CHAPTER LXXIX. Containing both Comedy and Tragedy
We, who had been active in the guilty scene of the morning, felt treblyguilty when we saw the effect which our conduct had produced upon him,who, of all others, we loved and respected. The shock to the good manwas strange, and pitiful to us to witness who had administered it. Thechild of his heart had deceived and disobeyed him--I declare I think, mydear, now, we would not or could not do it over again; his whole familyhad entered into a league against him. Dear, kind friend and father!We know thou hast pardoned our wrong--in the Heaven where thou dwellestamongst purified spirits who learned on earth how to love and pardon! Tolove and forgive were easy duties with that man. Beneficence was naturalto him, and a sweet, smiling humility; and to wound either was to besavage and brutal, as to torture a child, or strike blows at a nursingwoman. The deed done, all we guilty ones grovelled in the earth, beforethe man we had injured. I pass over the scenes of forgiveness, ofreconciliation, of common worship together, of final separation when thegood man departed to his government, and the ship sailed away before us,leaving me and Theo on the shore. We stood there hand in hand, horriblyabashed, silent, and guilty. My wife did not come to me till her fatherwent: in the interval between the ceremony of our marriage and hisdeparture, she had remained at home, occupying her old place by herfather, and bed by her sister's side: he as kind as ever, but the womenalmost speechless among themselves; Aunt Lambert, for once, unkindand fretful in her temper; and little Hetty feverish and strange, andsaying, "I wish we were gone. I wish we were gone." Though admitted tothe house, and forgiven, I slunk away during those last days, and onlysaw my wife for a minute or two in the street, or with her family. Shewas not mine till they were gone. We went to Winchester and Hamptonfor what may be called our wedding. It was but a dismal business. For awhile we felt utterly lonely: and of our dear father as if we had buriedhim, or drove him to the grave by our undutifulness.
I made Sampson announce our marriage in the papers. (My wife used tohang down her head before the poor fellow afterwards.) I took Mrs.Warrington back to my old lodgings in Bloomsbury, where there was plentyof room for us, and our modest married life began. I wrote home a letterto my mother in Virginia, informing her of no particulars, but onlythat Mr. Lambert being about to depart for his government, I consideredmyself bound in honour to fulfil my promise towards his dearestdaughter; and stated that I intended to carry out my intention ofcompleting my studies for the Bar, and qualifying myself for employmentat home, or in our own or any other colony. My good Mrs. Mountainanswered this letter, by desire of Madam Esmond, she said, who thoughtthat for the sake of peace my communications had best be conductedthat way. I found my relatives in a fury which was perfectly amusingto witness. The butler's face, as he said, "Not at home," at my uncle'shouse in Hill Street, was a blank tragedy that might have been studiedby Garrick when he sees Banque. My poor little wife was on my arm, andwe were tripping away, laughing at the fellow's accueil, when we cameupon my lady in a street stoppage in her chair. I took off my hat andmade her the lowest possible bow. I affectionately asked after my dearcousins. "I--I wonder you dare look me in the face!" Lady Warringtongasped out. "Nay, don't deprive me of that precious privilege!" says I."Move on, Peter," she screams to her chairman. "Your ladyship would notimpale your own husband's flesh and blood!" says I. She rattles upthe glass of her chair in a fury. I kiss my hand, take off my hat, andperform another of my very finest bows.
Walking shortly afterwards in Hyde Park with my dearest companion, Imet my little cousin exercising on horseback with a groom behind him. Assoon as he sees us, he gallops up to us, the groom powdering afterwardsand bawling out, "Stop, Master Miles, stop!"
"I am not to speak to my cousin," says Miles, "but telling you to sendmy love to Harry is not speaking to you, is it? Is that my newcousin? I'm not told not to speak to her. I'm Miles, cousin, Sir MilesWarrington Baronet's son, and you are very pretty!" "Now, duee now,Master Miles," says the groom, touching his hat to us; and the boytrots away laughing and looking at us over his shoulder. "You see howmy relations have determined to treat me," I say to my partner. "As ifI married you for your relations!" says Theo, her eyes beaming joyand love into mine. Ah, how happy we were! how brisk and pleasant thewinter! How snug the kettle by the fire (where the abashed Sampsonsometimes came and made the punch); how delightful the night at thetheatre, for which our friends brought us tickets of admission, andwhere we daily expected our new play of Pocahontas would rival thesuccesses of all former tragedies.
The fickle old aunt of Clarges Street, who received me, on my firstcoming to London with my wife, with a burst of scorn, mollifiedpresently, and as soon as she came to know Theo (who she had pronouncedto be an insignificant little country-faced chit), fell utterly in lovewith her, and would have her to tea and supper every day when there wasno other company. "As for company, my dears," she would say, "I don'task you. You are no longer du monde. Your marriage has put that entirelyout of the question." So she would have had us come to amuse her, and goin and out by the back-stairs. My wife was fine lady enough to feel onlyamused at this reception; and, I must do the Baroness's domestics thejustice to say that, had we been duke and duchess, we could not havebeen received with more respect. Madame de Bernstein was very muchtickled and amused with my story of Lady Warrington and the chair. Iacted it for her, and gave her anecdotes of the pious Baronet's lady andher daughters, which pleased the mischievous, lively old woman.
