night--I know that. Talk of men, indeed!
_Jel._ Very well, Miss!--very well! Stop till the breath is out of your
uncle's body--and I'll beat you till yours is also.
_Cad._ Give----oh!
_Clem._ My poor uncle! He will have no help till I leave the room--I
must go. Infamous Woman! [_Exit._
_Cad._ Oh!
_Jel._ I'm in such a rage!--I could tear her to pieces!--the
little!--the gnat! Oh, I'll be revenged! Stop till the will is read, and
then I'll turn her out into the streets to starve. Yes! yes! the
will!--the will! (_Pauses and pants for breath._) Now, I recollect the
old fellow called for his mixture. I must go and get some more. I'll
teach her to throw physic in my face.
[_Goes out and returns with a phial--pours out a portion and goes
up to Mr Cadaverous._
_Jel._ Here, my dear Mr Cadaverous. Mercy on me!--Mr Cadaverous!--why,
he's fainted!--Mr Cadaverous! (_Screams_) Lord help us!--why he's dead!
Well now, this sort of thing does give one a shock, even when one has
longed for it. Yes, he's quite dead! (_Coming forward._) So, there's an
end of all his troubles--and, thank Heaven! of mine also. Now for
Sergeant-Major O'Callaghan, and--love! Now for Miss Clementina,
and--revenge! But first the will!--the will! [_Curtain drops._
_Act III._
_Mrs Jellybags._
Oh dear!--this is a very long morning. I feel such suspense--such
anxiety; and poor Sergeant-Major O'Callaghan is quite in a perspiration!
He is drinking and smoking down in the kitchen to pass away the time,
and if the lawyer don't come soon, the dear man will be quite fuddled.
He talks of buying a farm in the country. Well, we shall see; but if the
Sergeant thinks that he will make ducks and drakes of my money, he is
mistaken. I have not been three times a widow for nothing--I will have
it all settled upon myself; that must and shall be, or else--no Sergeant
O'Callaghan for me!
_Enter Clementina._
So, here you are, Miss. Well, we'll wait till the will is read, and then
we shall see who is mistress here.
_Clem._ I am as anxious as you, Mrs Jellybags. You may have wheedled my
poor uncle to make the will in your favour; if so, depend upon it, I
shall expect nothing from your hands.
_Jel._ I should rather think not, Miss. If I recollect right, you threw
the carminative mixture in my face.
_Clem._ And made you blush for the first time in your life.
_Jel._ I shall not blush to slam the door in your face.
_Clem._ Rather than be indebted to you, I would beg my bread from door
to door.
_Jel._ I expect that you very soon will.
_Enter Edward._
_Edw._ My dearest Clementina, I have come to support you on this trying
occasion.
_Jel._ And ascertain how matters stand, before you decide upon marrying,
I presume, Mr Edward.
_Edw._ Madam, I am above all pecuniary considerations.
_Jel._ So everybody says, when they think themselves sure of money.
_Edw._ You judge of others by yourself.
_Jel._ Perhaps I do--I certainly do expect to be rewarded for my long
and faithful services.
_Clem._ Do not waste words upon her, my dear. You have my solemn
promise, nothing shall change my feelings towards you.
_Jel._ That may be; but did it never occur to you, Miss, that the
gentleman's feelings might alter?
_Edw._ Detestable wretch!
[_Hands Clementina to a chair on the right, and sits by her._
_Enter Nephews John, Thomas, William, and James, all with white
pocket-handkerchiefs in their hand--they take their seats two right and
two left._
_Jel._ (_Aside._) Here they all come, like crows that smell carrion. How
odious is the selfishness of this world! But here is Mr Gumarabic. How
do you do, sir? (_Curtsies with a grave air._)
_Gum._ Very well, I thank you, Mrs Jellybags. Can't say the same of all
my patients. Just happened to pass by--thought I would step in and hear
the will read--odd, that I should pop in at the time--very odd. Pray,
may I ask, my dear Mrs Jellybags, were you present at the making of the
will?
