Part 13

The coachman was immediately curbed; and when Mr. Noel’s friend had parted with him, by shaking his hand in the coach, the coachman, touching the front of his hat, wished to know of his _honour_ “_Where to?_”

“I’ll give you a pretty dance,” replied Mr. Noel; “drive me to h----, you rascal; to Whitechapel, and from thence to Hyde Park Corner. I’ll take care it shall be long enough before you get any dinner, you rascal, I will.” Then, with a nod and a smile to the assembled crowd, he declared, to their no small amusement, “I’ll punish him.”

Dr. Burges, of Mortimer Street, whose singular figure has been etched by Gillray, under which he wrote, “From Warwick Lane,” was one of the last men who wore a cocked-hat and deep ruffles. What rendered his appearance more remarkable, he walked on tiptoe.[369]

It was the regular custom of Mr. Alderman Boydell, who was a very early riser, at five o’clock, to go immediately to the pump in Ironmonger Lane. There, after placing his wig upon the ball at the top of it, he used to sluice his head with its water. This well-known and highly respected character,[370] who has done more for the British artists than all the print-publishers put together, was also one of the last men who wore the three-cornered hat commonly called “Egham, Staines, and Windsor.”

I recollect another character, a bricklayer, of the name of Pride, of Vine Street, Piccadilly, who wore the three-cornered hat commonly called “The Cumberland Cock.”[371]

1822.

In October this year the venerable Mrs. Garrick departed this life, when seated in her armchair in the front drawing-room of her house in the Adelphi. She had ordered her maid-servants to place two or three gowns upon chairs, to determine in which she would appear at Drury Lane Theatre that evening, it being a private view of Mr. Elliston’s improvements for the season. Perhaps no lady in public and private life held a more unexceptionable character. She was visited by persons of the first rank; even our late Queen Charlotte, who had honoured her with a visit at Hampton, found her peeling onions for pickling. The gracious Queen commanded a knife to be brought, saying, “I will peel some onions too.” The late King George IV. and King William IV., as well as other branches of the Royal Family, frequently honoured her with visits.

In the course of conversation with Mrs. Garrick (to whom I had been introduced by the late Dr. Burney), that lady expressed a wish to see the collection of Mr. Garrick’s portraits, which the Doctor had most industriously collected. After the honourable trustees had purchased the Doctor’s library, which contained ten folio volumes of theatrical portraits, I reminded Mrs. Garrick of her wish, in consequence of which I received the following letter:--

“Mr. Beltz[372] presents his compliments to Mr. Smith, and is desired by his respected friend Mrs. Garrick to acquaint him, in answer to the favour of his letter of the 12th inst., that she proposes (unless she should hear from Mr. Smith that it will be inconvenient to him) to do herself the pleasure of calling on him at the British Museum on Tuesday next, between twelve and one, for the purpose of inspecting the prints of Mr. Garrick, to which Mr. Smith refers.

“HERALDS’ COLLEGE, _Aug. 18th, 1821_.”

On the appointed morning Mrs. Garrick arrived, accompanied by Mr. Beltz. She was delighted with the portraits of Mr. Garrick, many of which were totally unknown to her. Her observations on some of them were extremely interesting, particularly that by Dance, as Richard III.[373] Of that painter she stated, that Mr. Garrick, who had been the artist’s best friend and benefactor, behaved in the most dirty manner in return; for in the course of his painting the picture Mr. Garrick had agreed to give him two hundred guineas for it. One day at Mr. Garrick’s dining-table, where Dance had always been a welcome guest, he observed that Sir Watkin Williams Wynn,[374] who had seen the picture, spontaneously offered him three hundred guineas for it. “Did you tell him it was for me?” questioned Mr. Garrick. “No, I did not.” “Then you mean to let him have it?” Garrick rejoined. “Yes, I believe I shall,” replied the painter. “However,” observed Mrs. Garrick, “my husband was very good; he bought me a most handsome looking-glass, which cost him more than the agreed price of the picture; and that was put up in the place where Dance’s picture was to have hung.” Mrs. Garrick being about to quit her seat, said she should be glad to see me at Hampton. “Madam,” said I, “you are very good; but you would oblige me exceedingly by honouring me with your signature on this day.” “What do you ask me for? I have not taken a pen in my hand for many months. Stay, let me compose myself; don’t hurry me, and I will see what I can do. Would you like it written with my spectacles on, or without?” Preferring the latter, she wrote “E. M. Garrick,” but not without some exertion.

