Part 11
Oui, miladi, dat is, I have send John; de butler he was went out.
LADY AMARANTHE.
And his answer was, that he would sing in spite of me, and louder than ever?
JUSTINE.
Oui, miladi, le monstre! il dit comme ca, dat he will sing more louder den ever.
LADY AMARANTHE--(_sinking again into her chair._)
Ah! the horrid man!
JUSTINE.
Ah! dere is no politesse, no more den dere is police in dis country.
LADY AMARANTHE.
If Lord Amaranthe were not two hundred miles off--but, as it is, I must find some remedy--let me think--bribery, I suppose. Have they sent for him? I dread to see the wretch. What noise is that? allez voir, ma chere!
JUSTINE--(_goes and returns._)
Madame, c'est justement notre homme, voulez-vous qu'il entre?
LADY AMARANTHE.
Oui, faites entrer.
[_She leans back in her chair._
JUSTINE--(_at the door._)
Entrez, entrez toujours, dat is, come in, good mister.
_Enter DICK. He bows; and, squeezing his hat in his hands, looks round him with considerable embarrassment._
JUSTINE--(_to Lady Amaranthe._)
Bah! comme il sent le cuir, n'est-ce pas, madame?
LADY AMARANTHE.
Faugh! mes sels--ma vinaigrette, Justine--non, l'eau de Cologne, qui est la sur la table. (_JUSTINE brings her some eau de Cologne; she pours some upon her handkerchief, and applies it to her temples and to her nose, as if overcome; then, raising her eye-glass, she examines DICK from head to foot._) Good man--a--pray, what is your name?
DICK--(_with a profound bow._)
Dick, please your ladyship.
LADY AMARANTHE.
Hum--a--a--pray, Mr. Dick--
DICK.
Folks just call me plain Dick, my lady. I'm a poor honest cobbler, and no mister.
LADY AMARANTHE--(_pettishly._)
Well, sir, it is of no consequence. You live in the small house over the way, I think?
DICK.
Yes, ma'am, my lady, I does; I rents the attics.
LADY AMARANTHE.
You appear a good civil sort of man enough. (_He bows._) I sent my servant over to request that you would not disturb me in the night--or the morning, as you call it. I have very weak health--am quite an invalid--your loud singing in the morning just opposite to my windows----
DICK--(_eagerly._)
Ma'am, I--I'm very sorry; I ax your ladyship's pardon; I'll never sing no more above my breath, if you please.
JUSTINE.
Comment! c'est honnete, par exemple.
LADY AMARANTHE--(_surprised._)
Then you did not tell my servant that you would sing louder than ever, in spite of me?
DICK.
Me, my Lady? I never said no such thing.
LADY AMARANTHE.
This is strange; or is there some mistake? Perhaps you are not the same Mr. Dick?
DICK.
Why, yes, my lady, for that matter, I be the same Dick. (_Approaching a few steps, and speaking confidentially._) I'll just tell your ladyship the whole truth, and not a bit of a lie. There comes an impudent fellow to me, and he tells me, just out of his own head, I'll be bound, that if I sung o' mornings, he would have me put in the stocks.
LADY AMARANTHE.
Good heavens!
JUSTINE--(_in the same tone._)
Grands dieux!
DICK--(_with a grin._)
Now the stocks is for a rogue, as the saying is. As for my singing, that's neither here nor there; but no jackanapes shall threaten _me_. I _will_ sing if I please, (_sturdily_,) and I won't sing if I don't please; and (_lowering his tone_) I don't please, if it disturbs your ladyship. (_Retreating_) I wish your ladyship a good day, and better health.
LADY AMARANTHE.
Stay; you are not then the rude uncivil person I was told of?
DICK.
I hopes I knows better than to do an uncivil thing by a lady.
[_Bows and retreats towards the door._
LADY AMARANTHE.
Stay, sir--a--a--one word.
DICK.
Oh, as many as you please, ma'am; I'm in no hurry.
