CHAPTER IV.
ALSATIA.
Bred up, like a bailiff or a shabby attorney, about the purlieus ofthe Inns of Court, Shepherd's Inn is always to be found in the closeneighborhood of Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, and the Temple. Somewherebehind the black gables and smutty chimney-stacks of Wych-street,Holywell-street, Chancery-lane, the quadrangle lies, hidden from theouter world; and it is approached by curious passages, and ambiguoussmoky alleys, on which the sun has forgotten to shine. Slop-sellers,brandy-ball and hard-bake venders, purveyors of theatrical prints foryouth, dealers in dingy furniture, and bedding suggestive of any thingbut sleep, line the narrow walls and dark casements with their wares.The doors are many-belled, and crowds of dirty children form endlessgroups about the steps, or around the shell-fish dealers' trays inthese courts, whereof the damp pavements resound with pattens, and aredrabbled with a never-failing mud. Ballad-singers come and chant here,in deadly, guttural tones, satirical songs against the Whigadministration, against the bishops and dignified clergy, against theGerman relatives of an august royal family; Punch sets up his theater,sure of an audience, and occasionally of a halfpenny from the swarmingoccupants of the houses; women scream after their children forloitering in the gutter, or, worse still, against the husband whocomes reeling from the gin-shop. There is a ceaseless din and life inthese courts, out of which you pass into the tranquil, old-fashionedquadrangle of Shepherd's Inn. In a mangy little grass-plat in thecenter rises up the statue of Shepherd, defended by iron railings fromthe assaults of boys. The hall of the Inn, on which the founder'sarms are painted, occupies one side of the square, the tall andancient chambers are carried round other two sides, and over thecentral archway, which leads into Oldcastle-street, and so into thegreat London thoroughfare.
The Inn may have been occupied by lawyers once: but the laity havelong since been admitted into its precincts, and I do not know thatany of the principal legal firms have their chambers here. The officesof the Polwheedle and Tredyddlum Copper Mines occupy one set of theground-floor chambers; the Registry of Patent Inventions and Union ofGenius and Capital Company, another--the only gentleman whose namefigures here and in the "Law List," is Mr. Campion, who wearsmustaches, and who comes in his cab twice or thrice in a week; andwhose West End offices are in Curzon-street, Mayfair, where Mrs.Campion entertains the nobility and gentry to whom her husband lendsmoney. There, and on his glazed cards, he is Mr. Somerset Campion;here he is Campion and Co.; and the same tuft which ornaments hischin, sprouts from the under lip of the rest of the firm. It issplendid to see his cab-horse harness blazing with heraldic bearings,as the vehicle stops at the door leading to his chambers. The horseflings froth off his nostrils as he chafes and tosses under theshining bit. The reins and the breeches of the groom are glitteringwhite--the luster of that equipage makes a sunshine in thatshady place.
Our old friend, Captain Costigan, has examined Campion's cab and horsemany an afternoon, as he trailed about the court in his carpetslippers and dressing-gown, with his old hat cocked over his eye. Hesuns himself there after his breakfast when the day is suitable; andgoes and pays a visit to the porter's lodge, where he pats the headsof the children, and talks to Mrs. Bolton about the thayatres and medaughter Leedy Mirabel. Mrs. Bolton was herself in the professiononce, and danced at the Wells in early days as the thirteenth of Mr.Serle's forty pupils.
Costigan lives in the third floor at No. 4, in the rooms which wereMr. Podmore's, and whose name is still on the door (somebody else'sname, by the way, is on almost all the doors in Shepherd's Inn). WhenCharley Podmore (the pleasing tenor singer, T.R.D.L., and at theBack-Kitchen Concert Rooms), married, and went to live at Lambeth, heceded his chambers to Mr. Bows and Captain Costigan, who occupy themin common now, and you may often hear the tones of Mr. Bows's piano offine days when the windows are open, and when he is practicing foramusement, or for the instruction of a theatrical pupil, of whom hehas one or two. Fanny Bolton is one, the porteress's daughter, who hasheard tell of her mother's theatrical glories, which she longs toemulate. She has a good voice and a pretty face and figure for thestage; and she prepares the rooms and makes the beds and breakfastsfor Messrs. Costigan and Bows, in return for which the latterinstructs her in music and singing. But for his unfortunate propensityto liquor (and in that excess she supposes that all men of fashionindulge), she thinks the captain the finest gentleman in the world,and believes in all the versions of all his stories; and she is veryfond of Mr. Bows, too, and very grateful to him; and this shy, queerold gentleman has a fatherly fondness for her, too, for in truth hisheart is full of kindness, and he is never easy unless heloves somebody.