“I suppose now, Sir, you wish to know my age. I was born at Vienna, the 29th of February, 1724, though my coachman insists upon it that I am above a hundred. I was married at the parish of St. Giles at eight o’clock in the morning, and immediately afterwards in the chapel of the Portuguese Ambassador, in South Audley Street.”

A day or two after Mrs. Garrick’s death, I went to the Adelphi, to know if a day had been fixed for the funeral. “No,” replied George Harris, one of Mrs. Garrick’s confidential servants; “but I will let you know when it is to take place. Would you like to see her? she is in her coffin.” “Yes, I should.” Upon entering the back room on the first-floor, in which Mr. Garrick died, I found the deceased’s two female servants standing by her remains. I made a drawing of her, and intended to have etched it. “Pray, do tell me,” looking at one of the maids, “why is the coffin covered with sheets?” “They are their wedding sheets, in which both Mr. and Mrs. Garrick wished to have died.” I was informed that one of these attentive women had incurred her mistress’s displeasure by kindly pouring out a cup of tea, and handing it to her in her chair. “Put it down, you hussey; do you think I cannot help myself?” She took it herself, and a short time after she had put it to her lips, died. This lady continued her practice of swearing now and then, particularly when any one attempted to impose upon her. A stonemason brought in his bill with an overcharge of sixpence more than the sum agreed upon; on which occasion he endeavoured to appease her rage by thus addressing her:--“My dear Madam, do consider”--“My dear Madam! What do you mean, you d---- fellow? Get out of the house immediately. My dear madam, indeed!!”

On the following day I received the promised letter, by the post.

“SIR,--The funeral is fixed to leave the Adelphi Terrace soon after ten o’clock to-morrow morning. Mrs. Garrick’s carriage, the Dowager Lady Amherst’s, Dr. Maton’s, and Mr. Carr’s[375] are the only carriages that will join the funeral. Your obedient servant,

“GEORGE HARRIS,

“Servant to Mrs. Garrick.”

On the day of the funeral, Miss Macauley,[376] the authoress, wishing to see this venerable lady interred, placed herself under my protection; but when we arrived at the Abbey, we were refused admittance by a person who observed, “If it be your wish to see the waxwork, you must come when the funeral’s over, and you will then be admitted into Poets’ Corner, by a man who is stationed at the door to receive your money.”

“Curse the waxwork!” said I; “this lady and I came to see Mrs. Garrick’s remains placed in the grave.”--“Ah, well, you can’t come in; the Dean won’t allow it.” As soon as the ceremony was over, we were admitted for sixpence at the Poets’ Corner, and there we saw the earth that surrounded the grave, and no more, as we refused to pay the demands of the showmen of the Abbey. Surely this mode of admission to see the venerable structure, and the monuments put up there at a most liberal expense by the country, as memorials of departed worth, is an abominable disgrace to the English Government.[377]

Being disappointed in a sight of the burial, I applied to my friend, the Rev. Thomas Rackett, one of Mrs. Garrick’s executors, for a list of those persons who attended the funeral.

IN THE FIRST COACH.

Christopher Philip Garrick, and Nathan Egerton Garrick, great-nephews of David Garrick; the Rev. Thomas Rackett, and George Frederick Beltz, Esq., Lancaster Herald, Executors of Mrs. Garrick’s will.

IN THE SECOND COACH.

Thomas Carr, Esq., Mrs. Garrick’s solicitor; and Mrs. Carr.

IN THE THIRD COACH.

Mr. James Deane, Agent to Mr. Carr, frequently employed by Mrs. Garrick; Mr. Freeman, of Spring Gardens, Mrs. Garrick’s apothecary.

