----This is the very barn-yard,
Where muster daily the prime cocks o' the game,
Ruffle their pinions, crow till they are hoarse,
And spar about a barleycorn. Here too chickens,
The callow, unfledged brood of forward folly,
Learn first to rear the crest, and aim the spur,
And tune their note like full-plumed Chanticleer.
_The Bear-Garden._
The Ordinary, now an ignoble sound, was in the days of James, a
new institution, as fashionable among the youth of that age as the
first-rate modern club-houses are amongst those of the present day.
It differed chiefly, in being open to all whom good clothes and good
assurance combined to introduce there. The company usually dined
together at an hour fixed, and the manager of the establishment presided
as master of the ceremonies.
Monsieur le Chevalier, (as he qualified himself,) Saint Priest de
Beaujeu, was a sharp, thin Gascon, about sixty years old, banished from
his own country, as he said, on account of an affair of honour, in which
he had the misfortune to kill his antagonist, though the best swordsman
in the south of France. His pretensions to quality were supported by
a feathered hat, a long rapier, and a suit of embroidered taffeta, not
much the worse for wear, in the extreme fashion of the Parisian court,
and fluttering like a Maypole with many knots of ribbon, of which it
was computed he bore at least five hundred yards about his person.
But, notwithstanding this profusion of decoration, there were many who
thought Monsieur le Chevalier so admirably calculated for his present
situation, that nature could never have meant to place him an inch
above it. It was, however, part of the amusement of the place, for Lord
Dalgarno and other young men of quality to treat Monsieur de Beaujeu
with a great deal of mock ceremony, which being observed by the herd of
more ordinary and simple gulls, they paid him, in clumsy imitation, much
real deference. The Gascon's natural forwardness being much enhanced by
these circumstances, he was often guilty of presuming beyond the limits
of his situation, and of course had sometimes the mortification to be
disagreeably driven back into them.
When Nigel entered the mansion of this eminent person, which had been
but of late the residence of a great Baron of Queen Elizabeth's court,
who had retired to his manors in the country on the death of that
princess, he was surprised at the extent of the accommodation which it
afforded, and the number of guests who were already assembled. Feathers
waved, spurs jingled, lace and embroidery glanced everywhere; and at
first sight, at least, it certainly made good Lord Dalgarno's encomium,
who represented the company as composed almost entirely of youth of the
first quality. A more close review was not quite so favourable. Several
individuals might be discovered who were not exactly at their ease
in the splendid dresses which they wore, and who, therefore, might be
supposed not habitually familiar with such finery. Again, there were
others, whose dress, though on a general view it did not seem inferior
to that of the rest of the company, displayed, on being observed more
closely, some of these petty expedients, by which vanity endeavours to
disguise poverty.
Nigel had very little time to make such observations, for the entrance
of Lord Dalgarno created an immediate bustle and sensation among the
company, as his name passed from one mouth to another. Some stood
forward to gaze, others stood back to make way--those of his own rank
hastened to welcome him--those of inferior degree endeavoured to catch
some point of his gesture, or of his dress, to be worn and practised
upon a future occasion, as the newest and most authentic fashion.
The _genius loci_, the Chevalier himself, was not the last to welcome
this prime stay and ornament of his establishment. He came shuffling
forward with a hundred apish _conges_ and _chers milors_, to express his
happiness at seeing Lord Dalgarno again.--"I hope you do bring back the
sun with you, _Milor_--You did carry away the sun and moon from your
pauvre Chevalier when you leave him for so long. Pardieu, I believe you
take them away in your pockets."
"That must have been because you left me nothing else in them,
Chevalier," answered Lord Dalgarno; "but Monsieur le Chevalier, I pray
you to know my countryman and friend, Lord Glenvarloch!"
"Ah, ha! tres honore--Je m'en souviens,--oui. J'ai connu autrefois un
Milor Kenfarloque en Ecosse. Yes, I have memory of him--le pere de milor
apparemment-we were vera intimate when I was at Oly Root with Monsieur
de la Motte--I did often play at tennis vit Milor Kenfarloque at
L'Abbaie d'Oly Root--il etoit meme plus fort que moi--Ah le beaucoup
de revers qu'il avoit!--I have memory, too that he was among the pretty
girls--ah, un vrai diable dechaine--Aha! I have memory--"
"Better have no more memory of the late Lord Glenvarloch," said Lord
Dalgarno, interrupting the Chevalier without ceremony; who perceived
that the encomium which he was about to pass on the deceased was likely
to be as disagreeable to the son as it was totally undeserved by the
father, who, far from being either a gamester or libertine, as the
Chevalier's reminiscences falsely represented him, was, on the contrary,
strict and severe in his course of life, almost to the extent of rigour.