Costigan has had the carriages of visitors of distinction before hishumble door in Shepherd's Inn: and to hear him talk of a morning (forhis evening song is of a much more melancholy nature) you would fancythat Sir Charles and Lady Mirabel were in the constant habit ofcalling at his chambers, and bringing with them the select nobility tovisit the "old man, the honest old half-pay captain, poor old JackCostigan," as Cos calls himself.
The truth is, that Lady Mirabel has left her husband's card (which hasbeen stuck in the little looking-glass over the mantle-piece of thesitting-room at No. 4, for these many months past), and has come inperson to see her father, but not of late days. A kind person,disposed to discharge her duties gravely, upon her marriage with SirCharles, she settled a little pension upon her father, whooccasionally was admitted to the table of his daughter and son-in-law.At first poor Cos's behavior "in the hoight of poloit societee," as hedenominated Lady Mirabel's drawing-room table, was harmless, if it wasabsurd. As he clothed his person in his best attire, so he selectedthe longest and richest words in his vocabulary to deck hisconversation, and adopted a solemnity of demeanor which struck withastonishment all those persons in whose company he happened to be."Was your Leedyship in the Pork to-dee?" he would demand of hisdaughter. "I looked for your equipage in veen:--the poor old man wasnot gratified by the soight of his daughter's choriot. Sir Chorlus, Isaw your neem at the Levee; many's the Levee at the Castle at Dublinthat poor old Jack Costigan has attended in his time. Did the Jukelook pretty well? Bedad, I'll call at Apsley House and lave me cyardupon 'um. I thank ye, James, a little dthrop more champeane." Indeed,he was magnificent in his courtesy to all, and addressed hisobservations not only to the master and the guests, but to thedomestics who waited at the table, and who had some difficulty inmaintaining their professional gravity while they waited onCaptain Costigan.
On the first two or three visits to his son-in-law, Costiganmaintained a strict sobriety, content to make up for his lost timewhen he got to the Back-Kitchen, where he bragged about hisson-in-law's clart and burgundee, until his own utterance began tofail him, over his sixth tumbler of whiskey-punch. But withfamiliarity his caution vanished, and poor Cos lamentably disgracedhimself at Sir Charles Mirabel's table, by premature inebriation. Acarriage was called for him: the hospitable door was shut upon him.Often and sadly did he speak to his friends at the Kitchen of hisresemblance to King Lear in the plee--of his having a thanklesschoild, bedad--of his being a pore worn-out, lonely old man, dthrivento dthrinking by ingratitude, and seeking to dthrown his sorrowsin punch.
It is painful to be obliged to record the weaknesses of fathers, butit must be furthermore told of Costigan, that when his credit wasexhausted and his money gone, he would not unfrequently beg money fromhis daughter, and make statements to her not altogether consistentwith strict truth. On one day a bailiff was about to lead him toprison, he wrote, "unless the--to you insignificant--sum of threepound five can be forthcoming to liberate a poor man's gray hairs fromjail." And the good-natured Lady Mirabel dispatched the moneynecessary for her father's liberation, with a caution to him to bemore economical for the future. On a second occasion the captain metwith a frightful accident, and broke a plate-glass window in theStrand, for which the proprietor of the shop held him liable. Themoney was forthcoming on this time too, to repair her papa's disaster,and was carried down by Lady Mirabel'
s servant to the slip-shodmessenger and aid-de-camp of the captain, who brought the letterannouncing his mishap. If the servant had followed the captain'said-de-camp who carried the remittance, he would have seen thatgentleman, a person of Costigan's country too (for have we not said,that however poor an Irish gentleman is, he always has a poorer Irishgentleman to run on his errands and transact his pecuniary affairs?)call a cab from the nearest stand, and rattle down to the Roscius'sHead, Harlequin-yard, Drury-lane, where the captain was indeed inpawn, and for several glasses containing rum and water, or otherspirituous refreshment, of which he and his staff had partaken. On athird melancholy occasion he wrote that he was attacked by illness,and wanted money to pay the physician whom he was compelled to callin; and this time Lady Mirabel, alarmed about her father's safety, andperhaps reproaching herself that she had of late lost sight of herfather, called for her carriage and drove to Shepherd's Inn, at thegate of which she alighted, whence she found the way to her father'schambers, "No. 4, third floor, name of Podmore over the door," theporteress said, with many courtesies, pointing toward the door of thehouse into which the affectionate daughter entered, and mounted thedingy stair. Alas! the door, surmounted by the name of Podmore, wasopened to her by poor Cos in his shirt-sleeves, and prepared with thegridiron to receive the mutton-chops, which Mrs. Bolton had goneto purchase.
