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[Illustration: Book Cover]
GARRICK'S PUPIL.
GARRICK'S PUPIL
By AUGUSTIN FILON
_Translated by_
J. V. PRICHARD
Illustrated
[Illustration]
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & COMPANY
1893
COPYRIGHT,
BY A. C. MCCLURG & CO.
A. D. 1893.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. PAINTER AND MODEL 7
II. A SUPPER AT SIR JOSHUA'S 22
III. LADY VEREKER'S BOUDOIR 33
IV. THE BROOKS CLUB 42
V. A STRANGE EDUCATION 58
VI. THE HOUSE IN TOTHILL FIELDS 71
VII. CONFIDENCES 81
VIII. MR. FISHER'S SUBSTITUTE 97
IX. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 106
X. DEATH TO THE PAPISTS 117
XI. THE DAY OF DAYS 132
XII. THE MASQUERADE AT THE PANTHEON 143
XIII. MOWBRAY'S FOLLY AT CHELSEA 156
XIV. VAIN QUESTS 171
XV. SANCTUARY 184
XVI. GAMES OF DEATH AND CHANCE 194
XVII. HORACE AND SHAKESPEARE 208
CHAPTER I.
PAINTER AND MODEL.
Just as the third hour of the afternoon had sounded from the belfry of
Saint Martin's-in-the-Fields, a hackney coach drew up before the most
pretentious mansion upon the west side of Leicester Fields; and while
the coachman hastened to agitate the heavy door-knocker, a young woman,
almost a child, sprang out upon the pavement without waiting to have the
shaky steps unfolded and lowered for her convenience. Her dust-colored
mantle, disarranged by her rapid movements, revealed a rich costume
beneath; while the dazzled passer-by might have caught a glimpse, amidst
the whiteness of the elevated skirts, of a tiny pair of red satin
slippers and two slender, exquisitely moulded ankles finely clad in
silken hose with embroidered clocks.
The girl turned and assisted a more aged woman, leaning upon a
crutch-headed cane, to descend. This lady wore the big straw bonnet and
gray gown of the Quaker persuasion,--a rigidly simple costume, which
occasionally is becoming to extreme youth, but rarely enhances maturer
charms.
It was one of those glorious days of the English springtide when life
seems endurable even to the hapless, grateful even to the invalid. A
bland breeze rustled the branches of the grand old trees which in double
rows framed the open square. Several children were at play upon the
spacious grass-plot, which was intersected by diagonal paths of yellow
sand. The square was silent, and slept in the voluptuous warmth of the
perfect afternoon; but from the north side came the bustle and confusion
that resembled the turmoil of some festival. It was the continuous din
of the two tides of life which here meet and cross each other, the one
surging from Covent Garden and Chancery Lane, the other from Piccadilly
and St. James's. Pedestrians and horsemen, coaches and sedan chairs,
went to make up a glittering, varied hodgepodge, amidst which
flower-girls and newsboys fought their way, together with the venders of
"hot buns." Gentlemen saluted with exaggerated gesture, pressing their
cocked hats to their breasts and affectedly inclining their heads
towards their right shoulder; while the ladies fluttered their fans and
nodded the edifices of flowers and feathers which served in lieu of a
head-dress. The intoxicating odor of iris powder, of benzoin, bergamot,
and patchouli floated upon the air. The beggars leaning against the
railing of the square and the Irish chairmen indolently smoking their
pipes, for whom life is but a spectacle, watched the passage of others'
happiness. A bright, genial sun polished the flanks of the plaster horse
in the centre of the square, upon which rode a prince of the House of
Hanover. It shone upon the head of the gilded cock which served as sign
to Hogarth's old shop, flamed upon the windows of Newton's sham
observatory, glistened upon the roofs, played along the line of
coaches, set tiny mirrors upon the harnesses of the horses, glittered in
the diamonds in the women's ears, and on the swords that clattered
against the men's legs, set a spangle here or a spark there, and bathed
all things in a blaze of light and joy.
Meanwhile a lackey in a livery embroidered in silver had opened the door
to the two women.
