_The Household of a Virtuoso._
Ah! how sorry a Thing is it, when a Man's Absence from his own Home
is felt by all the Household to be a Relief! My poor _Father_ kept
his Word, of not coming nigh us, for a good While; and, could we have
been assured of his being well, and doing well, there would have been
no Alloy to our Comfort under the Deprivation, however we might feel
ashamed to acknowledge it.
The unfortunate Habit of buying Things he did not want, had become a
Kind of Disease, that I verily think he could no longer controul; but
it might have been checked in its first Beginnings in early Life,
for it could not have been born with him. How careful should People
be to shun the first Temptations to needless and lawless Expenditure!
instead of putting themselves in the Way of it, as I am free to say
many do, out of mere Wantonness. 'Tis they that keep up our Lace-Shops
and Auctions, on whose Spoils unprincipled Dealers grow rich, while
honester People cannot get their Bills paid by them, and so are ruined.
Lady _Betty's_ Man had scarce left us, when I went to my _Father's_
Wardrobe, to put away some Linen I had been repairing; when, in one of
the Drawers, I came upon five Pairs of red Silk Stockings, worth eight
or ten Shillings the Pair, that had never been so much as put on! He
had bought them, years ago, to wear with his Sad-coloured Coat and
Scarlet Waistcoat; but the Fashion for them had already gone by, and
one Pair would have sufficed a Man that needed 'em so seldom; whereas,
I warrant, he took an Half-Dozen.
To return to the Matter in Hand. When I carried Mr. _Fenwick_ his
Chocolate and Rusks, I found him with Writing Implements and Papers all
about, hurriedly affixing his fine Carnelion Seal to a somewhat bulky
Packet. I said, "Dear Heart, Sir, are you prudent, do you think, in
writing so much?"
"If you cut me off from writing, Mrs. _Patty_," says he, with his
pleasant Smile, "pray what do you leave me? I am already forbidden to
talk, I am unable to walk, and I cannot always be reading. Oblige me by
porting this Packet by a safe Hand; or stay, here is a Shilling for a
special Messenger, if you will find one."
I said, "I will, Sir," and happening to cast my Eye absently on the
Superscription of the Packet as I withdrew, I saw that it was addressed
to Mr. _Paul Caryl_, _Will's_ Coffee-House, which struck me, as I knew
not that he was any Acquaintance of Mr. _Fenwick's_.
Mrs. _Gatty_ continued exceeding ill all that Day, her Tongue forked
and crimson-red, her Eyes wandering, and her Deliration incessantly
finding Vent in an incoherent Babble, of which few Words could be made
out, so thick and quick was her Voice. When Dr. _Elwes_ saw her next,
he shook his Head, and laying his Hand kindly on my Shoulder, "You are
in for it now, Mrs. _Patty_," says he. "I don't believe you will take
Infection, but it may be as well to keep yourself to yourself, and not
go below, especially to your younger Sister. This poor Thing's Fever
will turn in a few Days; and in the mean Time, you must continue to
be what you have begun, by being a good _Samaritan_." I dropped a few
Tears to hear him talk thus, but he bade me by no Means to give Way
to low Spirits, but take plenty of generous Nourishment; and he would
set them on their Guard below, without frightening them. He also said
somewhat of an hired Nurse, but I begged him not to think of it,
unless indeed I should fall sick myself, and then I would rather have
one than endanger _Prue_.
When he was gone, I kneeled down and prayed; then rose with much
Composure and sat down to my Work, which was making a Net to keep the
Flies from the Pastry, occasionally laying it aside to render the poor
Sufferer what Attention she required.
By and by I heard the Tap of my dear _Mother's_ Walking-Stick, coming
up the Stairs; but I would by no Means let her in, only spoke to her
through the Door, as cheerfully as I could, and bade her take Care of
dear _Prue_ and her dear Self.