LADY AMARANTHE--(_graciously._)
Are you married?
DICK--(_rubbing his hands with glee._)
Yes, ma'am, I be; and to as tight a bit of a wife as any in the parish.
JUSTINE.
Ah! il parait que ce monsieur Dick aime sa femme! Est-il amusant!
LADY AMARANTHE.
You love her then?
DICK.
Oh, then I do! I love her with all my heart! who could help it?
LADY AMARANTHE.
Indeed! and how do you live?
DICK.
Why, bless you, ma'am, sometimes well, sometimes ill, according as I have luck and work. When we can get a bit of dinner, we eat it, and when we can't, why, we go without: or, may be, a kind neighbour helps us.
LADY AMARANTHE.
Poor creatures!
DICK.
Oh, not so poor neither, my lady; many folks is worser off. I'm always merry, night and day; and my Meg is the good temperedst, best wife in the world. We've never had nothing from the parish, and never will, please God, while I have health and hands.
LADY AMARANTHE.
And you are happy?
DICK.
As happy as the day is long.
LADY AMARANTHE--(_aside._)
This is a lesson to me. Eh bien, Justine! voila donc notre sauvage!
JUSTINE.
Il est gentil ce monsieur Dick, et a present que je le regarde--vraiment il a une assez jolie tournure.
LADY AMARANTHE--(_with increasing interest._)
Have you any children?
DICK--(_with a sigh._)
No, ma'am; and that's the only thing as frets us.
LADY AMARANTHE.
Good heavens! you do not mean to say you wish for them, and have scarce enough for yourselves? how would you feed them?
DICK.
Oh, I should leave Meg to feed them; I should have nothing to do but to work for them. Providence would take care of us while they were little; and, when they were big, they would help us.
LADY AMARANTHE--(_aside._)
I could not have conceived this. (_She whispers JUSTINE, who goes out._) (_To DICK._) Can I do any thing to serve you?
DICK.
Only, if your ladyship could recommend me any custom; I mend shoes as cheap as e'er a cobbler in London, though I say it.
LADY AMARANTHE.
I shall certainly desire that all my people employ you whenever there is occasion.
_Re-enter JUSTINE, holding a purse in her hand._
DICK--(_bowing._)
Much obliged, my lady; I hopes to give satisfaction, but (_looking with admiration at LADY AMARANTHE's foot as it rests on the footstool_) such a pretty, little, delicate, beautiful foot as yon, I never fitted in all my born days. It can't cost your ladyship much in shoe leather, I guess?
LADY AMARANTHE--(_smiling complacently._)
Rather more than you would imagine, I fancy, my good friend.
JUSTINE.
Comment donc--ce Monsieur Dick, fait aussi des complimens a Madame? Il ne manque pas de gout,--(_aside_) et il sait ce qu'il fait, apparemment.
LADY AMARANTHE--(_glancing at her foot._)
C'est a dire--il a du bon sens, et ne parle pas mal. (_She takes the purse._) As you so civilly obliged me, you must allow me to make you some return.
DICK--(_putting his hand behind him._)
Me, ma'am! I'm sure I don't want to be paid for being civil.
LADY AMARANTHE.
But as I have deprived you of a pleasure, my good friend, some amends surely--
DICK.
Oh, ma'am, pray don't mention it; my wife's a little tired and sleepy sometimes of a morning, and if I didn't sing her out of bed, I do think she would, by chance, snooze away till six o'clock, like any duchess; but a pinch or a shake or a kiss will do as well, may be: and (_earnestly_) she's, for all that, the best woman in the world.
LADY AMARANTHE--(_smiling._)
I can believe it, though she _does_ sleep till six o'clock like a duchess. Well, my good friend, there are five guineas in this purse; the purse is my own work; and I request you will present it to your wife from me, with many thanks for your civility.
DICK--(_confused._)
Much obliged, much obliged, but I can't, I can't indeed, my lady. Five guineas! O Lord! I should never know what to do with such a power of money.
LADY AMARANTHE.