"You have the reason, milor," answered the Chevalier, "you have the
right--Qu'est ce que nous avons a faire avec le temps passe?--the time
passed did belong to our fathers--our ancetres--very well--the time
present is to us--they have their pretty tombs with their memories and
armorials, all in brass and marbre--we have the petits plats exquis, and
the soupe-a-Chevalier, which I will cause to mount up immediately."
So saying, he made a pirouette on his heel, and put his attendants in
motion to place dinner on the table. Dalgarno laughed, and, observing
his young friend looked grave, said to him, in a tone of reproach--"Why,
what!--you are not gull enough to be angry with such an ass as that?"
"I keep my anger, I trust, for better purposes," said Lord Glenvarloch;
"but I confess I was moved to hear such a fellow mention my father's
name--and you, too, who told me this was no gaming-house, talked to him
of having left it with emptied pockets."
"Pshaw, man!" said Lord Dalgarno, "I spoke but according to the trick of
the time; besides, a man must set a piece or two sometimes, or he would
be held a cullionly niggard. But here comes dinner, and we will
see whether you like the Chevalier's good cheer better than his
conversation."
Dinner was announced accordingly, and the two friends, being seated in
the most honourable station at the board, were ceremoniously attended
to by the Chevalier, who did the honours of his table to them and to the
other guests, and seasoned the whole with his agreeable conversation.
The dinner was really excellent, in that piquant style of cookery which
the French had already introduced, and which the home-bred young men of
England, when they aspired to the rank of connoisseurs and persons of
taste, were under the necessity of admiring. The wine was also of the
first quality, and circulated in great variety, and no less abundance.
The conversation among so many young men was, of course, light, lively,
and amusing; and Nigel, whose mind had been long depressed by anxiety
and misfortune, naturally found himself at ease, and his spirits raised
and animated.
Some of the company had real wit, and could use it both politely and to
advantage; others were coxcombs, and were laughed at without discovering
it; and, again, others were originals, who seemed to have no objection
that the company should be amused with their folly instead of their
wit. And almost all the rest who played any prominent part in the
conversation had either the real tone of good society which belonged to
the period, or the jargon which often passes current for it.
In short, the company and conversation was so agreeable, that Nigel's
rigour was softened by it, even towards the master of ceremonies, and
he listened with patience to various details which the Chevalier de
Beaujeu, seeing, as he said, that Milor's taste lay for the "curieux
and Futile," chose to address to him in particular, on the subject of
cookery. To gratify, at the same time, the taste for antiquity, which
he somehow supposed that his new guest possessed, he launched out in
commendation of the great artists of former days, particularly one
whom he had known in his youth, "Maitre de Cuisine to the Marechal
Strozzi--tres bon gentilhomme pourtant;" who had maintained his master's
table with twelve covers every day during the long and severe blockade
of le petit Leyth, although he had nothing better to place on it than
the quarter of a carrion-horse now and then, and the grass and weeds
that grew on the ramparts. "Despardieux c'dtoit un homme superbe!" With
one tistle-head, and a nettle or two, he could make a soupe for twenty
guests--an haunch of a little puppy-dog made a roti des plus excellens;
but his coupe de maitre was when the rendition--what you call the
surrender, took place and appened; and then, dieu me damme, he made out
of the hind quarter of one salted horse, forty-five couverts; that the
English and Scottish officers and nobility, who had the honour to dine
with Monseigneur upon the rendition, could not tell what the devil any
of them were made upon at all.
The good wine had by this time gone so merrily round, and had such
genial effect on the guests, that those of the lower end of the table,
who had hitherto been listeners, began, not greatly to their own credit,
or that of the ordinary, to make innovations.
"You speak of the siege of Leith," said a tall, raw-boned man, with
thick mustaches turned up with a military twist, a broad buff belt, a
long rapier, and other outward symbols of the honoured profession, which
lives by killing other people--"you talk of the siege of Leith, and I
have seen the place--a pretty kind of a hamlet it is, with a plain wall,
or rampart, and a pigeon-house or so of a tower at every angle. Uds
daggers and scabbards, if a leaguer of our days had been twenty-four
hours, not to say so many months, before it, without carrying the place
and all its cocklofts, one after another, by pure storm, they would have
deserved no better grace than the Provost-Marshal gives when his noose
is reeved."
"Saar," said the Chevalier, "Monsieur le Capitaine, I vas not at
the siege of the petit Leyth, and I know not what you say about the
cockloft; but I will say for Monseigneur de Strozzi, that he understood
the grande guerre, and was grand capitaine--plus grand--that is more
great, it may be, than some of the capitaines of Angleterre, who do
speak very loud--tenez, Monsieur, car c'est a vous!"
