The scene ended by Mr. Garrick’s victim groping through his tears for Mr.
Garrick’s hand. He grasped it emotionally, and though for some moments
he was too greatly overcome to be able to utter a word, yet at last he
managed to blurt out with affecting incoherence a few phrases.
“Say no more—say no more, sir,” he muttered. “I have a heart—a heart! I
give you my word, whether you believe me or not, that I had no notion—but
you have shown me what ’tis to be a woman. Oh, sir, there is no sweeter
sex in the world! Deception! how a man’s own heart may deceive him—ay, up
to a certain point—but then—ah, you have taught me—but are you sure that
the lady—what—have we not being going ahead too fast? What—what; are you
convinced?”
“You may take my word for it, sir,” replied Garrick. “There are signs
that all who run may read. What, do you suppose that all those persons of
quality whose names you mentioned just now as having offered you their
felicitations—do you suppose that they could all be in error?”
“Of course not—they must have seen—well, more than I saw,” said the man.
“Matrimony! Lud! if an angel had come down to tell me that I should be
contemplating such a change of life—and at my time of life too!—I should
have—”
“What an angel may fail to convince a man of, a woman may succeed in
doing, Mr. Kendal,” said Garrick sententiously. “But do not talk of your
time of life as if you were an old or even a middle-aged man, sir. To do
so were to make Dr. Burney and myself feel patriarchs.”
The mention of Dr. Burney seemed to cause the man to recollect how it was
he came to be in Dr. Burney’s house. He turned to Burney, saying:
“Dear sir, I pray that you will look on my visit with lenient eyes.
I admit that I came hither to be advised by you—my friend, Mr. Fulke
Greville, holds your opinion in the highest esteem, as do I, sir; and
it was actually on my mind to ask you if you thought it would be wiser
for me to go abroad for a year or two, or simply to seek some place
of retirement at home—say, Cornwall or the Hebrides—I gather from
the account of Dr. Johnson’s tour thither that there are many places
difficult of access in the Hebrides—that was on my mind, Doctor, I blush
to acknowledge, so greatly overcome was I by what had happened at the
Wells.”
“Ah, with what great ease a man may slam the door that shuts out
happiness from his life for evermore!” remarked Garrick.
“Even now—even now I feel timid,” said Mr. Kendal thoughtfully, and,
when he had found which pocket his handkerchief was in, wiping some dew
from his brow. “The truth is, Doctor, that I have allowed some people to
assume that I am but forty-seven years old, while as a matter of fact I
have been forty-eight for some time.”
“For some years?” asked young Burney, who did not know when he should
keep silence.
“For some months, sir—only for some months, I give you my word.”
“Your deception in this matter could only have added to your reputation
for accuracy,” said Garrick coolly. “For I vow that were you to confess
that you were forty-eight, you would find none to believe you.”
The gentleman’s eyes twinkled, he pursed out his lips, and once again
manœuvred to get a full-length view of himself in the long mirror. He put
out his right leg and assumed the attitude of a dancing master giving the
_pas_ for the _minuet de cour_.
“Well, well,” he cried, “if that be your opinion—and I happen to
know that ’tis shared by others—it might not be unwise to allow the
assumption, erroneous though it be, to continue. We will not undeceive
the good folk. And you do not think that a bachelor of forty-eight—What
is the name of that play of Mr. Sheridan’s that took the town a year
ago—ah, _The School for Scandal_—you are sure that our friends will not
call me—What was the gentleman’s name?”
“No one who knows how excellent are your principles will think of you
either as Charles or Joseph, Mr. Kendal,” said Garrick.
“No, no; but the one who was in my mind was neither of the brothers. I
was thinking of—was it not Sir Peter Teazle?”
Garrick as well as Burney laughed heartily, for the man at that moment
suggested by his attitude and expression the Sir Peter Teazle of Kina,
the actor.
“Make your mind easy on that score, sir,” said Dr. Burney. “It is not
your purpose to wed so skittish a young person as Lady Teazle. That was
where Sir Peter showed his folly.”
“No, no; Mrs. Nash is more mature, certainly, than Mrs. Abington looked
in the part,” said Mr. Kendal confidently, and Lieutenant Burney was
about to agree with him boisterously, but Garrick did not give him a
chance.
“There is none that will not commend your choice, Mr. Kendal—ay, sir, and
look on you with envy as well,” he cried.
“There can be no doubt about it,” said Mr. Kendal doubtfully. “The widow
Nash is a monstrous fine woman.”
“Monstrous, I doubt not,” put in young Burney, now that he had the chance.