Your wife will not say the same, depend upon it; she will find some use for it.
DICK.
My Meg, poor woman! she never had so much money in all her life.
LADY AMARANTHE.
I must insist upon it; you will offend me.
JUSTINE--(_taking the purse out of her lady's hand, and forcing it upon DICK._)
Dieux! est-il bete!--you no understand?--It is de gold and de silver money (_laughing._) Comme il a l'air ebahi!
DICK--(_putting up the money._)
Many thanks, and I pray God bless your ladyship!
LADY AMARANTHE--(_gaily._)
Good morning, Mr. Dick. Remember me to your wife.
DICK.
I will, my lady. I wish your ladyship, and you, miss, a good morning. (_To himself._) Five guineas!--what will Meg say?--Now I'll be a master shoemaker. (_Going out in an ecstasy, he knocks his head against the wall._)
LADY AMARANTHE.
Take care, friend. Montrez-lui la porte, Justine!
JUSTINE.
Mais venez donc, Monsieur Dick--par ici--et n'allez pas donner le nez contre la porte!
[_DICK follows JUSTINE out of the door, after making several bows._
LADY AMARANTHE.
Poor man!--well, he's silenced--he does not look as if he would sing, morning or night, for the next twelve months.
_Re-enter JUSTINE._
JUSTINE.
Voici Madame Mincetaille, qui vient pour essayer la robe-de-bal de madame.
LADY AMARANTHE.
Ah! allons donc.
[_They go out._
_The SCENE changes to the Cobbler's Garret._
_Enter MARGERY, in haste; a basket in her hand. She looks about her._
MARGERY.
Not come back yet! what can keep him, I wonder! (_Takes off her bonnet and shawl._) Well, I must get the dinner ready. (_Pauses, and looks anxious._) But, somehow, I feel not easy in my mind. What could they want with him?--Hark! (_Goes to the door_) No--what a time he is! But suppose they should 'dite him for a nuisance--O me! or send him to the watchhouse--O my poor dear Dick! I must go and see after him! I must go this very instant moment! (_Snatches up her bonnet._) Oh, I hear him now; but how slowly he comes up!
[_Runs to the door, and leads him in._
_Enter DICK._
MARGERY.
Oh, my dear, dear Dick, I am so glad you are come at last! But how pale you look! all I don't know how! What's the matter? why don't you speak to me, Dick, love?
DICK--(_fanning himself with his hat._)
Let me breathe, wife.
MARGERY.
But what's the matter? where have you been? who did you see? what did they say to you? Come, tell me quick.
DICK.
Why, Meg, how your tongue does gallop! as if a man could answer twenty questions in a breath.
MARGERY.
Did you see the lady herself? Tell me that.
DICK--(_looking round the room auspiciously._)
Shut the door first.
MARGERY.
There.
[_Shuts it._
DICK.
Shut the other.
MARGERY.
The other?--There.
[_Shuts it._
DICK.
Lock it fast, I say.
MARGERY.
There's no lock; and that you know.
DICK--(_frightened._)
No lock;--then we shall all be robbed!
MARGERY.
Robbed of what? Sure, there's nothing here for any one to rob! You never took such a thing into your head before.
[_DICK goes to the door, and tries to fasten it._
MARGERY--(_aside._)
For sartain, he's bewitched--or have they given him something to drink?--or, perhaps, he's ill. (_Very affectionately, and laying her hand on his shoulder._) Are you not well, Dick, love? Will you go to bed, sweetheart?
DICK--(_gruffly._)
No. Go to bed in the broad day!--the woman's cracked.
MARGERY--(_whimpering._)
Oh, Dick, what in the world has come to you?
DICK.
Nothing--nothing but good, you fool. There--there--don't cry, I tell you.
MARGERY--(_wiping her eyes._)
And did you see the lady?
DICK.
Ay, I seed her; and a most beautiful lady she is, and she sends her sarvice to you?
MARGERY.