"O Monsieur." answered the swordsman, "we know the Frenchman will fight
well behind his barrier of stone, or when he is armed with back, breast,
and pot."
"Pot!" exclaimed the Chevalier, "what do you mean by pot--do you mean to
insult me among my noble guests? Saar, I have done my duty as a pauvre
gentilhomme under the Grand Henri Quatre, both at Courtrai and Yvry,
and, ventre saint gris! we had neither pot nor marmite, but did always
charge in our shirt."
"Which refutes another base scandal," said Lord Dalgarno, laughing,
"alleging that linen was scarce among the French gentlemen-at-arms."
"Gentlemen out at arms and elbows both, you mean, my lord," said the
captain, from the bottom of the table. "Craving your lordship's pardon,
I do know something of these same gens-d'armes."
"We will spare your knowledge at present, captain, and save your modesty
at the same time the trouble of telling us how that knowledge was
acquired," answered Lord Dalgarno, rather contemptuously.
"I need not speak of it, my lord," said the man of war; "the world knows
it--all perhaps, but the men of mohair--the poor sneaking citizens of
London, who would see a man of valour eat his very hilts for hunger, ere
they would draw a farthing from their long purses to relieve them. O,
if a band of the honest fellows I have seen were once to come near that
cuckoo's nest of theirs!"
"A cuckoo's nest!-and that said of the city of London!" said a gallant
who sat on the opposite side of the table, and who, wearing a splendid
and fashionable dress, seemed yet scarce at home in it--"I will not
brook to hear that repeated."
"What!" said the soldier, bending a most terrific frown from a pair of
broad black eyebrows, handling the hilt of his weapon with one hand, and
twirling with the other his huge mustaches; "will you quarrel for your
city?"
"Ay, marry will I," replied the other. "I am a citizen, I care not who
knows it; and he who shall speak a word in dispraise of the city, is an
ass and a peremptory gull, and I will break his pate, to teach him sense
and manners."
The company, who probably had their reasons for not valuing the
captain's courage at the high rate which he himself put upon it, were
much entertained at the manner in which the quarrel was taken up by
the indignant citizen; and they exclaimed on all sides, "Well run,
Bow-bell!"--"Well crowed, the cock of Saint Paul's!"--"Sound a charge
there, or the soldier will mistake his signals, and retreat when he
should advance."
"You mistake me, gentlemen," said the captain, looking round with an
air of dignity. "I will but inquire whether this cavaliero citizen is
of rank and degree fitted to measure swords with a man of action; (for,
conceive me, gentlemen, it is not with every one that I can match myself
without loss of reputation;) and in that case he shall soon hear from me
honourably, by way of cartel."
"You shall feel me most dishonourably in the way of cudgel," said the
citizen, starting up, and taking his sword, which he had laid in a
corner. "Follow me."
"It is my right to name the place of combat, by all the rules of
the sword," said the captain; "and I do nominate the Maze, in
Tothill-Fields, for place--two gentlemen, who shall be indifferent
judges, for witnesses;--and for time--let me say this day fortnight, at
daybreak."
"And I," said the citizen, "do nominate the bowling-alley behind the
house for place, the present good company for witnesses, and for time
the present moment."
So saying, he cast on his beaver, struck the soldier across the
shoulders with his sheathed sword, and ran down stairs. The captain
showed no instant alacrity to follow him; yet, at last, roused by the
laugh and sneer around him, he assured the company, that what he did he
would do deliberately, and, assuming his hat, which he put on with the
air of Ancient Pistol, he descended the stairs to the place of combat,
where his more prompt adversary was already stationed, with his sword
unsheathed. Of the company, all of whom seemed highly delighted with
the approaching fray, some ran to the windows which overlooked the
bowling-alley, and others followed the combatants down stairs. Nigel
could not help asking Dalgarno whether he would not interfere to prevent
mischief.
"It would be a crime against the public interest," answered his friend;
"there can no mischief happen between two such originals, which will not
be a positive benefit to society, and particularly to the Chevalier's
establishment, as he calls it. I have been as sick of that captain's
buff belt, and red doublet, for this month past, as e'er I was of aught;
and now I hope this bold linendraper will cudgel the ass out of that
filthy lion's hide. See, Nigel, see the gallant citizen has ta'en his
ground about a bowl's-cast forward, in the midst of the alley--the very
model of a hog in armour. Behold how he prances with his manly foot, and
brandishes his blade, much as if he were about to measure forth cambric
with it. See, they bring on the reluctant soldado, and plant him
opposite to his fiery antagonist, twelve paces still dividing them--Lo,
the captain draws his tool, but, like a good general, looks over his
shoulder to secure his retreat, in case the worse come on't. Behold the
valiant shop-keeper stoops his head, confident, doubtless, in the civic
helmet with which his spouse has fortified his skull--Why, this is the
rarest of sport. By Heaven, he will run a tilt at him, like a ram."