"Sir Joshua Reynolds?"
The lackey hesitated, but at the moment Ralph, the painter's
confidential man, appeared upon the steps.
"Miss Woodville?" he inquired in his turn.
"Yes," replied the girl.
"Be good enough to follow me, Miss Woodville"; adding with a smile, "You
are prompt."
"It is the custom of the theatre. Lean upon my arm, aunt."
At this moment Miss Woodville was saluted with a "good-morning" uttered
by so strange, so guttural, so piercing a voice that she involuntarily
started.
"Don't be alarmed," said Ralph; "it is the bird."
"What bird?"
"Sir Joshua's parrot. He was in the courtyard, but had to be removed to
the dining-room because he fought with the eagle."
"An eagle! a parrot! Pray what are they doing here?"
"They pose. Miss Woodville must have noticed them in more than one of
Sir Joshua's pictures. Oh, we all take our turns in sitting as models to
him. Yesterday I was a shepherd; the day before, a sea-god."
The good man drew himself up at the recollection of the lofty dignity
with which his master's confidence had invested him.
Thus chatting, they reached the first floor. Ralph introduced the ladies
into a gallery filled with roughly sketched canvases. He knocked twice
upon the door at the extreme end, but received no response.
"How deaf the President grows!" he murmured, shaking his head.
Without further delay he opened the door.
Miss Woodville and her companion found themselves upon the threshold of
quite a spacious chamber, lighted by a large window facing the north and
nine feet in height.
The room contained an easel upon which rested a white canvas; near the
easel stood a large mirror; upon a table near by lay the palette, all
ready and fresh, with a row of little paint jars. The model's chair,
raised upon a dais and revolving upon a pivot, was placed next to that
of the painter, and opposite the mirror. About the room several sofas
were arranged. There were no knickknacks; no cluttering; nothing to
offend the sight, unless it was that just about the painter's chair the
floor was black with snuff.
The man who advanced slowly to meet the strangers, making use of his
maul-stick as a cane, while in the other he carried a silver
ear-trumpet, was none other than Sir Joshua Reynolds himself, the
greatest painter of women that the world has ever known.
The first impression he made upon his visitors was disappointing,
indefinable.
That expansive brow which the hair, brushed straightly back, disclosed
did not lack nobility; but the under lip, cleft by a wound and shrunken
in the middle, lent to the mouth an expression at once unpleasant and
strained. The eyes were concealed behind the crystalline glimmer of
spectacles securely attached to the back of the head by broad black
ribbons. The spare, calmly cold figure bore neither the trace of precise
age nor the certainty of sex. At some distance and in obscurity one
would have hesitated to pronounce it as that of a youth or an aged
woman. Perhaps in some way the air of indecision and anxiety was due to
that expression peculiar to those afflicted with deafness whose aim it
is to dissimulate their infirmity.
He cast upon the old Quakeress a rapid, searching glance; then his eyes
rested complacently upon Miss Woodville; his features, cold to
unpleasantness, softened and became animated. Already had he painted
three thousand portraits, but, far from being weary of his profession,
his enthusiasm for the wonders of the human physiognomy increased each
time that he found himself in the presence of a new model. Each time he
thought, "_This_ will be my _chef-d'oeuvre_!"
The girl was quickly relieved of her mantle, which Ralph laid aside. She
was dressed in the costume of Rosalind, as she had appeared at Drury
Lane for the first time six months previously,--memorable night! when
she had only to show herself to vanquish and carry by storm the hearts
of all London.
A wide-brimmed hat of gray felt with plumes, a corsage of rose-pink
taffety embroidered in silver, and a skirt of green velvet closely
plaited--such was the costume.
The small, childish head, framed in a profusion of chestnut curls, was
illumined by a pair of great brown eyes. With the eye of a connoisseur
Reynolds regarded the delicate complexion, over which ran at the
slightest provocation the rosiest of blushes, and over which every throb
of the heart sent a hint of the tide of life, regarded that brilliant,
mobile glance of the eye, in the depths of which played every
description of piqued curiosity and _naif_ desire, lost in the riotous
joy of living, of being sweet sixteen, celebrated and beautiful.
