CHAPTER II.
GAY SCENES AND CONVERSATIONS.--THE NEW EXCHANGE AND THEPUPPET-SHOW.--THE ACTOR, THE SEXTON, AND THE BEAUTY.
"WELL, Tarleton," said I, looking round that mart of millinery andlove-making, which, so celebrated in the reign of Charles II., stillpreserved the shadow of its old renown in that of Anne,--"well, herewe are upon the classical ground so often commemorated in the comedieswhich our chaste grandmothers thronged to see. Here we can makeappointments, while we profess to buy gloves, and should our mistresstarry too long, beguile our impatience by a flirtation with hermilliner. Is there not a breathing air of gayety about the place?--doesit not still smack of the Ethereges and Sedleys?"
"Right," said Tarleton, leaning over a counter and amorously eying thepretty coquette to whom it belonged; while, with the coxcombry then infashion, he sprinkled the long curls that touched his shoulders witha fragrant shower from a bottle of jessamine water upon thecounter,--"right; saw you ever such an eye? Have you snuff of thetrue scent, my beauty--foh! this is for the nostril of a Welshparson--choleric and hot, my beauty,--pulverized horse-radish,--why, itwould make a nose of the coldest constitution imaginable sneeze like awashed school-boy on a Saturday night.--Ah, this is better, my princess:there is some courtesy in this snuff; it flatters the brain like apoet's dedication. Right, Devereux, right, there is something infectiousin the atmosphere; one catches good humour as easily as if it werecold. Shall we stroll on?--_my_ Clelia is on the other side of theExchange.--You were speaking of the play-writers: what a pity that ourEthereges and Wycherleys should be so frank in their gallantry that theprudish public already begins to look shy on them. They have a world ofwit!"
"Ay," said I; "and, as my good uncle would say, a world of knowledge ofhuman nature, namely, of the worst part of it. But they are worse thanmerely licentious: they are positively villanous; pregnant with the mostredemptionless _scoundrelism_,--cheating, lying, thieving, and fraud;their humour debauches the whole moral system; they are like theSardinian herb,--they make you laugh, it is true, but they poison you inthe act. But who comes here?"
"Oh, honest Coll!--Ah, Cibber, how goes it with you?"
The person thus addressed was a man of about the middle age, verygrotesquely attired, and with a periwig preposterously long. Hiscountenance (which, in its features, was rather comely) was stamped withan odd mixture of liveliness, impudence, and a coarse yet not unjoyousspirit of reckless debauchery. He approached us with a saunter, andsaluted Tarleton with an air servile enough, in spite of an affectedfamiliarity.
"What think you," resumed my companion, "we were conversing upon?"
"Why, indeed, Mr. Tarleton," answered Cibber, bowing very low, "unlessit were the exquisite fashion of your waistcoat, or your success with myLady Duchess, I know not what to guess."
"Pooh, man," said Tarleton, haughtily, "none of your compliments;"and then added in a milder tone, "No, Colley, we were abusing theimmoralities that existed on the stage until thou, by the light of thyvirtuous example, didst undertake to reform it."
"Why," rejoined Cibber, with an air of mock sanctity, "Heaven bepraised, I have pulled out some of the weeds from our theatrical_parterre_--"
"Hear you that, Count? Does he not look a pretty fellow for a censor?"
"Surely," said Cibber, "ever since Dicky Steele has set up for a saint,and assumed the methodistical twang, some hopes of conversion may beleft even for such reprobates as myself. Where, may I ask, will Mr.Tarleton drink to-night?"
"Not with thee, Coll. The Saturnalia don't happen every day. Rid usnow of thy company: but stop, I will do thee a pleasure; know you thisgentleman?"
"I have not that extreme honour."
"Know a Count, then! Count Devereux, demean yourself by sometimesacknowledging Colley Cibber, a rare fellow at a song, a bottle, and amessage to an actress; a lively rascal enough, but without the goodnessto be loved, or the independence to be respected."
"Mr. Cibber," said I, rather hurt at Tarleton's speech, though theobject of it seemed to hear this description with the most unruffledcomposure--"Mr. Cibber, I am happy and proud of an introduction to theauthor of the 'Careless Husband.' Here is my address; oblige me with avisit at your leisure."
"How could you be so galling to the poor devil?" said I, when Cibber,with a profusion of bows and compliments, had left us to ourselves.
"Ah, hang him,--a low fellow, who pins all his happiness to the skirtsof the quality, is proud of being despised, and that which wouldexcruciate the vanity of others only flatters his. And now for myClelia."
After my companion had amused himself with a brief flirtation witha young lady who affected a most edifying demureness, we left theExchange, and repaired to the puppet-show.
On entering the Piazza, in which, as I am writing for the next century,it may be necessary to say that Punch held his court, we saw a tall,thin fellow, loitering under the columns, and exhibiting a countenanceof the most ludicrous discontent. There was an insolent arrogance aboutTarleton's good-nature, which always led him to consult the whim of themoment at the expense of every other consideration, especially if thewhim referred to a member of the _canaille_ whom my aristocratic friendesteemed as a base part of the exclusive and despotic property ofgentlemen.
"Egad, Devereux," said he, "do you see that fellow? he has the audacityto affect spleen. Faith, I thought melancholy was the distinguishingpatent of nobility: we will smoke him." And advancing towards the manof gloom, Tarleton touched him with the end of his cane. The man startedand turned round. "Pray, sirrah," said Tarleton, coldly, "pray who thedevil are you that you presume to look discontented?"
"Why, Sir," said the man, good-humouredly enough, "I have some right tobe angry."