THOMAS RACKETT.[378]

_December 4th, 1827._

As Mr. Garrick was married by his friend, the celebrated Dr. Francklin,[379] who at that time had a chapel in Great Queen Street, I was anxious to ascertain whether the ceremony took place there or at the parish church. I therefore applied to my friend, the Rev. Charles M’Carthy, who favoured me with the following certificate:--

June 22, 1749. David Garrick, of St. Paul, Covent Garden; and Eva Maria Violetti, of St. James’s, Westminster.

T. FRANKLIN. C. M’CARTHY, Curate and Reg.[380]

1823.

In 1822, to the disgrace of the Antwerp picture collectors, notwithstanding their professed zeal for the protection of high works of art, they allowed the most precious gem, their boasted corner-stone, to be carried away from their city. However, to the great honour of Mr. Smith, the picture-dealer, it was secured for England.

This corner-stone, which had been coveted by most of the amateurs in the world, was no less a treasure than the picture known under the appellation of the “Chapeau de Paille,”[381] by Rubens, which had been in the Lunden’s, and then the Steir’s family, from the time it was sold after the painter’s death, to the 29th of July, 1822, the day on which it was brought to auction for the benefit of the last possessor’s family.

When the auctioneer ordered the doors of the case in which it was kept to be thrown open, every person took off his hat, and greeted the picture with loud and repeated cheerings. After the company had, for some time, gratified their eyes, the doors were locked and biddings commenced, the company remaining uncovered till the bidders were silent. It was then knocked down for the sum of thirty-two thousand seven hundred florins, to a foreigner displaying an orange ribbon, hired by the real purchaser, Mr. Smith, who suspected that if an Englishman had offered to bid, he would have brought down a direful opposition. When it was discovered that it was to be conveyed to England, the Antwerpers not only shed tears, but followed it to Mr. Smith’s place of residence, expressing the strongest desire to take their farewell look. Mr. Smith, not willing to risk its safety, gave a seaman five guineas to convey it on shipboard by night, and saw it safely landed on British ground.

Upon its arrival in London, King George IV. commanded a sight of it; and on the morning of Tuesday, September 3rd, Mr. Smith had it conveyed from his house in Marlborough Street, to Carlton Palace, where it was placed in the King’s dressing-room, the King keeping the key of the case, that only private friends might see it. After the expiration of a fortnight, the picture was returned; and in the month of March, 1823, it was publicly exhibited at Stanley’s rooms. The Right Hon. Sir Robert Peel became its liberal purchaser and protector. This picture is painted on oak, and has been joined at the lower part across the hands, and there is every reason for believing that Rubens painted it in the frame, as the ground was unpainted upon, within the width of the rabbit.

The popular report respecting this picture is, that it was the portrait of Elizabeth Lunden, a young woman to whom Rubens was particularly partial, who died of the small-pox, to the great grief of the painter.

In this year I find the following letter in my album:--

“MY DEAR SIR,--Your desire to know the place of my nativity, the profession for which I was intended, my first appearance on the stage, and in town. This both honours and gratifies me, inasmuch as your request places my name with men of genius and education, the persons of all others I am most ambitious to be found with.

“The city of Bristol gave me birth, in 1778.[382] I was brought up an artist, which profession I quitted for studies more congenial to my feelings. Immortal Shakspeare wrought the change, and his great contemporaries added fuel to flame. Notwithstanding this mighty stimulus, in the year 1798 I made my first attempt, in the part of young Hob, in _Hob in the Well_,[383] in a town in Radnorshire, the theatre a barn in the environs; the receipts seven shillings; my share sevenpence. I removed from this luxury to the Stafford Company, thence to the York Theatre, where I succeeded my friend Mathews, and in which situation I remained seven years.

“October 12th, 1809, I made my début in London, in the Theatre Royal, Lyceum, with the Drury Lane Company. The devouring element had destroyed that magnificent pile Old Drury, which caused the professors to employ that place of refuge. The pieces I selected for the terrific ordeal, were _The Soldier’s Daughter_ and _Fortune’s Frolic_;[384] the characters, Timothy Quaint and Robin Roughhead. The public were infinitely more kind than my negative merits deserved; and with gratitude I acknowledge, that up to the present period, their bounty very far exceeds the humble ability of their devoted servant, and your true friend,

“EDWARD KNIGHT.[385]

“THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE,

“GARDEN COTTAGE, COVENT GARDEN, GROUND CHAMBERS,

“_Nov. 15th, 1823_.”