Also, it was not pleasant for Sir Charles Mirabel to have lettersconstantly addressed to him at Brookes's, with the information thatCaptain Costigan was in the hall waiting for an answer; or when hewent to play his rubber at the Travelers', to be obliged to shoot outof his brougham and run up the steps rapidly, lest his father-in-lawshould seize upon him; and to think that while he read his paper orplayed his whist, the captain was walking on the opposite side of PallMall, with that dreadful cocked hat, and the eye beneath it fixedsteadily upon the windows of the club. Sir Charles was a weak man; hewas old, and had many infirmities: he cried about his father-in-law tohis wife, whom he adored with senile infatuation: he said he must goabroad--he must go and live in the country--he should die, or haveanother fit if he saw that man again--he knew he should. And it wasonly by paying a second visit to Captain Costigan, and representing tohim, that if he plagued Sir Charles by letters, or addressed him inthe street, or made any further applications for loans, his allowancewould be withdrawn altogether; that Lady Mirabel was enabled to keepher papa in order, and to restore tranquillity to her husband. And onoccasion of this visit, she sternly rebuked Bows for not keeping abetter watch over the captain; desired that he should not be allowedto drink in that shameful way; and that the people at the horridtaverns which he frequented should be told, upon no account to givehim credit. "Papa's conduct is bringing me to the grave," she said(though she looked perfectly healthy), "and you, as an old man, Mr.Bows, and one that pretended to have a regard for us, ought to beashamed of abetting him in it." These were the thanks which honestBows got for his friendship and his life's devotion. And I do notsuppose that the old philosopher was much worse off than many othermen, or had greater reason to grumble. On the second floor of thenext house to Bows's, in Shepherd's Inn, at No. 3, live two otheracquaintances of ours. Colonel Altamont, agent to the Nawaab ofLucknow, and Captain the Chevalier Edward Strong. No name at all isover their door. The captain does not choose to let all the world knowwhere he lives, and his cards bear the address of a Jermyn-streethotel; and as for the Embassador Plenipotentiary of the Indianpotentate, he is not an envoy accredited to the Courts of St. James'sor Leadenhall-street, but is here on a confidential mission, quiteindependent of the East India Company or the Board of Control.
"In fact," as Strong says, "Colonel Altamont's object being financial,and to effectuate a sale of some of the principal diamonds and rubiesof the Lucknow crown, his wish is _not_ to report himself at the IndiaHouse or in Cannon-row, but rather to negotiate with privatecapitalists--with whom he has had important transactions both in thiscountry and on the Continent."
We have said that these anonymous chambers of Strong's had been verycomfortably furnished since the arrival of Sir Francis Clavering inLondon, and the chevalier might boast with reason to the friends whovisited him, that few retired captains were more snugly quartered thanhe, in his crib in Shepherd's Inn. There were three rooms below: theoffice where Strong transacted his business--whatever that mightbe--and where still remained the desk and railings of the departedofficials who had preceded him, and the chevalier's own bedroom andsitting room; and a private stair led out of the office to two upperapartments, the one occupied by Colonel Altamont, and the otherserving as the kitchen of the establishment, and the bedroom of Mr.Grady, the attendant. These rooms were on a level with the apartmentsof our friends Bows and Costigan next door at No. 4; and by reachingover the communicating leads, Grady could command the mignonnette-boxwhich bloomed in Bows's window.