“All that I am uneasy about is the interpretation that she may put upon
your sudden flight,” said Garrick. “You have, you will readily allow,
sir, placed her in a somewhat difficult position at the Wells. While
everyone who is anyone has been offering you congratulations upon the
match, and a double portion to the lady, strange inquiries may be made as
to your disappearance from the Wells; and she may not be able to give a
satisfactory explanation at a moment’s notice.”
“Egad! I never thought of that, sir,” said Mr. Kendal, after a pause. “I
fear that I have placed her in a very awkward position.”
“Ay, sir; and the consequences may be that she will be snapped up by some
adventurous person before you can put your fate to the test,” said the
naval man, raising a warning finger. “I have heard of ladies throwing
themselves into the arms of the next comer out of sheer chagrin at being
disappointed by the man on whom they had set their affections.”
“That is a possibility that should not be neglected,” said Garrick. “But
it was only on Monday that you fled. By rapid posting you may yet prevent
such a calamity.”
He was beginning to tire of his game now that he had succeeded so
well in it and so easily. The fooling of the man who had so completely
succumbed to his art had no further interest for him. He only wanted to
get rid of him. He was as capricious and as fickle as a child over the
toys of its nursery.
“I shall lose no moment, be assured,” said Mr. Kendal. “I may still be
in time. My hope in this direction is increased when I remember that
the lady has been a widow for some years—to be exact, without being
uncomplimentary, nine years. I remember when Mr. Nash died. ’Twas of
pleurisy.”
“Do not reckon too confidently on that, sir,” said young Burney. “Nine
years have not passed since she faced the company at the Wells, every
one of which was surely pointing at her and asking in mute eloquence,
‘What has become of Mr. Kendal?’ But by posting without delay you may
yet retrieve your error. Still, I confess to you that I have known of
a lady who, out of sheer impatience at the delay of a lover whom she
had hoped to espouse, married his rival after the lapse of twenty-four
hours—ay, and when the belated gentleman arrived just after the ceremony,
he furnished the wedding party with a succulent feast. She was the Queen
of one of the islands that we visited in the company of Captain Cook, and
the cockswain of our galley kept the pickled hand of the belated lover
for many a day—the very hand which he had designed to offer the lady.”
“This simple and affecting narrative proves more eloquently than any
phrases of mine could possibly do how a man may miss the happiness of his
life by a hair’s breadth,” said Garrick. “And the lesson will not be lost
upon you, I am certain, sir.”
“Lud, Mr. Garrick, you do not mean to suggest that—”
“That the lady may make a meal off you on your late return, sir? Nay, Mr.
Kendal. The Wells are still the Wells, not the South Seas; but on the
whole I am disposed to believe that the scheme of revenge of the woman
scorned is fiercer, though perhaps not, at first sight, so primeval, in
the region of Chalybeate Waters than in a cannibal island of the South
Seas. Therefore—there is no time to be lost. Fly to your charmer, sir,
and throw yourself at her feet. She may be thinking over some punishment
for your having placed her in a false position for some days; but do not
mind that. You can always console yourself with the reflection that a rod
in pickle is much more satisfactory than a hand in pickle. Fly, my dear
friend, fly; every moment is precious. Take my word for it, joy awaits
you at the end of your journey.”
“‘Journeys end in lovers meeting,’” remarked Dr. Burney, with a slight
suggestion of the setting of the words of the lyric by his old master,
Dr. Arne.
At this moment a servant entered the room.
“The Streatham carriage is at the door, sir,” he announced.
Dr. Burney rose from his chair.
“I am forced to leave you, sir,” he said to Mr. Kendal. “But really there
is naught further to consult on at present, and I know that you are
impatient—it is but natural—to fly to the side of your charmer.”
“I am all impatience, sir; but with what words can I express my
obligation to you, Doctor, for the benefit of your counsel?” cried Mr.
Kendal.
Dr. Burney smiled.
“Nay, dear sir, I am but the lessee of the theatre where the comedy has
been played,” said he; and he had good reason for feeling that he had
defined with accuracy the position that he occupied. But Mr. Kendal
was thinking too much about himself and the position he occupied to
appreciate such _nuances_.
“I knew that I was safe in coming to a friend of Mr. Greville,” he said.
“I care not if, as you suggest, you have become Mr. Garrick’s successor
at Drury Lane, though I thought that Mr. Sheridan—”
“Zounds, sir, you are never going to wait to discuss theatre matters,”
cried Garrick. “Dr. Burney has been exercising his powers of oratory in
vain upon you for this half hour if you tarry even to thank him. Post,
sir, post at once to Tunbridge Wells, and send Dr. Burney your thanks
when you have put the momentous question to the lady. Go, sir, without
the pause of a moment, and good luck attend you.”