1824.

The following notice is written in my album this year, by Major Cartwright:--

“John Cartwright, born at Marnham, near Tuxford, in the county of Nottingham, on the 17th of September, 1740, old style, corresponding with the 28th, new style. In the year 1758 he entered the naval service, under the command of Lord Howe; was promoted to a lieutenancy in September, 1762, and continued on active service until the spring of 1771. Then retiring to recruit his health, he remained at Marnham till invited by his old Commander-in-chief, in the year 1775 or 1776; but not approving of the war with America, he declined accepting the proffered commission. About the same time he became Major of the regiment of Nottinghamshire Militia, then for the first time raised in that county, in which he served seventeen years.

“When George III. arrived at the year of the Jubilee, a naval promotion of twenty Lieutenants to the rank of Commanders, and the name of J. C. standing the twentieth on the list, he was commissioned as a Commander accordingly.

“In the year 1802 he published _The Trident_, a work in quarto, having for its object to promote that elevation of character which can alone preserve the vital spirit of a navy, as well as to furnish an inexhaustible patronage of the arts.

“JOHN CARTWRIGHT, residing in Burton Crescent, _26th Jan., 1824_.”

The Major died on the 23rd of September this year, at his house in Burton Crescent, at the venerable age of eighty-four.[386]

1825.

An author, in whose real character I was for many years deceived, frequently importuned me to caricature literary females. But this malicious advice, being repugnant to my feelings, I never could listen to, nor is it my intention even to make public a memory-sketch now in my possession of the adviser, when he was stooping over and pretending to kiss the putrid corpse of him a portion of whose vast property he is in possession of, and, I was going to say, happily enjoys.[387] Profoundly learned as the person above alluded to considers himself to be, the reader will, after perusing the following lines, written purposely for my album, be convinced that jealousy towards the fair sex must be that man’s master-passion.

IMPROMPTU LINES BY MISS BENGER, ON THE PAUCITY OF INFORMATION RESPECTING THE LIFE AND CHARACTER OF SHAKSPEARE.

Lives there, redeemed from dull oblivion’s waste, One cherished line that _Shakspeare’s_ hand has traced? Vain search! though glory crowns the poet’s bust, His story sleeps with his unconscious dust. Born--wedded--buried! Such the common lot, And such was his. What more? almost a blot! Even on his laurelled head with doubt we gaze; And _fancy_ best his lineaments portrays. Thus like an Indian deity enshrined, In mystery is his image; whilst the mind To us bequeathed, belongs to all mankind. Yet here he lived; his manly high career Of strange vicissitude, was measured here. Not his the envied privilege to hail The Eternal City! or in Tempe’s vale Breathe inspiration with luxurious sighs, And dream of Heaven beneath unclouded skies. His sphere was bounded, and we almost trace His daily haunts, where he was wont to chase Unwelcome cares, or visions fair recall; His breath still lingers on the cloistral wall, With gloom congenial to his spirit fraught; And thou, O Thames, his lonely sighs hast caught. When one, the rhyming Charon of his day, Who tugged the oar, yet conned a merry lay, Full oft unconscious of the freight he bore, Transferred the musing bard from shore to shore. Too careless _Taylor!_ hadst thou well divined The marvellous man to thy frail skiff consigned, Thou shouldst have craved one tributary line, To blend his glorious destiny with thine! Nor vain the prayer!--who generous homage pays To genius, wins the second meed of praise.[388]

The much-famed Cup, carved from Shakspeare’s Mulberry-tree, lined with, and standing on a base of silver, with a cover surmounted by a branch of mulberry leaves and fruit, also of silver-gilt, which was presented to Mr. Garrick on the occasion of the Jubilee at Stratford-upon-Avon, was sold by Mr. Christie on May the 5th, 1825,[389] who addressed the assembly nearly in the following words, for the recollection of which I am obliged to the memory of my worthy friend, Henry Smedley, Esq.:[390]--

“Though this is neither the age nor the country in which relics are made the objects of devotion, yet that which I am now to submit to you must recall to your recollection the Stratford Jubilee, when the pilgrims to the shrine of Avon were actuated by a zeal as fervent as could have been exhibited either at Loretto or Compostella. Let me then entreat a liberal bidding, when I invoke you by the united names of Shakspeare and of Garrick. I perceive that this little Cup is now submitted to eyes well accustomed to appreciate the most exquisite treasures of ancient arts; and that the rough and natural bark of the mulberry-tree is regarded with as much veneration as the choicest carving of Cellini or Fiamingo.”