Indeed! lauk-a-daisy! I'm sure I'm much obliged--but what did she say to you?
DICK.
Oh, she said this, and that, and t'other--a great deal.
MARGERY.
But what, Dick?
DICK.
Why, she said--she said as how I sung so fine, she couldn't sleep o' mornings.
MARGERY.
Sleep o' mornings! that's a good joke! Let people sleep o' nights, I say.
DICK--(_solemnly._)
But she can't, poor soul, she's very ill; she has pains here, and pains there, and everywhere.
MARGERY.
Indeed! poor lady! then you mustn't disturb her no more, Dick, that's a sure thing.
DICK.
Ay, so I said; and so she gave me this.
[_Takes out the purse, and holds it up._
MARGERY--(_clapping her hands._)
O goodness! what a fine purse!--Is there any thing in it?
DICK--(_chinks the money._)
Do ye hear that? Guess now.
MARGERY--(_timidly._)
Five shillings, perhaps, eh?
DICK.
Five shillings!--five guineas, girl.
MARGERY--(_with a scream._)
Five guineas! five guineas! (_skips about_) tal, lal, la! five guineas! (_Runs and embraces her husband._) Oh, Dick! we'll be so rich and so happy. I want a power of things. I'll have a new gown--lavender, shall it be?--Yes, it shall be lavender; and a dimity petticoat; and a lace cap, like Mrs. Pinchtoe's, with pink ribbons--how she will stare! and I'll have two silver spoons, and a nutmeg-grater, and----
DICK.
Ho, ho, ho! what a jabber! din, din, din! You'll have this, and you'll have that! First, I'll have a good stock of neat's leather.
MARGERY.
Well, well, give me the purse; I'll take care of it.
[_Snatches at it._
DICK.
No, thankee, _I'll_ take care of it.
MARGERY--(_coaxing._)
You know I always keep the money, Dick!
DICK.
Ay, Meg, but I'll keep this, do ye mind?
MARGERY.
What! keep it all to yourself?--No, you won't; an't I your wife, and haven't I a right? I ax you that.
DICK.
Pooh! don't be bothering me.
MARGERY.
Come, give it me at once, there's a dear Dick!
DICK.
What, to waste it all in woman's nonsense and frippery? Don't be a fool! we're rich, and we'll keep it safe.
MARGERY.
Why, where's the use of money but to spend? Come, come, I _will_ have it.
DICK.
Hey-day! you will?--You shan't; who's the master here, I say?
MARGERY--(_passionately._)
Why, if you come to that, who's the mistress here, I say?
DICK.
Now, Meg, don't you go for to provoke me.
MARGERY.
Pooh! I defy you.
DICK--(_doubling his fist._)
Don't you put me in a passion, Meg!
MARGERY.
Get along; I don't care that for you! (_snaps her fingers._) You used to be my own dear Dick, and now you're a cross, miserly curmudgeon--
DICK--(_quite furious._)
You will have it then! Why, then, take it, with a mischief; take that, and that, and that!
[_He beats her; she screams._
MARGERY.
Oh! oh! oh!--pray don't--pray--(_Breaks from him, and throws herself into a chair._) O Dick! to go for to strike me! O that I should ever see the day!--you cruel, unkind----Oh! oh!
[_Covers her face with her apron, sobs, and cries; and he stands looking at her sheepishly. A long pause._
DICK--(_in great agitation._)
Eh, why! women be made of eggshells, I do think. Why, Meg, I didn't hurt you, did I? why don't you speak? Now, don't you be sulky, come; it wasn't much. A man is but flesh and blood, after all; come, I say--I'll never get into a passion with you again to my dying day--I won't--come, don't cry; (_tries to remove the apron_,) come, kiss, and be friends. Won't you forgive your own dear Dick, won't you? (_ready to cry_) She won't!--Here, here's the money, and the purse and all--take it, do what you like with it. (_She shakes her head._) What, you won't then? why, then, there--(_throws it on the ground._) Deuce fetch me if ever I touch it again! and I wish my fingers had been burnt before ever I took it,--so I do! (_with feeling._) We were so happy this morning, when we hadn't a penny to bless ourselves with, nor even a bit to eat; and now, since all this money has come to us of a suddent, why, it's all as one as if old Nick himself were in the purse. I'll tell you what, Meg, eh! shall I? Shall I take it back to the lady, and give our duty to her, and tell her we don't want her guineas, shall I, Meg? shall I, dear heart?