It was even as Lord Dalgarno had anticipated; for the citizen, who
seemed quite serious in his zeal for combat, perceiving that the man
of war did not advance towards him, rushed onwards with as much good
fortune as courage, beat down the captain's guard, and, pressing
on, thrust, as it seemed, his sword clear through the body of his
antagonist, who, with a deep groan, measured his length on the ground.
A score of voices cried to the conqueror, as he stood fixed in
astonishment at his own feat, "Away, away with you!--fly, fly--fly by
the back door!--get into the Whitefriars, or cross the water to the
Bankside, while we keep off the mob and the constables." And
the conqueror, leaving his vanquished foeman on the ground, fled
accordingly, with all speed.
"By Heaven," said Lord Dalgarno, "I could never have believed that
the fellow would have stood to receive a thrust--he has certainly been
arrested by positive terror, and lost the use of his limbs. See, they
are raising him."
Stiff and stark seemed the corpse of the swordsman, as one or two of
the guests raised him from the ground; but, when they began to open his
waistcoat to search for the wound which nowhere existed, the man of war
collected, his scattered spirits; and, conscious that the ordinary was
no longer a stage on which to display his valour, took to his heels as
fast as he could run, pursued by the laughter and shouts of the company.
"By my honour," said Lord Dalgarno, "he takes the same course with his
conqueror. I trust in heaven he will overtake him, and then the valiant
citizen will suppose himself haunted by the ghost of him he has slain."
"Despardieux, milor," said the Chevalier, "if he had stayed one moment,
he should have had a _torchon_--what you call a dishclout, pinned to him
for a piece of shroud, to show he be de ghost of one grand fanfaron."
"In the meanwhile," said Lord Dalgarno, "you will oblige us, Monsieur le
Chevalier, as well as maintain your own honoured reputation, by letting
your drawers receive the man-at-arms with a cudgel, in case he should
venture to come way again."
"Ventre saint gris, milor," said the Chevalier, "leave that to
me.--Begar, the maid shall throw the wash-sud upon the grand poltron!"
When they had laughed sufficiently at this ludicrous occurrence, the
party began to divide themselves into little knots--some took possession
of the alley, late the scene of combat, and put the field to its proper
use of a bowling-ground, and it soon resounded with all the terms of the
game, as "run, run-rub, rub--hold bias, you infernal trundling timber!"
thus making good the saying, that three things are thrown away in a
bowling-green, namely, time, money, and oaths. In the house, many of the
gentlemen betook themselves to cards or dice, and parties were formed at
Ombre, at Basset, at Gleek, at Primero, and other games then in fashion;
while the dice were used at various games, both with and without the
tables, as Hazard, In-and-in, Passage, and so forth. The play, however,
did not appear to be extravagantly deep; it was certainly conducted with
great decorum and fairness; nor did there appear any thing to lead the
young Scotsman in the least to doubt his companion's assurance, that
the place was frequented by men of rank and quality, and that the
recreations they adopted were conducted upon honourable principles.
Lord Dalgarno neither had proposed play to his friend, nor joined in the
amusement himself, but sauntered from one table to another, remarking
the luck of the different players, as well as their capacity to avail
themselves of it, and exchanging conversation with the highest and most
respectable of the guests. At length, as if tired of what in modern
phrase would have been termed lounging, he suddenly remembered that
Burbage was to act Shakespeare's King Richard, at the Fortune, that
afternoon, and that he could not give a stranger in London, like
Lord Glenvarloch, a higher entertainment than to carry him to that
exhibition; "unless, indeed," he added, in a whisper, "there is paternal
interdiction of the theatre as well as of the ordinary."
"I never heard my father speak of stage-plays," said Lord Glenvarloch,
"for they are shows of a modern date, and unknown in Scotland. Yet, if
what I have heard to their prejudice be true, I doubt much whether he
would have approved of them."
"Approved of them!" exclaimed Lord Dalgarno--"why, George Buchanan wrote
tragedies, and his pupil, learned and wise as himself, goes to see
them, so it is next door to treason to abstain; and the cleverest men in
England write for the stage, and the prettiest women in London resort to
the playhouses, and I have a brace of nags at the door which will
carry us along the streets like wild-fire, and the ride will digest our
venison and ortolans, and dissipate the fumes of the wine, and so let's
to horse--Godd'en to you, gentlemen--Godd'en, Chevalier de la Fortune."