"Sit there, Miss Woodville," said the President of the Royal Academy,
indicating the pivot chair.
"What! Ought I not to be placed opposite you?"
"No; rather at my side. We shall both benefit by the arrangement.
Instead of looking at an ugly old painter, you will perceive your own
charming image in the mirror and will smile upon it, while I have my
sketch all done for me."
The old lady had drawn a roll of bank-notes from her pocket, which she
proceeded carefully to count and re-count.
"I believe it is the custom," she said.
Sir Joshua acquiesced in silence with a cold smile. An able accountant
and serious man of business, this President of the Royal Academy! The
price of his portraits was invariably paid him, one half on the occasion
of the first sitting, the remainder on the day that the finished work
was delivered. As to the price, it varied according to the dimension; it
had also varied with the epoch and had increased with the reputation of
the artist. A full-length portrait cost at that time (1780) one hundred
and fifty pounds sterling.
The Quakeress, therefore, placed upon a table seventy-five pounds in
notes and gold pieces bearing the effigy of George III. As Miss
Woodville was not yet sufficiently wealthy to order a portrait from the
great painter, a group of enthusiastic amateurs had raised the necessary
money in order to decorate the lobby of the theatre with the portrait.
"Am I permitted to talk?" inquired the girl.
"As much as you please."
"Oh, that's good!" she said, drawing a breath of relief; "and may I ask
a question?"
"Ten, if you see fit."
"Sir Joshua, why are you making me so deathly white? I look like a
statue."
Reynolds smiled.
"What will you say at the next sitting? I shall tint you all in Naples
yellow."
"Fie!--horrors! Why do you do that?"
"Ah, that is my little secret! My enemies pretend that I have scraped a
Watteau, others say a Titian, in order to discover the successive layers
of color and surprise the method of these masters. And why should I not?
All means are justifiable so long as one succeeds in imitating life.
Others pretend that I paint on wax. They may say what they please.
Hudson, my master, painted exceedingly well on cheese."
"On cheese!" exclaimed Miss Woodville with a laugh; "fancy a painting on
cheese!"
"Exactly so."
Thereupon ensued a pause, during which the canvas was heard to crack
beneath the pencil, while the old lady's needles clicked where she sat
knitting. Evidently ill at ease, Reynolds fretted upon his chair. At
last he turned towards the Quakeress and courteously remarked, "The time
will hang heavily upon your hands, madam."
"I have brought my work, and have no end of patience," she replied.
"That may be; but the first sitting is always tedious. Moreover, I need
to become intimately acquainted with my model, and since Miss Woodville
does not play this evening, I count upon keeping your niece for supper,
if you have no objection. I am to have a few friends here, for whom my
sister will do the honors as hostess,--Mr. Burke, Dr. Johnson, my
charming neighbor, Miss Burney."
"The author of 'Evelina'! Oh, I long to meet her!"
"So you see, madam, you may spare yourself a tedious wait, and without
fear leave Miss Woodville in my care. I shall make it my duty to see
that she is returned to you properly escorted."
Thus politely dismissed, the old lady regretfully arose, but seemed
still to hesitate.
"Go, aunt, or you will miss the reunion of 'The Favorites of Jesus
Christ,' of whom you are the presiding officer," suggested the younger
lady.
Whether influenced by this consideration, or whether she found it
difficult to resist the desire which the painter had so delicately
expressed, the Quakeress retired, escorted even to the threshold by Sir
Joshua.
"Are you aware," he asked, returning to his model, "of my true purpose
in sending this lady away?"
"In truth, no."
"Because she constrains you; because she casts a shadow upon your youth
and gayety; in a word, because she prevents you from being yourself."
"Pray, how could you divine that?"
"My dear child, I have already deciphered three thousand human visages,
and why should I not have learned to read the soul a little? The lady is
your aunt?"
"Yes,--at least I have been told to call her so."
"And your parents?"