[_During the last few words MARGERY lets the apron fall from her face, looks up at him, and smiles._
DICK.
Oh, that's right, and we'll be happy again, and never quarrel more.
MARGERY.
No, never! (_They embrace._) Take it away, for I can't bear the sight of it.
DICK.
Take it _you_ then, for you know, Meg, I said I would never touch it again; and what I says, I says--and what I says, I sticks to.
[_Pushes it towards her with his foot._
MARGERY.
And so do I: and I vowed to myself that I wouldn't touch it, and I won't.
[_Kicks it back to him._
DICK.
How shall we manage then? Oh, I have it. Fetch me the tongs here. (_Takes up the purse in the tongs, and holds it at arm's length._) Now I'm going. So, Meg, if you repent, now's the time. Speak--or for ever hold your tongue.
MARGERY.
Me repent? No, my dear Dick! I feel, somehow, quite light, as if a great weight were gone away from here. (_Laying her hands on her bosom._) Money may be a good thing when it comes little by little, and we gain it honestly by our own hard work; but when it comes this way, in a lump--one doesn't know how or why--it's quite too surprising, as one may say;--it gets into one's head, like--the punch, Dick!
DICK.
Aye, and worser--turns it all the wrong way; but I've done with both:--I'll have no more to say to drinking, and fine ladies, and purses o' money;--we'll go and live in the stall round the corner, and I'll take to my work and my singing again--eh, Meg?
MARGERY.
Bless you, my dear, dear Dick! (_kisses him._)
DICK.
Ay, that's as it should be:--so now come along. We never should have believed this, if we hadn't tried; but it's just what my old mother used to say--MUCH COIN, MUCH CARE.[28]
* * * * *
THE END.
LONDON: IBOTSON AND PALMER, PRINTERS, SAVOY STREET, STRAND.
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: Some of the sentences which follow (marked by inverted commas,) are taken from a portrait of Mrs. Siddons, dated 1812, and attributed to Sir Walter Scott.]
[Footnote 2: I am permitted to give the following little extract as farther illustrating that tenderness of nature which I have only touched upon. "I owe ---- ---- a letter, but I don't know how it is, now that I am arrived at that time of life when I supposed I should be able to sit down and indulge my natural indolence, I find the business of it thickens and increases around me; and I am now as much occupied about the affairs of others as I have been about my own. I am just now expecting my son George's two babies from India. The ship which took them from their parents, I thank heaven, is safely arrived: _Oh! that they could know it!_ For the present I shall have them near me. There is a school between my little hut and the church, where they will have delicious air, and I shall be able to see the poor dears every day."]
[Footnote 3: I believe it _has_ been said; but, like Madlle. de Montpensier my imagination and my memory are sometimes confounded.]
[Footnote 4: Ben Jonson.]
[Footnote 5: George the Fourth, after conversing with her, said with emphasis, "She is the only _real_ queen!"]
[Footnote 6: In a letter to Mrs. Thrale.]
[Footnote 7: In the Grosvenor gallery. There is a duplicate of this picture in the Dulwich gallery.]
[Footnote 8: She afterwards played Lady Randolph for Mr. Charles Kemble's benefit, and performed Lady Macbeth at the request of the Princess Charlotte in 1816. This was her final appearance. She was then sixty-one, and her powers unabated. I recollect a characteristic passage in one of her letters relating to this circumstance: she says, "The princess honoured me with several gracious (not _graceful_) nods; but the newspapers gave me credit for much more _sensibility_ than I either felt or displayed on the occasion. I was by no means so much _overwhelmed_ by her Royal Highness's kindness, as they were pleased to represent me."]