_Jel._ No, my dear sir; my nerves would not permit me.
_Gum._ Nerves!--odd, very odd! Then you don't know how things are
settled?
_Jel._ No more than the man in the moon, my dear sir.
_Gum._ Man in the moon!--odd comparison that from a woman!--very odd!
Hope my chance won't prove all moonshine.
_Jel._ I should think not, my dear sir; but here comes Mr Seedy, and we
shall soon know all about it.
_Enter Mr Seedy--Mrs Jellybags, all courtesy, waves her hand to a chair
in the centre, with a table before it. Mr Seedy sits down, pulls the
will out of his pocket, lays it on the table, takes out his snuff-box,
takes a pinch, then his handkerchief, blows his nose, snuffs the
candles, takes his spectacles from his waistcoat pocket, puts them on,
breaks the seals, and bows to the company; Mrs Jellybags has taken her
seat on the left next to him, and Doctor Gumarabic by her side. Mrs
Jellybags sobs very loud, with her handkerchief to her face._
_Seedy._ Silence, if you please.
_Mrs Jellybags stops sobbing immediately._
_Edw._ (_putting his arm round Clementina's waist._) My dearest
Clementina!
_Mr Seedy hems twice, and then reads._
"The Last Will and Testament of Christopher Cadaverous, Gentleman, of
Copse Horton, in the county of Cumberland.
"I, Christopher Cadaverous, being at this time in sound mind, do hereby
make my last will and testament.
"First, I pray that I may be forgiven all my manifold sins and
wickedness, and I do beg forgiveness of all those whom I may have
injured unintentionally or otherwise; and at the same time do pardon all
those who may have done me wrong, even to John Jones, the turnpike man,
who unjustly made me pay the threepenny toll twice over on Easter last,
when I went up to receive my dividends.
"My property, personal and real, I devise to my two friends Solomon
Lazarus, residing at No. 3 Lower Thames-street, and Hezekiah Flint,
residing at No. 16 Lothbury, to have and to hold for the following uses
and purposes:--
"First, to my dearly-beloved niece, Clementina Montagu, I leave the sum
of one hundred and fifty pounds, 3-1/2 per cent, consols, for her sole
use and benefit, to be made over to her, both principal and interest, on
the day of her marriage.
[_Edwards withdraws his arm from Clementina's waist--turns half round
from her, and falls back in his chair with a pish!_
"To my nephew, Thomas Montagu, I leave the sum of nineteen pounds
nineteen shillings and sixpence--having deducted the other sixpence to
avoid the legacy duty.
[_Thomas turns from the lawyer with his face to the front of the
stage, crossing his legs._
"To my nephew, John Montagu, I leave also the sum of nineteen pounds
nineteen shillings and sixpence.
[_John turns away in the same manner._
"To my nephew, once removed, James Stirling, I leave the sum of five
pounds to purchase a suit of mourning.
[_James turns away as the others._
"To my nephew, once removed, William Stirling, I also leave the sum of
five pounds to purchase a suit of mourning. [_William turns away as the
others._
"To my kind and affectionate housekeeper, Mrs Martha Jellybags----"
[_Mrs Jellybags sobs loudly, and cries "Oh dear! Oh dear!"_
_Mr Seedy._ Silence, if your please. [_Reads._
"In return for all her attention to me during my illness, and her ten
years' service, I leave the whole of my----
[_Mr Seedy having come to the bottom of the page lays down the will,
takes out his snuff-box, takes a pinch, blows his nose, snuffs the
candles, and proceeds._
--"I leave the whole of my wardrobe, for her entire use and disposal;
and also my silver watch with my key and seal hanging to it.
"And having thus provided for----"
[_Mrs Jellybags, who has been listening attentively, interrupts Mr
Seedy in great agitation._
_Jel._ Will you be pleased to read that part over again?