Lord Dalgarno's grooms were in attendance with two horses, and the young
men mounted, the proprietor upon a favourite barb, and Nigel upon a
high-dressed jennet, scarce less beautiful. As they rode towards the
theatre, Lord Dalgarno endeavoured to discover his friend's opinion of
the company to which he had introduced him, and to combat the exceptions
which he might suppose him to have taken. "And wherefore lookest thou
sad," he said, "my pensive neophyte? Sage son of the Alma Mater of
Low-Dutch learning, what aileth thee? Is the leaf of the living world
which we have turned over in company, less fairly written than thou
hadst been taught to expect? Be comforted, and pass over one little blot
or two; thou wilt be doomed to read through many a page, as black as
Infamy, with her sooty pinion, can make them. Remember, most immaculate
Nigel, that we are in London, not Leyden--that we are studying life, not
lore. Stand buff against the reproach of thine over-tender conscience,
man, and when thou summest up, like a good arithmetician, the actions
of the day, before you balance the account on your pillow, tell the
accusing spirit, to his brimstone beard, that if thine ears have heard
the clatter of the devil's bones, thy hand hath not trowled them--that
if thine eye hath seen the brawling of two angry boys, thy blade hath
not been bared in their fray."
"Now, all this may be wise and witty," replied Nigel; "yet I own I
cannot think but that your lordship, and other men of good quality
with whom we dined, might have chosen a place of meeting free from the
intrusion of bullies, and a better master of your ceremonial than yonder
foreign adventurer."
"All shall be amended, Sancte Nigelle, when thou shalt come forth a
new Peter the Hermit, to preach a crusade against dicing, drabbing, and
company-keeping. We will meet for dinner in Saint Sepulchre's Church;
we will dine in the chancel, drink our flask in the vestry, the parson
shall draw every cork, and the clerk say amen to every health. Come man,
cheer up, and get rid of this sour and unsocial humour. Credit me, that
the Puritans who object to us the follies and the frailties incident to
human nature, have themselves the vices of absolute devils, privy malice
and backbiting hypocrisy, and spiritual pride in all its presumption.
There is much, too, in life which we must see, were it only to learn to
shun it. Will Shakespeare, who lives after death, and who is presently
to afford thee such pleasure as none but himself can confer, has
described the gallant Falconbridge as calling that man
----' a bastard to the time,
That doth not smack of observation;
Which, though I will not practise to deceive,
Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn."
But here we are at the door of the Fortune, where we shall have
matchless Will speaking for himself.--Goblin, and you other lout, leave
the horses to the grooms, and make way for us through the press."
They dismounted, and the assiduous efforts of Lutin, elbowing, bullying,
and proclaiming his master's name and title, made way through a crowd of
murmuring citizens, and clamorous apprentices, to the door, where Lord
Dalgarno speedily procured a brace of stools upon the stage for his
companion and himself, where, seated among other gallants of the same
class, they had an opportunity of displaying their fair dresses
and fashionable manners, while they criticised the piece during its
progress; thus forming, at the same time, a conspicuous part of the
spectacle, and an important proportion of the audience.
Nigel Olifaunt was too eagerly and deeply absorbed in the interest of
the scene, to be capable of playing his part as became the place
where he was seated. He felt all the magic of that sorcerer, who had
displayed, within the paltry circle of a wooden booth, the long wars of
York and Lancaster, compelling the heroes of either line to stalk across
the scene in language and fashion as they lived, as if the grave had
given up the dead for the amusement and instruction of the living.
Burbage, esteemed the best Richard until Garrick arose, played the
tyrant and usurper with such truth and liveliness, that when the Battle
of Bosworth seemed concluded by his death, the ideas of reality and
deception were strongly contending in Lord Glenvarloch's imagination,
and it required him to rouse himself from his reverie, so strange did
the proposal at first sound when his companion declared King Richard
should sup with them at the Mermaid.
They were joined, at the same time, by a small party of the gentlemen
with whom they had dined, which they recruited by inviting two or three
of the most accomplished wits and poets, who seldom failed to attend
the Fortune Theatre, and were even but too ready to conclude a day of
amusement with a night of pleasure. Thither the whole party adjourned,
and betwixt fertile cups of sack, excited spirits, and the emulous wit
of their lively companions, seemed to realise the joyous boast of one of
Ben Jonson's contemporaries, when reminding the bard of
"Those lyric feasts,
Where men such clusters had,
As made them nobly wild, not mad;
While yet each verse of thine
Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine."