In the last century it behoved everybody who desired to be accounted 'a
personage,' or to be ranked amongst 'people of quality,' to quit London
at a certain season of the year, and repair to the city of Bath, or 'the
Bath,' as it was frequently called. Now a journey to Bath in those days
was no trifling matter: it involved frequent stoppages by the way, and
the inns and posting-houses upon the road became, necessarily, _very_
important, and oftentimes very profitable concerns. Miss Burney, the
author of _Evelina_, records in her diary the particulars of her journey
to Bath with Mrs. Thrale, in the year 1780. She stopped the first night
at Maidenhead Bridge; slept at Speen Hill the second, and Devizes the
third; arriving at Bath on the fourth day of her journey. The inn
patronized by Miss Burney at Devizes was the Black Bear, of which one
Thomas Lawrence was the landlord. It is in regard to this establishment
we have to request that the reader will give us his attention for a few
minutes.
Mr. Lawrence had been by turns a solicitor, a poet, an artist, an actor,
a supervisor of excise, a farmer, an innkeeper, and, of course, a
bankrupt. Probably he might have retired from the Black Bear with a
fortune, but that he had a numerous family of sixteen children to
support, and that he was not particularly well qualified to succeed as
an innkeeper. He seems to have set up for being 'a character,' and his
neighbours were inclined to ridicule and censure him for giving himself
airs. A bustling, active, good-humoured man, he was prone now and then
to play the scholar and the fine gentleman, the while he lost sight of
his more recognised position as a landlord. He wore a full-dress suit of
black, starched ruffles, and a very grand periwig; was ceremonious and
stately in his manners, affected an inordinate love of literature and an
air of connoisseurship that contrasted rather strangely with his
calling. Certainly there was not such another landlord to be seen upon
the road between London and Bath; if, indeed, anywhere else. He was
proud of his elocutionary powers, and in a full, sonorous voice he would
read aloud select passages from Shakespeare and Milton to all such
persons as evinced an inclination to listen to him--sometimes, indeed,
to people who did not in the least wish to hear him. It is hardly to be
wondered at that divers of the Black Bear's customers occasionally felt
indignant and outraged when, travel-worn and hungry, eager for the bill
of fare and supper, they were met by the landlord's proposal to
expatiate for their benefit upon the beauties of the poets, or to recite
for their entertainment certain most elegant extracts. It was food for
the body they desiderated, not solace for the mind; and it was, perhaps,
only natural that they should treat Mr. Lawrence's suggestions rather
curtly. Not that the innkeeper was prompt to take offence. The man who
rides a hobby-horse seldom heeds or perceives the criticism of
bystanders upon the paces or proportions of his steed. Mr. Lawrence
could obtain a hearing from other quarters. Once a week he visited Bath,
and passed an evening in the green-room of the theatre there. The actors
would listen to him, or pretend to do so; some of them would permit him
to read their parts to them, and give them counsel as to the manner in
which these should be rendered on the stage, purposing to revenge
themselves afterwards, the rogues, by availing themselves of the
comforts of the Black Bear, without calling for their accounts when they
quitted that hostelry.
But even a greater celebrity at Devizes than Mr. Lawrence was his son
Thomas, born in 1769, youngest of the sixteen children. He seems to have
been regarded on all hands as a sort of infant prodigy of great use in
attracting visitors to the inn. He could stand on a chair and recite
poetry, or he could wield his blacklead pencil and take the portrait of
any one who would condescend to sit to him. 'A most lovely boy,' writes
Miss Burney,--with long, luxuriant, girl-like tresses, that tumbled down
and hid his face when he stooped to draw. 'He can take your likeness, or
repeat you any speech in Milton's _Pandemonium_,' the proud father would
cry, 'although he is only five years old.' And at this age he is stated
to have produced a striking likeness of Mr. (afterwards Lord) Kenyon. At
seven the portrait of the prodigy was taken, and engraved by Mr.