"My mother is dead; I never knew her. My father has travelled for the
past fifteen years in foreign lands; perhaps I shall never see him.
While a mere child I was placed in Miss Hannah More's boarding-school at
Bristol. One day we learned that our mistress was a poetic genius, that
Dr. Johnson himself had deigned to encourage her. You cannot imagine,
Sir Joshua, what a sensation the tidings created among us girls! We all
sighed to compose verse--or to recite. It was discovered that I spoke
rather better than the others. I swear to you that I was possessed of
but one desire,--to appear in costume, to escape from that frightful
gray gown and that horrible Quaker bonnet in which we were all hooded.
One day I was made to declaim before Mr. Garrick. He wished to give me
lessons and make an actress of me. And a few months later I made my
_debut_."
"And a genuine triumph it was! I was there."
"It was then that I was informed that I had an aunt, a sister of my
mother, and I was forthwith placed in her care, in her guardianship."
"And she has rigorously acquitted herself of the mission which was
confided to her."
The child heaved a deep sigh.
"Ah, Sir Joshua! It is not that she is unkind in any way, but she is my
constant shadow. In the wings, in the greenroom, at the rehearsals, she
is ever at my side, answering questions which are put to me, refusing
invitations, reading letters which are addressed to me, and forcing me
to sing psalms to put to rout the evil thoughts which I find in
Shakespeare!"
"I see; and you long to be free?"
"Oh, yes, passionately!"
"And what use would you make of your liberty?"
"Oh, I can't fancy. Perhaps I might love virtue if it were not crammed
down my throat."
"Good!"
"But you do not know the worst yet."
"Well?"
"The worst--is Reuben!"
"And who may Reuben be?"
"My cousin, my aunt's son; but he is no Quaker. He belongs to one of
those old, rigid, cruel sects which have been perpetuated in shadow
since the days of the Puritans. He is a fanatic; it would rejoice his
heart to plunge into a sea of papist blood; meanwhile he torments me."
"Perhaps he loves you?"
"Yes, according to his light, which surely is not a fair light."
"And what is the proper method of loving?"
The girl burst into a coquettish laugh.
"You ask me more than I can tell, Sir Joshua."
"Indeed? Pray how, then, can one who is ignorant of the sentiment impart
its faithful presentment to others? How can she communicate an emotion
which finds no echo in her own soul? Who has the ability to teach her to
invest her voice, her gestures, her glance, her very smile, with the
woes and joys of love?"
"Garrick, I tell you!"
That name, cast haphazard into their conversation, caused a divergence.
"Poor Garrick!" exclaimed Reynolds ruefully; "it is scarcely yet a year
since we left him alone in his glory beneath the pavement of
Westminster."
The mobile countenance of the child actress reflected as a mirror the
sad memory evoked by the artist; a tear glistened upon the lashes of her
beautiful eyes.
"He was your friend?" she inquired.
"Oh, yes; one of whom I was very proud."
"Did you paint his portrait?"
"Many times. He posed marvellously, and never tormented me as he did one
of my fellow-artists to whom quite unwillingly he had accorded some
sittings."
"What did he do?"
"Changed his mask every five minutes, until the poor artist, believing
that he as often had a new model before him, or the devil, perhaps,
flung away his brushes in despair."
"Garrick once told me," said Esther Woodville, "that the son of a
friend, recently dead, had sought him to complain of some trickery by
which he had been deprived of a portion of his inheritance. A certain
old man, to whom the deceased had intrusted a considerable sum, denied
the trust and refused to make restitution. Do you know what Garrick did?
Arrayed in the attire of the dead, he played the ghost, and played it so
well that the wretch, terrified beyond measure, made confession and
restored the property."
"I never heard the anecdote; it is curious," said Reynolds, taking a
pinch of snuff.
He extended the open box to the actress, but she refused it with a
slight grimace.