_Seedy._ Certainly, ma'am. "I leave the whole of my wardrobe, and also
my silver watch, with the key and seal hanging to it.
[_Mrs Jellybags screams, and falls back in a swoon on her chair--no
one assists her._
"And having thus provided for all my relations, I do hereby devise the
rest of my property to the said Solomon Lazarus and Hezekiah Flint, to
have and to hold for the building and endowment of an hospital for
diseases of the heart, lights, liver, and spleen, as set off by the
provisions in the schedule annexed to my will as part and codicil to
it."
_Seedy._ Would the relations like me to read the provisions?
_Omnes._ No! no! no!
(_Mr Seedy is about to fold up the papers._)
_Gum._ I beg your pardon, sir, but is there no other codicil?
_Seedy._ I beg your pardon, Mr Gumarabic, I recollect now there is one
relative to you.
_Gum._ (_nods his head._) I thought so.
(_Seedy reads._)
"And whereas I consider that my apothecary, Mr Haustus Gumarabic, hath
sent in much unnecessary physic, during my long illness--it is my
earnest request that my executors will not fail to tax his bill."
_Gum._ (_rises and comes forward._) Tax my bill!--well that is odd, very
odd! I may as well go and look after my patients. [_Exit._
(_James and William come forward._)
_James._ I say, Bill, how are you off for a suit of mourning?
_Will._ Thanky for nothing, Jem. If the old gentleman don't go to heaven
until I put it on, he will be in a very bad way. Come along, it's no use
staying here.
(_John and Thomas come forward._)
_John._ I say, Tom, how are you off for nineteen pounds nineteen and
six? Heh!
_Thos._ Let's toss and see which shall have both legacies. Here
goes--heads or tails?
_John._ Woman for ever.
_Thos._ You've won, so there's an end of not only my expectations but
realities. Come along, Mrs Jellybags must be anxious to look over her
wardrobe.
_John._ Yes, and also the silver watch and the key and seal hanging to
it. Good-bye, Jemmy! Ha! ha!
[_Exeunt, laughing._
_Clem._ For shame, John. (_Turns to Edward._) My dear Edward, do not
appear so downcast. I acknowledge that I am myself much mortified and
disappointed--but we must submit to circumstances. What did I tell you
before this will was read?--that nothing could alter my feelings towards
you, did I not?
_Edw._ (_with indifference._) Yes.
_Clem._ Why then annoy yourself, my dear Edward?
_Edw._ The confounded old junks!
_Clem._ Nay, Edward, recollect that he is dead--I can forgive him.
_Edw._ But I won't. Has he not dashed my cup of bliss to the ground?
Heavens! what delightful anticipations I had formed of possessing you
and competence--all gone!
_Clem._ All gone, dear Edward?
[_Mrs Jellybags, who has been sitting very still, takes her
handkerchief from her eyes and listens._
_Edw._ Yes, gone!--gone for ever! Do you imagine, my ever dear
Clementina, that I would be so base, so cruel, so regardless of you and
your welfare, to entrap you into marriage with only one hundred and
fifty pounds? No, no!--judge me better. I sacrifice myself--my
happiness--all for you!--banish myself from your dear presence, and
retire to pass the remainder of my existence in misery and regret,
maddened with the feeling that some happier mortal will obtain that dear
hand, and will rejoice in the possession of those charms which I had too
fondly, too credulously, imagined as certain to be mine.
[_Takes out his handkerchief, and covers his face; Clementina also
puts her handkerchief to her face and weeps. Mrs Jellybags nods her
head ironically._
_Clem._ Edward!
_Edw._ My dear, dear Clementina!
_Clem._ You won't have me?
_Edw._ My honour forbids it. If you knew my feelings--how this poor
heart is racked!
_Clem._ Don't leave me, Edward. Did you not say that for richer or for
poorer, for better or for worse, you would be mine, till death did us
part?
_Edw._ Did I?