Sherwin, the artist. At eight, it seems, his education was finished. His
recitations--he had no doubt been carefully instructed by his
father--were pronounced to be 'full of discrimination, feeling, and
humour, set off by the various tones of a voice full, harmonious, and
flexible.' Pretty well this, for such a mere baby as he was at the time!
He recited on various occasions before Garrick, Foote, John Wilkes,
Sheridan, Burke, Johnson, Churchill, and other famous people, resting
for the night or to change horses at Devizes on their road to Bath. Old
Lawrence lost no opportunity of talking to his customers, and of
exhibiting his wonderful son. All are alleged to have been charmed with
him. Mr. and Mrs. Garrick passing through the town, would retire to a
summer-house in the garden of the Black Bear, and amuse themselves for
some time with the recitations of the little fellow. 'Tommy has learned
one or two new speeches since you were here, Mr. Garrick,' the father
would exclaim, bringing forward his precocious boy. 'There was something
about him,' says an authority, 'which excited the surprise of the most
casual observer. He was a perfect man in miniature; his confidence and
self-possession smacked of one-and-twenty.'
Young Lawrence, however, was not able at this time to read at random any
passages from the poets that might be selected for him. He had been
instructed in particular speeches, and to these, as a rule, he was
obliged to restrict his efforts. For a long time he had been wishing to
learn 'Satan's Address to the Sun,' a favourite recitation of his
father's; but old Lawrence had declined to intrust him with so important
a subject. Nevertheless the boy had acquainted himself with the tone and
manner appropriate to the piece, and announced that he was prepared to
deliver it in imitation of the elder orator. A family in Devizes, known
to the Lawrences, giving a party one evening, requested that the boy
might be permitted to attend and entertain the company with his readings
and recitations. Old Lawrence consented, on condition that the child was
not asked to read other than the pieces with which he was acquainted,
and cautioned his son by no means to attempt anything in which he was
not perfect, and particularly to avoid the address of Satan. In the
evening young Lawrence walked to the house with Shakespeare and Milton
under his arm, and went through his performances amid general applause.
He was then asked which was his favourite recitation in Milton? He
replied that he preferred 'Satan's Address to the Sun,' but that his
father would not permit him to repeat it. On this account, and to
ascertain whether the child merely performed parrot-fashion, the company
were especially anxious to hear the forbidden reading. Young Lawrence's
dutiful scruples, however, were not overcome until all present had
promised to intercede on his behalf and obtain for him his father's
forgiveness. As he turned to the interdicted page a slip of paper fell
from the book. A gentleman picked it up and read aloud--'Tom, mind you
don't touch Satan.' It was some time before the astonished boy could be
induced to proceed; yet he is said to have eventually dealt with the
subject very creditably and discreetly.
They were strange people these Lawrences, and the Black Bear must have
been a curious kind of inn. Miss Burney was greatly surprised at
hearing the sounds of singing and pianoforte-playing while she was
beneath its roof. It was only the Miss Lawrences practising--but the
inn-keepers' daughters of the last century were not generally possessed
of such accomplishments. Then, still very wonderful for an inn, 'the
house,' says Miss Burney, 'was full of books as well as paintings,
drawings, and music, and all the family seem not only ingenious and
industrious, but amiable; added to which they are strikingly handsome. I
hope,' the lady concludes, 'we may return the same road, that we may see
them again.'
As Garrick said of him, young Lawrence's walk in life was at this time
'poised between the pencil and the stage.' To which did he incline?
Would he be a player or a painter? It was hard to say. He had been taken
to town on a visit to Mr. Hugh Boyd (who at one time was supposed to be
one of the authors of 'Junius'), introduced to the great painters of the
day, and most kindly received by them. Sir Joshua Reynolds had
pronounced him 'the most promising genius he had ever met with.' Mr.