The Dowager Countess of Castlewood, now established in her house atKensington, gave us that kind of welcome which genteel ladies extend totheir poorer relatives. We went once or twice to her ladyship's drums atKensington; but, losing more money at cards, and spending more moneyin coach-hire than I liked to afford, we speedily gave up thoseentertainments, and, I dare say, were no more missed or regretted thanother people in the fashionable world, who are carried by death, debt,or other accident out of the polite sphere. My Theo did not in theleast regret this exclusion. She had made her appearance at one of thesedrums, attired in some little ornaments which her mother left behindher, and by which the good lady set some store; but I thought her ownwhite neck was a great deal prettier than these poor twinkling stones;and there were dowagers, whose wrinkled old bones blazed with rubiesand diamonds, which, I am sure, they would gladly have exchanged for hermodest parure of beauty and freshness. Not a soul spoke to her--except,to be sure, Beau Lothair, a friend of Mr. Will's, who prowled aboutBloomsbury afterwards, and even sent my wife a billet. I met him inCovent Garden shortly after, and promised to break his ugly face ifever I saw it in the neighbourhood of my lodgings, and Madam Theo wasmolested no further.
The only one of our relatives who came to see us (Madame de Bernsteinnever came; she sent her coach for us sometimes, or made inquiriesregarding us by her woman or her major-domo) was our poor Maria, who,with her husband, Mr. Hagan, often took a share of our homely dinner.Then we had friend Spencer from the Temple, who admired our Arcadianfelicity, and gently asked our sympathy for his less fortunate loves;and twice or thrice the famous Doctor Johnson came in for a dish ofTheo's tea. A dish? a pailful! "And a pail the best thing to feed him,sar!" says Mr. Gumbo, indignantly: for the Doctor's appearance was notpleasant, nor his linen particularly white. He snorted, he grew red,and sputtered in feeding; he flung his meat about, and bawled out incontradicting people: and annoyed my Theo, whom he professed to admiregreatly, by saying, every time he saw her, "Madam, you do not love me;I see by your manner you do not love me; though I admire you, and comehere for your sake. Here is my friend Mr. Reynolds that shall paintyou: he has no ceruse in his paint-box that is as brilliant asyour complexion." And so Mr. Reynolds, a most perfect and agreeablegentleman, would have painted my wife; but I knew what his price was,and did not choose to incur that expense. I wish I had now, for thesake of the children, that they might see what yonder face was like somefive-and-thirty years ago. To me, madam, 'tis the same now as ever; andyour ladyship is always young!
What annoyed
Mrs. Warrington with Dr. Johnson more than hiscontradictions, his sputterings, and his dirty nails, was, I think,an unfavourable opinion which he formed of my new tragedy. Hagan onceproposed that he should read some scenes from it after tea.
"Nay, sir, conversation is better," says the Doctor. "I can read formyself, or hear you at the theatre. I had rather hear Mrs. Warrington'sartless prattle than your declamation of Mr. Warrington's decasyllables.Tell us about your household affairs, madam, and whether his Excellencyyour father is well, and whether you made the pudden and the buttersauce. The butter sauce was delicious!" (He loved it so well that he hadkept a large quantity in the bosom of a very dingy shirt.) "You made itas though you loved me. You helped me as though you loved me, though youdon't."
"Faith, sir, you are taking some of the present away with you in yourwaistcoat," says Hagan, with much spirit.
"Sir, you are rude!" bawls the Doctor. "You are unacquainted with thefirst principles of politeness, which is courtesy before ladies. Havingreceived an university education, I am surprised that you have notlearned the rudiments of politeness. I respect Mrs. Warrington. I shouldnever think of making personal remarks about her guests before her!"
"Then, sir," says Hagan, fiercely, "why did you speak of my theatre?"
"Sir, you are saucy!" roars the Doctor.
"De te fabula," says the actor. "I think it is your waistcoat that issaucy. Madam, shall I make some punch in the way we make it in Ireland?"
The Doctor, puffing, and purple in the face, was wiping the dingy shirtwith a still more dubious pocket-handkerchief, which he then applied tohis forehead. After this exercise, he blew a hyperborean whistle, asif to blow his wrath away. "It is de me, sir--though, as a young man,perhaps you need not have told me so."
"I drop my point, sir! If you have been wrong, I am sure I am bound toask your pardon for setting you so!" says Mr. Hagan, with a fine bow.
"Doesn't he look like a god?" says Maria, clutching my wife's hand: andindeed Mr. Hagan did look like a handsome young gentleman. His colourhad risen; he had put his hand to his breast with a noble air: Chamontor Castalio could not present himself better.
"Let me make you some lemonade, sir; my papa has sent us a box of freshlimes. May we send you some to the Temple?"
