“I suppose that I must e’en follow in the wake of the womenkind,” said
Lieutenant Burney, making an extremely slow move in the direction of the
door, when the door had been closed upon his stepmother and his sisters.
“Is there any need?” asked Garrick. “It seems to me that in such a
case as this which Mr. Kendal promises to propound to your father, His
Majesty’s Navy should be represented. In all matters bearing upon a
delicate _affaire de cœur_ surely a naval man should be present to act as
assessor.”
Mr. Kendal looked puzzled.
“I fail to take your meaning, sir,” said he, after a pause; he was still
rubbing his chin with a forefinger, when Garrick cried:
“Oh, sir, surely the advantage of the counsel of an officer trained to
navigate femininity in the shape of a ship, is apparent: a ship, even
though a three-decker ready to fire a broadside of a hundred guns, is
invariably alluded to as ‘she,’” said he, airily.
“Such an one must surely be the most formidable piece of femininity in
the world,” said Mr. Kendal.
“By no means,” said Garrick. “During my career as manager of a playhouse
I have had to face worse. Still, the training of a naval officer in
dealing with feminine craft—at times off a lee shore, and often during a
storm at sea—nothing to be compared to the tempests in our green-room—is
certain to be of value. You will stay, Lieutenant Burney, if it please
you.”
“I should be most unwilling to obtrude upon your council, sir,” said
young Burney, “unless you are convinced that my humble services—”
“You have been among the savages of the South Seas, and you are
acquainted with all the rules of chasing and capturing prizes, all of the
feminine gender—I allude to your sloops and frigates and catamarans—I
take it for granted that a catamaran is as feminine in its ways as any
wherry that floats,” cried Garrick. Then he turned to their visitor, who
was looking more puzzled than ever.
“You may reckon yourself fortunate in the presence of our young friend,
sir,” he said. “So far as I can gather this is a case of chase, with a
possible capture of a prize. I venture to think that in these days a
gentleman of family and fortune, like yourself, is something of a prize,
Mr. Kendal.”
This was language that contained nothing to puzzle anyone, the visitor
perceived. His face brightened, and he waved young Burney to a seat.
“I take it that Mr. Garrick knows what he is talking about,” he said.
“And though it was truly your father to whom I came for counsel, I doubt
not that you will take my part, should the worst come to the worst.”
“Which means, should the lady come to the gentleman, Mr. Burney,” said
Garrick.
“Pay out your yarn, sir: I gather that you are still to the windward of
your enemy, and that is the position which the books tell us we should
manœuvre for,” cried the nautical assessor.
Dr. Burney sat silently by, he had no mind to join in the fooling of the
others. Dr. Burney had never in his life lost a sense of his own dignity.
He had been a church organist for thirty years, and no man who has had
such an experience of the control of an instrument of such superlative
dignity could be otherwise than dignified. He had never once run off on a
keyboard a single phrase of “The Beggar’s Opera.” Even Handel’s “Ruddier
than the Cherry,” with Mr. Gay’s ticklish rhymed line about “Kidlings
blithe and merry,” he only played apologetically, allowing it to be
clearly understood that Mr. Handel and Mr. Gay divided between them the
responsibility for so frivolous a measure.
He remained dignified and silent while Garrick and James carried on their
fooling. Only a short time before he had occasion to reprove the lack of
dignity on the part of his important patroness, Mrs. Thrale, the wife of
the wealthy brewer, in having put herself behind Signor Piozzi while he
was singing a sentimental canzone and mimicked his southern fervour of
expression. Mrs. Thrale had taken his reproof in good part at the time;
but no one—least of all Mrs. Thrale herself—could have foreseen that her
contrition should extend so far as to cause her to marry the singer on
the death of Mr. Thrale.
“To be brief, sir,” said Mr. Kendal, addressing, not Dr. Burney, whom he
had come to consult, but Mr. Garrick, who had shown himself to be much
more sympathetic. “To be brief, I had gone to the Wells as my custom has
been for the past twenty years. I went honestly to drink the waters, not
making it an excuse, as so many do, for indulging in the gaieties, or, I
may add, the intrigues, of the Assembly Rooms. I was civil, as I hoped,
to everyone, but, I give you my word, no more so to Mrs. Nash than any
other lady.”