The next few Days and Nights were very trying. I obtained a nearer
Sight of the dark Valley we must all pass through soon or late than I
had ever done before. It seemed to throw an entirely different Hue over
the Face of natural and spiritual Things, and to shew the littleness of
many Things that are commonly considered great, and the greatness of
many that are considered little.
At length the Fever took a Turn, and poor _Gatty_ opened her Eyes with
a Look that had Sense and Recognition in it. She said, "Oh me, how weak
I am! Are you still here, dear Mrs. _Patty_? How strange it seems to
me to be lying a-bed without hearing my _Lady_ pulling her Bell, and
rapping the Floor with her Slipper!"
I bent over her and kissed her wan Lips, which she requited by a
thankful Smile, and then dozed off into what I was ready to believe
was a restoring Sleep. I was very desirous not to disturb it, so sat
perfectly still at my Netting, close to the open Window, through
which the warm Summer Air came refreshingly, without waving the
white Curtains of the Bed. Mr. _Fenwick's_ Window, which was also
open, was immediately below; and through it I could hear Voices, and
what they were saying. I should remark that I afterwards learnt from
_Prue_, that, from the Time of my confining myself above Stairs, Mr.
_Fenwick_, upon whom it had been her Portion to wait, had been uncommon
restless and fidgetty.
He so seldom received a Visitor, that I was surprised to hear a Man's
Voice in his Chamber. Nor did I at first think I had ever heard it
before.
_Prue_ had probably announced the Name without its reaching me; for the
first Exclamation I heard was from Mr. _Fenwick_, who appeared to start
from the Window-Seat, with, "Sir!--This Condescension confers both
Honour and Pleasure!"
"Don't name it," said the other easily, "the Pleasure is mine. I came
to see the ingenious Madman to whom I was indebted for the Letter and
the Manuscript."
"Madman?" repeated Mr. _Fenwick_, deprecatingly.
"Yes, Madman," reiterated the other, "for who, in his Senses, would
address a Poem to a Patron almost as penniless as himself?"
"Sir, there are other Claims to Reverence," replied Mr. _Fenwick_,
"besides those of Wealth."
"Truly I hope so," replied his Visitor, "but I don't know that they
are germane to the present Question. You write a Poem; you want a
_Mecænas_; and instead of addressing a laudatory Dedication to some
Peer of Mark and Magnitude, you light upon a poor Brother Witling and
Authorling like myself."
"Your Courtesy lessens not the Distance between us," said Mr.
_Fenwick_; "you are a recognised Wit and successful Man of Letters; I
only a poor Aspirant."
"Aye, Man, but Wits don't make one another's Fortunes. _Shakspeare_,
_Spenser_, and _Jonson_, did not dedicate to one another. _Shakspeare_
had his _Southampton_; _Spenser_ his _Raleigh_, _Sidney_, _Hatton_,
_Burleigh_, a whole Cloud or Galaxy of Sponsors."
"There's something wrong and humiliating in the System," said Mr.
_Fenwick_.
"Something rotten in the State of _Denmark_?" said the other. "Truly
there is! _Shakspeare_ may have unfeignedly admired _Southampton_
and _Spenser Sidney_; but the relation between Patron and Client has
degenerated into Something unworthy of free, upright Minds. Does my
Thought jump with yours?"
"It does, I confess to you. I am poor; most of our Fraternity are. I
am cut off from my professional Duties, and have employed a Season of
Leisure, and cheated some Hours of Languor, by what, it must be owned,
I composed for downright Pleasure rather than for Gain. Yet a Man does
not willingly let his cherished Thoughts die."
"Certainly not."
"Therefore I aspired to see mine in Print; inscribed not to some
bloated Peer, more competent to decide on the Merits of a Pipe of
_Bordeaux_ than of an Ode by _Horace_, but to some one whose Genius
and turn of Thought I sincerely admired."
"Mr. _Fenwick_, have you a private Fortune?"
"Oh no, Sir ... only a poor Curacy of fifty Pounds a Year."