_Clem._ You know you did, Edward.
_Edw._ It's astonishing how much nonsense we talk when in love. My
dearest Clementina, let us be rational. We are almost without a
sixpence. There is an old adage, that when poverty comes in at the door,
love flies out of the window. Shall I then make you miserable! No, no!
Hear me, Clementina. I will be generous. I now absolve you from all your
vows. You are free. Should the time ever come that prosperity shine upon
me, and I find that I have sufficient for both of us of that dross
which I despise, then will I return, and, should my Clementina not have
entered into any other engagement, throw my fortune and my person at her
feet. Till then, dearest Clementina, farewell!
_Clem._ (_sinking into a chair sobbing._) Cruel Edward! Oh, my heart
will break!
_Edw._ I can bear it myself no longer. Farewell! farewell!
[_Exit._
_Jel._ (_coming forward._) Well, this is some comfort. (_To
Clementina._) Did not I tell you, Miss, that if you did not change your
mind, others might?
_Clem._ Leave me, leave me.
_Jel._ No, I shan't; I have as good a right here as you, at all events.
I shall stay, Miss.
_Clem._ (_rising._) Stay then--but I shall not. Oh, Edward! Edward!
[_Exit, weeping._
_Jel._ (_alone._) Well, I really thought I should have burst--to be
forced not to allow people to suppose that I cared, when I should like
to tear the old wretch out of his coffin to beat him. _His_ wardrobe! If
people knew his wardrobe as well as I do, who have been patching at it
these last ten years--not a shirt or a stocking that would fetch
sixpence! And as for his other garments, why a Jew would hardly put them
into his bag! (_Crying._) Oh dear! oh dear! After all, I'm just like
Miss Clementina; for Sergeant O'Callaghan, when he knows all this, will
as surely walk off without beat of drum, as did Mr Edward--and that too
with all the money I have lent him. Oh these men! these men!--whether
they are living or dying there is nothing in them but treachery and
disappointment! When they pretend to be in love, they only are trying
for your money; and e'en when they make their wills, they leave to those
behind them nothing but _ill-will_!
[_Exit, crying, off the stage as the curtain falls._
How to write a Fashionable Novel
[_Scene.--Chambers in Lincoln's Inn. Arthur Ansard at a briefless table,
tete-a-tete with his wig on a block. A. casts a disconsolate look upon
his companion, and soliloquises._]
Yes, there you stand, "partner of my toils, my feelings, and my fame."
We do not _suit_, for we never gained a _suit_ together. Well, what with
reporting for the bar, writing for the Annuals and the Pocket-books, I
shall be able to meet all demands, except those of my tailor; and, as
his bill is most characteristically long, I think I shall be able to
make it stretch over till next term, by which time I hope to fulfil my
engagements with Mr C., who has given me an order for a fashionable
novel, written by a "nobleman." But how I, who was never inside of an
aristocratical mansion in my life, whose whole idea of Court is
comprised in the Court of King's Bench, am to complete my engagement, I
know no more than my companion opposite, who looks so placidly stupid
under my venerable wig. As far as the street door, the footman and
carriage, and the porter, are concerned, I can manage well enough; but
as to what occurs within doors, I am quite abroad. I shall never get
through the first chapter; yet that tailor's bill must be paid.
(_Knocking outside._) Come in, I pray.
_Enter Barnstaple._
_B._ Merry Christmas to you, Arthur.
_A._ Sit down, my dear fellow; but don't mock me with merry Christmas.
He emigrated long ago. Answer me seriously: do you think it possible
for a man to describe what he never saw?
_B._ (_putting his stick up to his chin._) Why, 'tis possible; but I
would not answer for the description being quite correct.
_A._ But suppose the parties who read it have never seen the thing
described?
_B._ Why then it won't signify whether the description be correct or
not.
_A._ You have taken a load off my mind; but still I am not quite at
ease. I have engaged to furnish C. with a fashionable novel.