“I do not doubt that you believe this, sir,” said Garrick, with an
indulgent wave of the hand; “but when a lady has eyes only for one
gentleman, she is apt to place a construction upon the simplest of his
civilities beyond that assigned to it by ordinary people; but pray
proceed, sir. I will only add that it was quite well known at the Wells
that the lady regarded you with the tenderest of emotions. Had she not
boldly said to Lady —— no; I dare not mention her name; but her ladyship
is invariably what the Italians term _simpatica_ in regard to the tender
affairs of her sisters—and it was to her that Mrs. Nash confided her
secret—referring to you as bearing a striking resemblance to the Apollo
Belvedere, hoping that her doing so would not cause anyone to accuse her
of Pagan leanings.”
“Is it possible! The poor lady! poor lady! But I was not to blame. I
can justly acquit myself of all blame in this unhappy affair,” said Mr.
Kendal.
“You are quite right, sir; is it a man’s fault that he should bear a
striking likeness to the Apollo—I doubt not that the resemblance has
caused you some annoyance at various times of your life, Mr. Kendal,”
said Garrick.
“Never, sir, never—at least—” he took a step to one side that allowed
of his having a full-length view of his reflection in the narrow mirror
that filled up the space between the windows; and the result of his
scrutiny of the picture was certainly not displeasing to him. He boldly
put forward a leg, and then quite unconsciously, as anyone could see,
struck an attitude, though not quite that of the Apollo Belvedere. Then
he smirked.
“A leg like yours, Mr. Kendal, to say nothing of the poise of your head,
is a great responsibility,” said Garrick seriously. “The poor lady!—poor
ladies!—I confess that I have heard of others. And she acknowledged to
you that—that—oh, that most delicate of secrets!”
“Never to me, sir—never in my hearing, I give you my word,” cried the man
emphatically. “Nay, I did not so much as suspect it. The first intimation
that I had of the matter was when, on Monday morning last—only three
days ago—Captain Kelly—the boisterous Irishman—clapt me on the shoulder
and almost shouted out his congratulations in my ear. When I forced him
to mention the name of the lady, he ridiculed my denial—his forefinger
in my ribs—painful as well as undignified. Who is Captain Kelly, that
he should subject me to his familiarities? But if he was undignified, I
flatter myself that I was not so. ‘Sir, you presume,’ I said, and walked
on, leaving this vulgar fellow roaring with laughter.”
“Psha! Kelly is a nobody,” said Garrick. “You should not have allowed
yourself to be discomposed by such as he.”
“Nor did I,” cried the other. “But what was I to think when I had
advanced no more than a dozen paces, and found my hand grasped warmly
by Sir John Dingle?—you know him, Mr. Garrick—I have seen him in your
company—more congratulations—the same attitude, sir. And then up marches
Mr. Sheridan—leaving his handsome wife—ah, I fear that I joined with all
Bath in being in love with the lovely Miss Linley—and Mr. Sheridan was
wellnigh affronted at my denial. But that was not all. Up comes Mrs.
Cholmondeley in her chair and tapped for the men to set her down when
she saw me—up went the roof and up went her head, with a shrill cry
of ‘Kendal, you rogue! to tell everyone at the Wells save only myself
that Benedick is to be a married man!’ And before she had finished her
ridicule of my denial, up struts Mrs. Thrale, her footman behind her
with her spaniel, and down she sinks in a curtsey, fitted only for a
special night in the Rooms, and her ‘Happy man!’ came with a flick of
her fan; and she, too, named Mrs. Nash! And that was not the last—I saw
them hurrying up to me from all sides—ladies with smiles, and gentlemen
with smirks—fingers twitching for my ribs—down they flowed upon me! I
ask you, Lieutenant Burney, as a naval gentleman, and I am glad to have
the opportunity of hearing your opinion—I ask you, if I was not justified
in turning about and hastening away—what you nautical gentlemen term
‘cutting my cable’?”