“Good luck attend you! Keep up your heart, sir: the lady may refuse you
after all,” said young Burney; but the poor gentleman who was being
hurried away was too much flurried to be able to grasp the young man’s
innuendo, though one could see by the look that came to his face that
he had an uneasy impression that Lieutenant Burney’s good wishes had
not been happily expressed. The great thing, however, was that he was
at the other side of the door, calling out his obligations to everyone,
and striving to shake hands with them all at once and yet preserve the
security of his hat, which he had tucked under his arm. So excited was he
that he was only restrained at the last moment from mounting the Thrales’
carriage which was awaiting Dr. Burney, and even when his mistake was
explained to him, he took off his hat to the splendid footman who had
guarded the door of the vehicle.
In the room where the comedy had been played, Garrick and Lieutenant
Burney had thrown themselves into chairs with roars of laughter, when
Dr. Burney returned from the hall, carrying his hat and cane. He was
scarcely smiling.
“You have played a pretty prank upon an inoffensive gentleman, the pair
of you!” said he. “I am ashamed that my house has been used by you for so
base a purpose! The poor gentleman!”
“Psha! my dear Doctor, make your mind easy; the lady will teach that
coxcomb a lesson that will be of advantage to him for the rest of his
life,” said Garrick. “He has been the laughing-stock of the Wells for the
past fortnight, and no one laughed louder than the Widow Nash. She will
bundle him out of her presence before he has had time to rise from his
marrow-bones—he does not find the process a rapid one, I assure you. Oh,
he was her _bête noire_ even when he was most civil to her.”
“And it was you who concocted that plot of getting all your friends—Mrs.
Cholmondeley, Mrs. Thrale and the rest—to make a fool of him, driving
him away from the Wells to encounter a more irresistible pair of mocking
demons in this room!” said Burney. “You cannot deny it, my friend, I know
your tricks but too well.”
“I swear to you that I had no hope of encountering him in this house,
my dear Doctor,” said Garrick. “I give you my word that I had laid my
plans quite differently. My plot was a far more elaborate one, and Polly
Cholmondeley had agreed to take part in it, as well as Dick Sheridan.
They will be disappointed to learn that it has miscarried. Who could
guess that he should come to you of all men in the world, Doctor? He has
never been one of your intimates.”
“Only when I was living with Mr. Greville had we more than a superficial
acquaintance,” replied Burney. “But that does not make me the less
ashamed of having lent myself to your nefarious project. And you, James,
you threw yourself with gusto into the fooling of the unhappy man—and
woman too—and woman too, I repeat.”
“Pray do not distress yourself on her account, Doctor. She will send him
off with a flea in his ear by to-morrow night, and she will take care to
pose as the insulted widow of Mr. Nash, whose memory is dear to her,”
said Garrick.
“Will she, indeed?” said Burney. “David Garrick, you are the greatest
actor that has ever lived in England—probably in the world—but you are
a poor comedian compared with such as are at work upon our daily life:
we call them Circumstance, and Accident, and Coincidence. You know the
couplet, I doubt not:
‘Men are the sport of circumstances when
The circumstances seem the sport of men.’
You have sounded the depths of human impulses, so far as your plummet
allows you, and womankind seems to you an open book—”
“An illuminated missal, with the prayers done in gold and the Lessons for
the day in the most roseate tint, Doctor.”
“And the Responses all of a kind—the same in one book as another? But I
make bold to believe, my friend, that every woman is a separate volume,
of which only one copy has been printed; and, moreover, that every
separate volume of woman is sealed, so that anyone who fancies he knows
all that is bound up between the covers, when he has only glanced at the
binding, makes a mistake.”
“Admirably put, sir, and, I vow, with fine philosophy,” said Garrick.
“But what imports this nomination of a woman at the present moment,
Doctor?”
“Its import is that you are over sanguine in your assurance that Mrs.
Nash, widow, will reject Mr. Kendal, bachelor, when he offers her his
hand after a dusty journey; and so good day to you, David Garrick, and
I pray you to spend the rest of the day in the study of the history of
those women who have opened the leaves of their lives a little way before
the eyes of mankind.”
He had left the room and was within the waiting carriage and driving away
before his son remarked:
“Mr. Garrick, it seems to me that my good father has spoken the wisest
words that you or I have heard to-day or for many a day.”
“And i’ faith, James, it seems to me that that remark of yours is the
second wisest that has been uttered in this room,” said Garrick.
He went away without a further word—without even taking his leave of
the two young women and their stepmother, who herself had been a widow
before she had married Dr. Burney. He had once believed that nothing a
woman—young or old—could do would surprise him; for some reason or other
he was not now quite so confident as he had been. But he certainly did
not think that one of the greatest surprises of the century should be due
to the demure young woman who seemed the commonplace daughter of a very
ordinary household, and who at the moment of his departure was darning
a small hole in a kitchen table-cloth, under the superintendence of her
admirable stepmother.