"Your Tastes are expensive, let me tell you, for a poor Man. Had you
writ your Dedication to my Lord _Earlstoke_ instead of to me, he might
have given you twenty Pounds!"
"I would rather have burned my Poem."
"Sir _Charles Sefton_ might have given you thirty."
"But had I said to him what I have said to you, it would have been a
Lie."
"Pooh! you are too nice. Why, Man, I have writ Dedications myself. I
know the Market-Value of these Things. Moreover, the Booksellers will
laugh at you, and probably will refuse to print."
"Well, Sir, no great Harm done; I shall be disappointed, but not
heartbroken. Happy for me, I am not writing for Bread."
"Hark ye, Mr. _Fenwick_--"
And I could not catch the Sense nor Connexion of what followed. Mr.
_Caryl_ seemed to lead away quite from the Subject in Hand to College
Matters, and asking Mr. _Fenwick's_ Opinion about this and t'other
Poet; for such I took 'em to be, because they got upon such Names as
_Lucretius_ and _Catullus_, and others ending in _us_, the which I had
seen tagged to the Mottoes of the _Tatler_ and _Spectator_. And they
seemed to talk over their Merits, and declare their own Opinions of
them, which did not agree, because I heard Mr. _Caryl_ laugh at Mr.
_Fenwick_ for battling so stoutly with his _Patron_. Then they got on
to _Greek_ Play-Writers, I think, and seemed more of a Mind, and to
warm mightily and spout favourite Passages, each inciting and kindling
the other, so that 'twas quite pleasant to hear 'em, even without
understanding a Word of what they were saying; and I was glad Mr.
_Fenwick_ had Company so much to his Mind, that would make the Morning
fly away so fast; and only hoped he might not over-exert himself, and
suffer for it afterwards. Then I fell to thinking that if such were his
Tastes and Capacities, what a wide, wide Barrier there must be between
his cultivated Mind and our uncultivated Minds, and how trite and
poor must seem to him the very best Remarks that we could offer! And
while I was pursuing this Thought, and forgetting to hearken to their
Discourse, I was recalled to it all at once by hearing Mr. _Caryl_ say,
"This won't do; I must be off. Good Day, Sir!"
And, in shaking Hands with Mr. _Fenwick_, I suppose he endeavoured
to leave a Purse in his Hand; for I heard Mr. _Fenwick_ quite
energetically say:
"Oh no! No indeed! I cannot think of it for a Moment! It must not be
so!"
And the other; "Nay, but it _must_ be so! For once, you must flatter my
Vanity by letting me fancy myself a Lord _Earlstoke_."
"That would, on the contrary, be to _humble_ your Vanity. In a Word,
Sir, I cannot! you must grant me my Pride, instead of pretending to
gratify your Vanity; and my Pride is to be a free Man, and speak the
Truth unpaid."
"Well, you are an Eccentricity. I'm afraid you won't find it answer in
the long Run. I'll tell you what I'll do; for I _must_ do Something.
_Cave_ will flout at the very idea of publishing Poems with such a
Dedication as yours; permit me the Use of your Manuscript for a Day
or two. I'll read a Passage of it here and there at my Coffee-House,
and ditto at _Dodsley's_, sing its Praises, and make a Mystery of its
Author; instead of offering it him for Publication, I'll wait till he
makes Advances to me. See if that won't do!"
"Mr. _Caryl_, you are making me your Slave--I mean, your Debtor, for
Life!"
"Why, a Debtor _is_ a sort of Slave to his Creditor, you _free Man_!
See how soon you are chained! However, don't let us reckon our Chickens
before they are hatched. The Plan may take, or may fail. Farewell."
And I heard him lightly run down Stairs; and looking softly out of my
Window, I could see Mr. _Fenwick_ leaning on his Window-Sill, his Cheek
resting on his Hand, in profound and, I doubt not, blissful Reverie.
Perhaps a Man more peacefully happy than he was at that Moment did not
exist.
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