_B._ What do you mean to imply by a fashionable novel?
_A._ I really can hardly tell. His stipulations were, that it was to be
a "fashionable novel in three volumes, each volume not less than three
hundred pages."
_B._ That is to say, that you are to assist him in imposing on the
public.
_A._ Something very like it, I'm afraid; as it is further agreed that it
is to be puffed as coming from a highly talented nobleman.
_B._ You should not do it, Ansard.
_A._ So conscience tells me, but my tailor's bill says Yes; and that is
a thing out of all conscience. Only look here.
[_Displays a long bill._
_B._ Why, I must acknowledge, Ansard, that there is some excuse. One
needs must, when the devil drives; but you are capable of better things.
_A._ I certainly don't feel great capability in this instance. But what
can I do? The man will have nothing else--he says the public will read
nothing else.
_B._ That is to say, that because one talented author astonished the
public by style and merits peculiarly his own, and established, as it
were, a school for neophites, his popularity is to be injured by
contemptible imitators. It is sufficient to drive a man mad, to find
that the tinsel of others, if to be purchased more cheaply, is to be
pawned upon the public instead of his gold; and more annoying still,
that the majority of the public cannot appreciate the difference between
the metal and the alloy. Do you know, Ansard, that by getting up this
work, you really injure the popularity of a man of great talent?
_A._ Will he pay my tailor's bill?
_B._ No; I daresay he has enough to do to pay his own. What does your
tailor say?
_A._ He is a staunch reformer, and on March the 1st he declares that he
will have the bill, the whole bill, and nothing but the bill--carried to
my credit. Mr C., on the 10th of February, also expects the novel, the
whole novel, and nothing but the novel, and that must be a fashionable
novel. Look here, Barnstaple. (_Shows his tailor's bill._)
_B._ I see how it is. He "pays your poverty, and not your will."
_A._ And, by your leave, I thus must pay my bill (_bowing._)
_B._ Well, well, I can help you: nothing more difficult than to write a
good novel, and nothing more easy than to write a bad one. If I were not
above the temptation, I could pen you a dozen of the latter every
ordinary year, and thirteen, perhaps, in the bissextile. So banish that
Christmas cloud from your brow; leave off nibbling your pen at the wrong
end, and clap a fresh nib to the right one. I have an hour to spare.
_A._ I thank you: that spare hour of yours may save me many a spare day.
I'm all attention--proceed.
_B._ The first point to be considered is the _tempus_, or time; the next
the _locus_, or place; and lastly, the _dramatis personae_; and thus,
chapter upon chapter, will you build a novel.
_A._ Build!
_B._ Yes, build; you have had your dimensions given, the interior is
left to your own decoration. First, as to the opening. Suppose we
introduce the hero in his dressing-room. We have something of the kind
in Pelham; and if we can't copy his merits, we must his peculiarities.
Besides, it always is effective: a dressing-room or boudoir of supposed
great people, is admitting the vulgar into the arcana, which they
delight in.
_A._ Nothing can be better.
_B._ Then, as to time; as the hero is still in bed, suppose we say four
o'clock in the afternoon?
_A._ In the morning, you mean.
_B._ No; the afternoon. I grant you that fashionable young men in real
life get up much about the same time as other people; but in a
fashionable novel your real exclusive never rises early. The very idea
makes the tradesman's wife lift up her eyes. So begin. "It was about
thirty-three minutes after four, _post meridian_----"
_A._ Minute--to a minute!
_B._ "That the Honourable Augustus Bouverie's finely chiselled----"
_A._ Chiselled!
_B._ Yes; great people are always chiselled; common people are only
cast.--"Finely chiselled head was still recumbent upon his silk-encased
pillow. His luxuriant and Antinous-like curls were now confined in
_papillotes_ of the finest satin paper, and the _tout ensemble_ of his
head----"
_A._ _Tout ensemble!_
_B._ Yes; go on.--"Was gently compressed by a caul of the finest
net-work, composed of the threads spun from the beauteous production of
the Italian worm."