"I doubt it, my friend," said Tarleton. "What is your complaint? a risein the price of tripe, or a drinking wife? Those, I take it, are thesole misfortunes incidental to your condition."
"If that be the case," said I, observing a cloud on our new friend'sbrow, "shall we heal thy sufferings? Tell us thy complaints, and we willprescribe thee a silver specific; there is a sample of our skill."
"Thank you humbly, gentlemen," said the man, pocketing the money, andclearing his countenance; "and seriously, mine is an uncommonly hardcase. I was, till within the last few weeks, the under-sexton of St.Paul's, Covent Garden, and my duty was that of ringing the bellsfor daily prayers but a man of Belial came hitherwards, set up apuppet-show, and, timing the hours of his exhibition with a wickedsagacity, made the bell I rang for church serve as a summons toPunch,--so, gentlemen, that whenever your humble servant began to pullfor the Lord, his perverted congregation began to flock to the devil;and, instead of being an instrument for saving souls, I was made theinnocent means of destroying them. Oh, gentlemen, it was a shockingthing to tug away at the rope till the sweat ran down one, for fourshillings a week; and to see all the time that one was thinning one'sown congregation and emptying one's own pockets!"
"It was indeed a lamentable dilemma; and what did you, Mr. Sexton?"
"Do, Sir? why, I could not stifle my conscience, and I left my place.Ever since then, Sir, I have stationed myself in the Piazza, to warn mypoor, deluded fellow-creatures of their error, and to assure them thatwhen the bell of St. Paul's rings, it rings for prayers, and not forpuppet-shows, and--Lord help us, there it goes at this very moment;and look, look, gentlemen, how the wigs and hoods are crowding to themotion* instead of the minister."
* An antiquated word in use for puppet-shows.
"Ha! ha! ha!" cried Tarleton, "Mr. Powell is not the first man who haswrested things holy to serve a carnal purpose, and made use of churchbells in order to ring money to the wide pouch of the church's enemies.Hark ye, my friend, follow my advice, and turn preacher yourself; mounta cart opposite to the motion, and I'll wager a trifle that the crowdforsake the theatrical mountebank in favour of the religious one; forthe more sacred the thing played upon, the more certain is the game."
"Body of me, gentlemen," cried the ex-sexton, "I'll follow your a
dvice."
"Do so, man, and never presume to look doleful again; leave dulness toyour superiors."*
* See "Spectator," No. 14, for a letter from this unfortunateunder-sexton.
And with this advice, and an additional compensation for his confidence,we left the innocent assistant of Mr. Powell, and marched into thepuppet-show, by the sound of the very bells the perversion of which thegood sexton had so pathetically lamented.
The first person I saw at the show, and indeed the express person I cameto see, was the Lady Hasselton. Tarleton and myself separated for thepresent, and I repaired to the coquette. "Angels of grace!" said I,approaching; "and, by the by, before I proceed another word, observe,Lady Hasselton, how appropriate the exclamation is to _you_! Angels of_grace_! why, you have moved all your patches--one--two--three--six--eight--as I am a gentleman, from the left side of your cheek to theright! What is the reason of so sudden an emigration?"
"I have changed my politics, Count,* that is all, and have resolvedto lose no time in proclaiming the change. But is it true that you aregoing to be married?"
* Whig ladies patched on one side of the cheek, Tories on the other.
"Married! Heaven forbid! which of my enemies spread so cruel a report?"
"Oh, the report is universal!" and the Lady Hasselton flirted her fanwith the most flattering violence.
"It is false, nevertheless; I cannot afford to buy a wife at present,for, thanks to jointures and pin-money, these things are all matters ofcommerce; and (see how closely civilized life resembles the savage!) theEnglish, like the Tartar gentleman, obtains his wife only by purchase!But who is the bride?"
"The Duke of Newcastle's rich daughter, Lady Henrietta Pelham."
"What, Harley's object of ambition!* Faith, Madam, the report is not socruel as I thought for!"
* Lord Bolingbroke tells us that it was the main end of Harley'sadministration to marry his son to this lady. Thus is the fate ofnations a bundle made up of a thousand little private schemes.
"Oh, you fop!--but is it not true?"
"By my honour, I fear not; my rivals are too numerous and too powerful.Look now, yonder! how they already flock around the illustrious heiress;note those smiles and simpers. Is it not pretty to see those very finegentlemen imitating bumpkins at a fair, and grinning their best _fora gold ring_! But you need not fear me, Lady Hasselton, my love cannotwander if it would. In the quaint thought of Sidney,* love having onceflown to my heart, burned its wings there, and cannot fly away."
* In the "Arcadia," that museum of oddities and beauties.
"La, you now!" said the Beauty; "I do not comprehend you exactly: yourmaster of the graces does not teach you your compliments properly."
"Yes, he does, but in your presence I forget them; and now," I added,lowering my voice into the lowest of whispers, "now that you are assuredof my fidelity, will you not learn at last to discredit rumours andtrust to me?"
"I love you too well!" answered the Lady Hasselton in the same tone, andthat answer gives an admirable idea of the affection of every coquette!love and confidence with them are qualities that have a naturalantipathy, and can never be united. Our _tete-a-tete_ was at an end; thepeople round us became social, and conversation general.
"Betterton acts to-morrow night," cried the Lady Pratterly: "we mustgo!"
"We must go," cried the Lady Hasselton.
"We must go!" cried all.
And so passed the time till the puppet-show was over, and my attendancedispensed with.
It is a charming thing to be the lover of a lady of the mode! Oneso honoured does with his hours as a miser with his guineas; namely,nothing but count them!