From Grady's kitchen casement often came odors still more fragrant.The three old soldiers who formed the garrison of No. 4, were allskilled in the culinary art. Grady was great at an Irish stew; thecolonel was famous for pillaus and curries; and as for Strong, hecould cook any thing. He made French dishes and Spanish dishes, stews,fricassees, and omelettes, to perfection; nor was there any man inEngland more hospitable than he when his purse was full, or his creditwas good. At those happy periods, he could give a friend, as he said,a good dinner, a good glass of wine, and a good song afterward; andpoor Cos often heard with envy the roar of Strong's choruses, and themusical clinking of the glasses as he sate in his own room, so farremoved and yet so near to those festivities. It was not expedient toinvite Mr. Costigan always; his practice of inebriation waslamentable; and he bored Strong's guests with his stories when sober,and with his maudlin tears when drunk.
A strange and motley set they were, these friends of the chevalier;and though Major Pendennis would not much have relished their company,Arthur and Warrington liked it not a little, and Pen thought itas amusing as the society of the finest gentlemen in the finest houseswhich he had the honor to frequent. There was a history about everyman of the set: they seemed all to have had their tides of luck andbad fortune. Most of them had wonderful schemes and speculations intheir pockets, and plenty for making rapid and extraordinary fortunes.Jack Holt had been in Don Carlos's army, when Ned Strong had fought onthe other side; and was now organizing a little scheme for smugglingtobacco into London, which must bring thirty thousand a year to anyman who would advance fifteen hundred, just to bribe the last officerof the Excise who held out, and had wind of the scheme. Tom Diver, whohad been in the Mexican navy, knew of a specie-ship which had beensunk in the first year of the war, with three hundred and eightythousand dollars on board, and a hundred and eighty thousand pounds inbars and doubloons. "Give me eighteen hundred pounds," Tom said, "andI'm off tomorrow. I take out four men, and a diving-bell with me; andI return in ten months to take my seat in parliament, by Jove! and tobuy back my family estate." Keightley, the manager of the Tredyddlumand Polwheedle Copper Mines (which were as yet under water), besidessinging as good a second as any professional man, and besides theTredyddlum Office, had a Smyrna Sponge Company, and a littlequicksilver operation in view, which would set him straight with theworld yet. Filby had been every thing: a corporal of dragoons, afield-preacher, and missionary-agent for converting the Irish; anactor at a Greenwich fair-booth, in front of which his father'sattorney found him when the old gentleman died and left him thatfamous property, from which he got no rents now, and of which nobodyexactly knew the situation. Added to these was Sir Francis Clavering,Bart., who liked their society, though he did not much add to itsamusements by his convivial powers. But he was made much of by thecompany now, on account of his wealth and position in the world. Hetold his little story and sang his little song or two with greataffability; and he had had his own history, too, before his accessionto good fortune; and had seen the inside of more prisons than one, andwritten his name on many a stamped paper.
When Altamont first returned from Paris, and after he had communicat
edwith Sir Francis Clavering from the hotel at which he had taken up hisquarters (and which he had reached in a very denuded state,considering the wealth of diamonds and rubies with which this honestman was intrusted), Strong was sent to him by his patron the baronet;paid his little bill at the inn, and invited him to come and sleep fora night or two at the chambers, where he subsequently took up hisresidence. To negotiate with this man was very well, but to have sucha person settled in his rooms, and to be constantly burdened with suchsociety, did not suit the chevalier's taste much: and he grumbled nota little to his principal.
"I wish you would put this bear into somebody else's cage," he said toClavering. "The fellow's no gentleman. I don't like walking withhim. He dresses himself like a nigger on a holiday. I took him to theplay the other night: and, by Jove, sir, he abused the actor who wasdoing the part of villain in the play, and swore at him so, that thepeople in the boxes wanted to turn him out. The after-piece was the'Brigand,' where Wallack comes in wounded, you know, and dies. When hedied, Altamont began to cry like a child, and said it was a d--dshame, and cried and swore so, that there was another row, and everybody laughing. Then I had to take him away, because he wanted to takehis coat off to one fellow who laughed at him; and bellowed to him tostand up like a man. Who is he? Where the deuce does he come from? Youhad best tell me the whole story. Frank, you must one day. You and hehave robbed a church together, that's my belief. You had better get itoff your mind at once, Clavering, and tell me what this Altamont is,and what hold he has over you."
"Hang him! I wish he was dead!" was the baronet's only reply; and hiscountenance became so gloomy, that Strong did not think fit toquestion his patron any further at that time; but resolved, if needwere, to try and discover for himself what was the secret tie betweenAltamont and Clavering.