"You make a mistake," he said; "this is some 37, Hardham's; our
_elegantes_ prefer it to any other." Then after a brief pause he added,
"Your physiognomy is scarcely less changeable than Garrick's; you have
laughed, you have wept; you have been gay, excited, mournful. Now, of
all these expressions which have chased each other over your charming
face--nay, do not blush; I am an old man--of all these varied
expressions which is the veritable, the dominant one,--the one which
expresses the character of your soul? As long as I fail to discover this
expression in the model, so long is my brush paralyzed. I am obliged to
seek until I find it. I have painted Garrick both in tragedy and comedy;
Admiral Keppel, sword in hand, upon the point of giving the order to
clear the decks for action; Kitty Fisher, at her toilet, since it was
her profession to be beautiful and to please. I have represented
Goldsmith writing the final pages of the 'Vicar' or the sweet verses of
the 'Deserted Village'; Sterne, thinking of poor Maria's suffering or of
the death of Lieut. Lefevre. His wig was all awry and the rascal wanted
to straighten it. 'Let it be as it is!' I said to him; 'if it is
straight, you are no longer the author of 'Tristram Shandy.' When I
paint a child I give it some playthings; a young mother, I surround her
with her children. Notice this one, for instance--"
"That is my comrade, Mrs. Hartley."
"Exactly. She carries her little daughter upon her back and laughs
merrily. Fanciful maternity! There are mythological beauties and modern
beauties. The one will be a nymph and gently rest her limbs upon the
velvet sward in the genial atmosphere of a Grecian landscape; the
other, muffled up to her neck, her muff pressed to her nose, in order
to conceal a mouth that is a trifle expansive, elects to promenade the
denuded paths of her park and leave the imprint of her tiny, fur-clad
feet along the snow. It is the cold, you understand, which lends
brilliancy to the eyes and a rosy tip to the ear; it is the cold that
gives color and life. Thus I strive to place every human being in his or
her favorite attitude, amidst congenial surroundings, beneath the ray
which is best calculated to illumine. And I lie in wait for the divine
moment when the woman exhales all her seduction, the man all the power
of his mind."
He paused for a moment.
"Well, and you!" he continued quickly. "I have not found you yet; I have
no hold upon you. I must attempt some subterfuge."
Thereupon he raised his voice.
"Frank!--Frank!"
A masked door, which Esther had not remarked, opened almost immediately
and a young man of perhaps two and twenty years of age appeared upon the
threshold. Miss Woodville uttered a stifled cry and half rose from her
chair.
"My lord!" she breathed almost inaudibly; "how comes it that--you--"
"I see how it is!" remarked Sir Joshua; "you are the dupe of a
resemblance. Your gaze is not resting upon Lord Mowbray, but upon my
apprentice, Francis Monday. My dear Frank, be good enough to fall upon
your knees before this fair young woman and look at her as if you adored
her."
Pallid, mute, with lips tightly compressed, Frank stood motionless.
"I, Sir Joshua?" he faltered. "You wish me to--"
"Certainly! Now, then!"
[Illustration]
With evident effort the young man slowly advanced as if he were going to
execution. Beads of perspiration pearled upon his brow. Nevertheless,
disturbed though he was, the beauty of his features and the innate
nobility of his person prevented any awkwardness of carriage. With
drooping eyelids he fell upon his knees at the girl's feet, while at the
moment, as if actuated by some invincible power, he raised his glance
full of a desperate passion. Truly, for a timid boy taken unawares,
Frank played the comedy of love like a consummate master.
A rosy blush suffused Esther's features, entirely irradiating them, as a
summer's sunrise illumines the delicious purity of the dawn.
Astonishment, shame, pleasure, malice, every shade of sentiment was in
an instant born, in an instant expired, fading in a most ravishing
_melange_. With head slightly inclined, bosom heaving, eyelids
trembling, and lips quivering, her whole being vibrated in unison with
the precipitate throbbing of her heart.
"Rosalind listening to Orlando's declaration!" exclaimed Sir Joshua. "I
have it! The portrait is assured! I have no further need of you, Frank."
The young man rose, his eyes still fixed upon Esther; then without a
word he directed his steps towards the masked door which had afforded
him access to the studio and vanished.
By slow degrees the blush which had invaded the girl's cheeks and brow
faded until not a vestige remained.