_A._ Ah! now I perceive--a silk nightcap. But why can't I say at once a
silk nightcap?
_B._ Because you are writing a fashionable novel.--"With the forefinger
of his gloved left hand----"
_A._ But he's not coming in from a walk--he's not yet out of bed.
_B._ You don't understand it.--"Gloved left hand he applied a gentle
friction to the portal of his right eye, which unclosing at the silent
summons, enabled him to perceive a repeater studded with brilliants, and
ascertain the exact minute of time, which we have already made known to
the reader, and at which our history opens."
_A._ A very grand opening indeed!
_B._ Not more than it ought to be for a fashionable novel.--"At the
sound of a silver _clochette_, his faithful Swiss valet Coridon, who had
for some time been unperceived at the door, waiting for some notice of
his master, having thrown off the empire of Somnus, in his light pumps,
covered with beaver, moved with noiseless step up to the bedside, like
the advance of eve stealing over the face of nature."
_A._ Rather an incongruous simile.
_B._ Not for a fashionable novel.--"There he stood, like Taciturnity
bowing at the feet of proud Authority."
_A._ Indeed, Barnstaple, that is too _outre_.
_B._ Not a whit: I am in the true "Cambysis' vein."--"Coridon having
softly withdrawn the rose-coloured gros de Naples bed-curtains, which by
some might have been thought to have been rather too extravagantly
fringed with the finest Mechlin lace, exclaimed with a tone of tremulous
deference and affection, '_Monsieur a bien dormi?_' 'Coridon,' said the
Honourable Augustus Bouverie, raising himself on his elbow in that
eminently graceful attitude, for which he was so remarkable when
reclining on the ottomans at Almack's----"
_A._ Are you sure they have ottamans there?
_B._ No; but your readers can't disprove it.--"'Coridon,' said he,
surveying his attendant from head to foot, and ultimately assuming a
severity of countenance, 'Coridon, you are becoming gross, if not
positively what the people call _fat_.' The Swiss attendant fell back in
graceful astonishment three steps, and arching his eyebrows, extending
his inverted palms forward, and raising his shoulders above the apex of
his head, exclaimed, '_Pardon, mi lor, j'en aurois un horreur parfait._'
'I tell you,' replied our gracefully recumbent hero, 'that it is so,
Coridon; and I ascribe it to your partiality for that detestable wine
called Port. Confine yourself to Hock and Moselle, sirrah: I fear me,
you have a base hankering after mutton and beef. Restrict yourself to
salads, and do not sin even with an omelette more than once a week.
Coridon must be visionary and diaphanous, or he is no Coridon for me.
Remove my night-gloves, and assist me to rise: it is past four o'clock,
and the sun must have, by this time, sufficiently aired this terrestrial
globe.'"
_A._ I have it now; I feel I could go on for an hour.
_B._ Longer than that, before you get him out of his dressing-room. You
must make at least five chapters before he is apparelled, or how can you
write a fashionable novel, in which you cannot afford more than two
incidents in the three volumes? Two are absolutely necessary for the
editor of the ---- Gazette to extract as specimens, before he winds up an
eulogy. Do you think that you can proceed now for a week, without my
assistance?
_A._ I think so, if you will first give me some general ideas. In the
first place, am I always to continue in this style?
_B._ No; I thought you knew better. You must throw in patches of
philosophy every now and then.
_A._ Philosophy in a fashionable novel?
_B._ Most assuredly, or it would be complained of as trifling; but a
piece, now and then, of philosophy, as unintelligible as possible,
stamps it with deep thought. In the dressing-room, or boudoir, it must
be occasionally Epicurean; elsewhere, especially in the open air, more
Stoical.
_A._ I'm afraid that I shall not manage that without a specimen to copy
from. Now I think of it, Eugene Aram says something very beautiful on a
starry night.