Hoare had been so charmed with the boy's drawings, that he proposed to
send him to Italy with his own son. On the other hand, he had been a
frequent visitor in the green-room of the Bath Theatre. Placed upon the
table there, the centre of a group of amused actors, he would recite
'Hamlet's Advice to the Players,' and other passages. On one of these
occasions, Henderson the tragedian was present, and expressed warm
approval of the child's efforts. Then, in return for the civilities and
compliments he received, young Lawrence would beg that he might take the
portraits of his friends among the company. We are told of his attempt
to draw the face of Edwin, the comedian, who the while grimaced and
distorted his features, constantly shifting the expression of his
countenance, greatly to the bewilderment of the boy artist. Finally he
stood silent and motionless, watching his model with a kind of despair,
until it became necessary to explain the joke that had been practised.
It should be said, however, that stories are current in relation to
similar jokes played by humourists upon other artists.
Old Lawrence had been compelled to abandon the Black Bear, and had
retreated to Bath with his family. 'Bath,' we are informed, 'was at that
time London devoid of its mixed society and vulgarity. It contained its
selection of all that was noble, affluent, or distinguished in the
metropolis; and amongst this circle our artist was now caressed.' It
became a kind of fashion to sit to him for oval crayon likenesses at a
guinea and a half apiece. Portraits from his pencil of Mrs. Siddons and
Admiral Barrington were now engraved, the artist being as yet only
thirteen years of age. His success as a portrait-painter seemed quite
assured; he was making money rapidly, largely contributing to the
support of his family. Yet he was not satisfied. He was greatly tempted
to try his fortune on the stage. His view was, that he could earn more,
and so could further assist his father by deserting the studio for the
theatre. Possibly, too, the display and excitement and applause which
pertain to the career of the successful player--and of course he thought
he should succeed--were very alluring to the young gentleman. He was now
little more than sixteen. He took counsel of a friendly actor, Mr. John
Bernard,[20] and favoured him with a private recitation of the part of
Jaffier in the tragedy of _Venice Preserved_. Mr. Bernard, it seems, was
not much impressed by this performance; at least he did not detect
sufficient dramatic ability in the young man to justify his proposed
change of profession. The actor, however, did not openly express his
opinion on the subject, but merely said he would bear the case in mind
and speak to his manager, Mr. Palmer, in regard to it. Meanwhile he
disclosed what had passed to old Lawrence. Acquainted by experience with
the precariousness of an actor's fortunes, and appreciative also of the
value of his son's talents as an artist, Lawrence entreated Bernard to
exert all his influence in dissuading the young man from his design. It
was determined at last to cure the stage-struck hero by means of a
trick--to pre-arrange his failure, in fact. Palmer, the manager, entered
into the plan. An appointment was made at Bernard's house, in order that
young Lawrence might have a private interview with the manager. In an
adjoining room were secreted his father and a party of friends. Bernard
introduced the young man to Palmer, who presently desired a specimen of
the aspirant's dramatic abilities, and took his seat at the end of the
room in the character of auditor and judge. A scene from _Venice
Preserved_ was selected, and young Lawrence commenced a recitation. For
several lines he proceeded perfectly, but soon he became nervous,
confused--he stammered, coughed, and at last stopped outright. Bernard
had the book in his hand, but he would not prompt, he withheld all
assistance. Young Lawrence began again, but his self-possession was
gone--his failure was more decided and humiliating than before. At this
juncture his father abruptly entered the room, crying out, 'You play
Jaffier, Tom? Hang me if you're fit to appear as a supernumerary!'--or
some such speech--and then young Lawrence found that his mortification
had not been without witnesses.
[20] The father of Mr. Bayle Bernard the dramatist.
It was very trying to his vanity. He had to listen to remonstrances and
appeals of all kinds. Palmer, the manager, assured him that he did not
possess the advantages requisite for success on the stage. Bernard spoke
with bitter truthfulness of the trials and sorrows of an actor's life.
Other friends drew attention to the brilliant prospect open to the
successful painter. Young Lawrence gave way at last. The theatre may
thus have lost an agreeable player, but, thanks to the manoeuvre of old
Lawrence, Bernard, and Palmer, a famous portrait-painter was secured to
the world of art.