[Footnote 9:
"For time hath laid his hand so gently on her As he too had been awed."
DE MONTFORT.]
[Footnote 10: The last play she read aloud was Henry V. only ten days before she died.]
[Footnote 11: Now Mrs. George Combe.]
[Footnote 12: These sketches, once intended for publication, are now in the possession of Lord Francis Egerton. The introduction and notes were written in March, 1830--the conclusion in March, 1834.]
[Footnote 13: The alteration and interpolations are by Garrick, of whom it was said and believed, that "he never read through a whole play of Shakspeare's except with some nefarious design of cutting and mangling it."]
[Footnote 14: She played in London the following parts successively:-- Juliet, Belvidera, the Grecian Daughter, Mrs. Beverley, Portia, Isabella, Lady Townly, Calista, Bianca, Beatrice, Constance, Camiola, Lady Teazle, Donna Sol, (in Lord Francis Egerton's translation of Hemani, when played before the queen at Bridgewater House,) Queen Katherine, Catherine of Cleves, Louisa of Savoy, in Francis I., Lady Macbeth, Julia in the Hunchback.]
[Footnote 15: The only parts which, to my knowledge, she chose for herself, were Portia, Camiola, and Julia in the Hunchback. She was accused of having declined playing Inez de Castro in Miss Mitford's tragedy, and I heard her repel that accusation very indignantly. She added--"Setting aside my respect for Miss Mitford, I never, on principle, have refused a part. It is my business to do whatever is deemed advantageous to the whole concern, to do as much good as I can; not to think of myself. If they bid me act Scrubb, I would act it!"]
[Footnote 16: At Dresden and at Frankfort I saw the Merchant of Venice played as it stands in Shakspeare, with all the stately scenes between Portia and her suitors--the whole of the character of Jessica--the lovely moon-light dialogue between Jessica and Lorenzo, and the beautiful speeches given to Portia, all which, by sufferance of an English audience, are omitted on our stage. When I confessed to some of the great German critics, that the Merchant of Venice, Romeo and Juliet, King Lear, &c. were performed in England not only with important omissions of the text, but with absolute alterations, affecting equally the truth of character, and the construction of the story, they looked at me, at first, as if half incredulous, and their perception of the barbarism, as well as the absurdity, was so forcibly expressed on their countenances, and their contempt so justifiable, that I confess I felt ashamed for my countrymen.]
[Footnote 17: The resemblance was in the brow and eye. When she was sitting to Sir Thomas Lawrence, he said, "These are the eyes of Mrs. Siddons." She said, "You mean _like_ those of Mrs. Siddons." "No," he replied, "they are the _same_ eyes, the construction is the same, and to draw them is the same thing."
I have ever been at a loss for a word which should express the peculiar property of an eye like that of Mrs. Siddons, which could not be called piercing or penetrating, or any thing that gives the idea of searching or acute; but it was an eye which, in its softest look, and, to a late period of her life, went straight into the depths of the soul as a ray of light finds the bottom of the ocean. Once, when I was conversing with the celebrated German critic, Boettigar, of Dresden, and he was describing the person of Madame Schirmer, after floundering in a sea of English epithets, none of which conveyed his meaning, he at last exclaimed with enthusiasm--"Madam! her eye was _perforating_!"]
[Footnote 18: In the Hunchback.]
[Footnote 19: In the Fatal Marriage.]
[Footnote 20: I recollect being present when some one was repeating to her a very high-flown and enthusiastic eulogy, of which she was the subject. She listened very quietly, and then said with indescribable _naivete_--"Perhaps I ought to blush to have all these things thus repeated to my face; but the truth is, I _cannot_. I cannot, by any effort of my own imagination, see myself as people speak of me. It gives no reflection back to my mind. I cannot fancy myself like this. All I can clearly understand is, that you and every body are very much pleased, and I am very glad of it!"]