“Indeed, sir; if I could believe that you gave the lady no encouragement,
I would say that—that—but no one will convince me that upon some
occasion—it may be forgotten by you—such men of fashion as yourself soon
forget these things, I have heard, though the unhappy lady treasures them
as golden memories—I say upon some occasion you may have given the Widow
Nash encouragement. You have your reputation as a sly rogue to maintain,
Mr. Kendal,” said young Burney gravely, as though he were a lawyer being
seriously consulted.
“Fore Gad, sir, I gave her no encouragement,” cried Mr. Kendal. “I have
ever been most cautious, I swear.”
“Then the greater shame for you, sir,” said Garrick.
The man whom he addressed looked in amazement first at Garrick, then at
Lieutenant Burney—Dr. Burney, whom he had come to consult, was smiling
quite unnoticed in a corner. His part apparently, was no more than that
of the looker-on at a comedy. His presence was ignored by the others.
“The more shame—the more—” began the visitor. “I protest that I scarcely
take your meaning, Mr. Garrick.”
“My meaning is plain, sir,” said Garrick firmly, almost sternly. “I
affirm that it lay with you, when you perceived that the lady was so
deeply enamoured of you—”
“But I did not perceive it—you have my word for it.”
“Ah, sir,” said Garrick, with the shrug of a Frenchman, which he had
studied for some months in Paris—Mr. Garrick and Lord Chesterfield had
alone mastered the art. “Ah, sir, we are all men of the world here.
’Twere idle for you to pretend that a gentleman with the figure of the
Belvedere Apollo and the leg of—of—” he turned to young Burney—“You have
seen the proud-stepping figure-heads of many ships of the line, Mr.
Burney,” he said; “prithee help me out in my search for—for—the name I am
in search of.”
“H’m, let me see—something wooden with a leg to be proud of?” said the
naval gentleman, considering the matter very earnestly.
“Zounds, sir, I did not make it a condition that it should be a wooden
leg,” cried Garrick.
“I have seen more than one Admiral of the Fleet mighty proud of a
wooden leg, sir,” said Burney. “But this is beside the question, which
I take to be the responsibility of our good friend here—I hope I don’t
presume, Mr. Kendal—for kindling, albeit unconsciously, so far as he was
concerned—that sacred flame in the breast of—to name only one out of a
score—the lady whose name he mentioned.”
“You are with me heart and soul, as I felt sure you would be, Mr. Burney;
as a naval officer of judgment and experience,” cried Garrick, “and so,
sir—” he turned to their visitor—“I cannot doubt that you will comport
yourself as a gentleman of honour in this affair. Do not allow your
yielding to the natural impulse to run away to weigh too heavily upon
you. If your act should cause you to be referred to with reprobation,
not to say scorn, by the ladies or gentlemen of fashion who are certain
to espouse the cause of the lady, your subsequent conduct will show them
that they mistook your character. And I promise you that should you
receive a challenge from any of the lady’s admirers—those whose prayers
she rejected because her heart was set on a gentleman who was worthy of
her choice—I think you can afford to ignore them, having won the prize.
Ah, sir, is there not a poet who says that every man that lives has a
good angel and a bad one contending for dominion over him? That is the
truth, Mr. Kendal, and I see that your good angel is none other than the
lady whose name I reckon too sacred to pass our lips at such a time as
this. Ah, sir, think of her, and let your mind go back to the days of
your happy boyhood, and say if the mother at whose knees you knelt did
not resemble her. The affection of a son for his mother—let that plead
for the lady who esteems you with more than a mother’s love.”
He had laid his hand on the poor gentleman’s shoulder, and was looking
into his face, while the tears stood in his eyes, and his voice broke
more than once.
And there sat Dr. Burney wiping his eyes, and Lieutenant Burney
blubbering away like any child—the two accessories to the actor’s farce
could not avoid yielding to the influence of his unparalleled art. Though
they were in his secret, he made fools of them as easily as he made a
fool of the poor gentleman who was presumably his victim. And they had no
feeling of being ashamed of yielding to his powers. He could do anything
that he pleased with them. He could do anything he pleased with the
multitudes before whom he acted. He was the master of their emotions for
the time being. He played upon their passions as though every passion was
a puppet and the strings in his own hands.