After one hundred guineas had been bid, Mr. Christie added, “I was wishing that I had some of Falstaff’s sack here, with which I might fill the Cup, and pledge this company, so as to invigorate their biddings; but I think I may say now that at least there is no want of spirit among them.”

1826.

The term _busby_, now sometimes used when a large bushy wig is spoken of, most probably originated from the wig denominated a buzz, frizzled and bushy. At all events, we are not satisfied that the term busby could have arisen, as many persons believe, from Dr. Busby, Master of Westminster School, as all his portraits either represent him with a close cap, or with a cap and hat.[391]

During a most minute investigation of a regular series of English portraits, which I was led into by a friend, in order, if possible, to clear up this point, I was induced to look for the origin of wigs in England, and their various sorts and successions, by commencing at the time of William the Conqueror. In this search I was not able to find any representation of wigs earlier than those worn by King Charles II.[392] upon his Restoration, in proof of which I refer the reader to Faithorne’s numerous portraits of that monarch, and he will find that that sort of wig continued to be worn, with very little deviation, by succeeding kings till George II.’s time, with whom it ended. The Merry Monarch, it has been stated, followed the fashion of wearing a wig from Louis XIV.,[393] with whom that custom commenced with the kings of France. The Duke of Burgundy wore a wig.

King George III. commenced his reign with wearing his own hair dressed and powdered in the style of Woollett’s beautiful engraving of his Majesty,[394] after a picture painted by Ramsey. King George III. wore a wig, in the latter part of his reign, made from one of those worn by Mr. Duvall, one of the masons of the Board of Works, with which shape his Majesty was much pleased.

The line in Pope,

“Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone,”

alludes to the wig carved on the monument of Sir Cloudesley Shovel in Westminster Abbey.[395]

This sort of wig, which received the appellation of “A Brown George,” was also worn by several persons of rank, particularly the late Earl of Cremorne.[396] Townsend, a Bow-street officer, condescendingly noticed by the King, thought proper to wear a wig of this kind, in which he appeared at the morning service in Westminster Abbey.

It is worthy of observation, that in the reign of King Charles II. the Lord Mayors of London followed his Majesty’s example, by wearing wigs precisely of the same make, and equal to those worn by the Royal Family, the highest courtiers, and persons of the first eminence in official capacities. Nay indeed, Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey, a wood and coal-monger, wore wigs of this shape, perhaps because he was a Justice of the Peace within the King’s Court. The same kind of wig, equally deep, but with curls rather looser and more tastefully flowing, was also worn by the following high literary characters in the reigns of Charles II., James II., William III., and Queen Anne:--Waller, Dryden, Addison, Steele, Congreve, Vanbrugh, Butler, Rowe, Prior, Wycherley, etc.[397] Of these, perhaps the two last-mentioned were the most foppish in their wigs, particularly Wycherley, from whom the sets of large and beautifully engraven combs of the finest tortoise-shell are named. With these combs (which were carried in cases in their pockets) the wearers of wigs adjusted their curls, ruffled and entangled by the wind. These combs are held as curiosities by many of our old families. The last I saw was in the possession of the friendly Dr. Meyrick, author of _The History of Armour_. I have somewhere read that Wycherley, who was esteemed one of the handsomest men of his day, was frequently seen standing in the pit of the theatre combing and adjusting the curls of his wig, whilst in lolling conversation with the first ladies of fashion in the boxes.[398] Most of Sir Godfrey Kneller’s portraits were painted in this flowing wig, particularly that celebrated series entitled Queen Anne’s Admirals.[399] These pictures were lately moved by command of King George IV. from Hampton Court Palace to the Nautical Gallery in Greenwich Hospital, where they are placed to the highest advantage among numerous other portraits of England’s naval victors.