his knee.
"It is only right to tell you, Mr. Carvel, that you have spent onethousand eight hundred and thirty-seven odd pounds, in home money, whichis worth more than your colonial. Your grandfather's balance with mewas something less than one thousand five hundred, as I made him aremittance in December last. I have advanced the rest. And yesterday,"he went on, resolutely for him, "yesterday I got an order for fivehundred more."
And he handed me the paper. I must own that the figures startled me. Ilaid it down with a fine show of indifference.
"And so you wish me to stop drawing? Very good, Mr. Dix."
He must have seen some threat implied, though I meant none. He was myvery humble servant at once, and declared he had called only to let meknow where I stood. Then he bowed himself out, wishing me luck with thehorse he had heard of, and I lighted my pipe with his accompt.
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