"Madam, if they stay in your house, they will lose their quality andturn sweet," says the Doctor. "Mr. Hagan, you are a young sauce-box,that's what you are! Ho! ho! It is I have been wrong."
"Oh, my lord, my Polidore!" bleats Lady Maria, when she was alone in mywife's drawing-room:
"'Oh, I could hear thee talk for ever thus, Eternally admiring,--fix and gaze On those dear eyes, for every glance they send Darts through my soul, and fills my heart with rapture!'
"Thou knowest not, my Theo, what a pearl and paragon of a man myCastalio is; my Chamont, my--oh, dear me, child, what a pity it is thatin your husband's tragedy he should have to take the horrid name ofCaptain Smith!"
Upon this tragedy not only my literary hopes, but much of my financialprospects were founded. My brother's debts discharged, my mother'sdrafts from home duly honoured, my own expenses paid, which, thoughmoderate, were not inconsiderable,--pretty nearly the whole of mypatrimony had been spent, and this auspicious moment I must choosefor my marriage! I could raise money on my inheritance: that was notimpossible, though certainly costly. My mother could not leave hereldest son without a maintenance, whatever our quarrels might be. I hadhealth, strength, good wits, some friends, and reputation--above all, myfamous tragedy, which the manager had promised to perform, and upon theproceeds of this I counted for my present support. What becomes of thearithmetic of youth? How do we then calculate that a hundred pounds isa maintenance, and a thousand a fortune? How did I dare play againstFortune with such odds? I succeeded, I remember, in convincing my dearGeneral, and he left home convinced that his son-in-law had for thepresent necessity at least a score of hundred pounds at his command. Heand his dear Molly had begun life with less, and the ravens had somehowalways fed them. As for the women, the question of poverty was one ofpleasure to those sentimental souls, and Aunt Lambert, for her part,declared it would be wicked and irreligious to doubt of a provisionbeing made for her children. Was the righteous ever forsaken? Did thejust man ever have to beg his bread? She knew better than that! "No, no,my dears! I am not going to be afraid on that account, I warrant you!Look at me and my General!"
Theo believed all I said and wished to believe myself. So we actuallybegan life upon a capital of Five Acts, and about three hundred poundsof ready money in hand!
Well, the time of the appearance of the famous tragedy drew near, and myfriends canvassed the town to get a body of supporters for the openingnight. I am ill at asking favours from the great; but when my LordWrotham came to London, I went, with Theo in my hand, to wait on hislordship, who received us kindly, out of regard for his old friend,her father--though he good-naturedly shook a finger at me (at which mylittle wife hung down her head), for having stole a march on the goodGeneral. However, he would do his best for her father's daughter; hopedfor a success; said he had heard great things of the piece; and engageda number of places for himself and his friends. But this patron secured,I had no other. "Mon cher, at my age," says the Baroness, "I shouldbore myself to death at a tragedy: but I will do my best; and I willcertainly send my people to the boxes. Yes! Case in his best black lookslike a nobleman; and Brett in one of my gowns has a faux air de moiwhich is quite distinguished. Put down my name for two in the frontboxes. Good-bye, my dear. Bonne chance!" The Dowager Countess presentedcompliments (on the back of the nine of clubs), had a card-party thatnight, and was quite sorry she and Fanny could not go to my tragedy. Asfor my uncle and Lady Warrington, they were out of the question. Afterthe affair of the sedan-chair I might as well have asked QueenElizabeth to go to Drury Lane. These were all my friends--that host ofaristocratic connexions about whom poor Sampson had bragged; and onthe strength of whom, the manager, as he said, had given Mr. Hagan hisengagement! "Where was my Lord Bute? Had I not promised his lordshipshould come?" he asks, snappishly, taking snuff (how different fromthe brisk, and engaging, and obsequious little manager of six monthsago!)--"I promised Lord Bute should come?"
"Yes," says Mr. Garrick, "and her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales,and his Majesty too."
Poor Sampson owned that he, buoyed up by vain hopes, had promised theappearance of these august personages.
The next day, at rehearsal, matters were worse still, and the manager ina fury.
"Great heavens, sir!" says he, "into what a pretty guet-a-pens have youled me! Look at that letter, sir!--read that letter!" And he hands meone:
"MY DEAR SIR" (said the letter)--"I have seen his lordship, and conveyedto him Mr. Warrington's request that he would honour the tragedy ofPocahontas by his presence. His lordship is a patron of the drama, anda magnificent friend of all the liberal arts; but he desires me tosay that he cannot think of attending himself, much less of asking hisGracious Master to witness the performance of a play, a principal partin which is given to an actor who has made a clandestine marriage witha daughter of one of his Majesty's nobility.--Your well-wisher, SAUNDERSMCDUFF."
"Mr. D. Garrick, at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane."
My poor Theo had a nice dinner waiting for me after the rehearsal. Ipleaded fatigue as the reason for looking so pale: I did not dare toconvey to her this dreadful news.
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