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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6f2e9ed --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51951 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51951) diff --git a/old/51951-0.txt b/old/51951-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3785924..0000000 --- a/old/51951-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9538 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Jessamy Bride - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Illustrator: C. Allan Gilbert - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51951] -Last Updated: March 13, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JESSAMY BRIDE *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -THE JESSAMY BRIDE - -By Frank Frankfort Moore - -Author Of “The Impudent Comedian,” Etc. - -With Pictures in Color by C. Allan Gilbert - -New York - -Duffield & Company - -1906 - -[Illustration: 0001] - -[Illustration: 0008] - -[Illustration: 0009] - -THE JESSAMY BRIDE - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -Sir,” said Dr. Johnson, “we have eaten an excellent dinner, we are -a company of intelligent men--although I allow that we should have -difficulty in proving that we are so if it became known that we sat down -with a Scotchman--and now pray do not mar the self-satisfaction which -intelligent men experience after dining, by making assertions based on -ignorance and maintained by sophistry.” - -“Why, sir,” cried Goldsmith, “I doubt if the self-satisfaction of even -the most intelligent of men--whom I take to be myself--is interfered -with by any demonstration of an inferior intellect on the part of -another.” - -Edmund Burke laughed, understanding the meaning of the twinkle in -Goldsmith's eye. Sir Joshua Reynolds, having reproduced--with some -care--that twinkle, turned the bell of his ear-trumpet with a smile in -the direction of Johnson; but Boswell and Garrick sat with solemn -faces. The former showed that he was more impressed than ever with the -conviction that Goldsmith was the most blatantly conceited of mankind, -and the latter--as Burke perceived in a moment--was solemn in mimicry of -Boswell's solemnity. When Johnson had given a roll or two on his chair -and had pursed out his lips in the act of speaking, Boswell turned an -eager face towards him, putting his left hand behind his ear so that he -might not lose a word that might fall from his oracle. Upon Garrick's -face was precisely the same expression, but it was his right hand that -he put behind his ear. - -Goldsmith and Burke laughed together at the marvellous imitation of the -Scotchman by the actor, and at exactly the same instant the conscious -and unconscious comedians on the other side of the table turned their -heads in the direction first of Goldsmith, then of Burke. Both faces -were identical as regards expression. It was the expression of a man who -is greatly grieved. Then, with the exactitude of two automatic figures -worked by the same machinery, they turned their heads again toward -Johnson. - -“Sir,” said Johnson, “your endeavour to evade the consequences of -maintaining a silly argument by thrusting forward a question touching -upon mankind in general, suggests an assumption on your part that my -intelligence is of an inferior order to your own, and that, sir, I -cannot permit to pass unrebuked.” - -“Nay, sir,” cried Boswell, eagerly, “I cannot believe that Dr. -Goldsmith's intention was so monstrous.” - -“And the very fact of your believing that, sir, amounts almost to a -positive proof that the contrary is the case,” roared Johnson. - -“Pray, sir, do not condemn me on such evidence,” said Goldsmith. - -“Men have been hanged on less,” remarked Burke. “But, to return to the -original matter, I should like to know upon what facts----” - -“Ah, sir, to introduce facts into any controversy on a point of art -would indeed be a departure,” said Goldsmith solemnly. “I cannot -countenance a proceeding which threatens to strangle the imagination.” - -“And you require yours to be particularly healthy just now, Doctor. Did -you not tell us that you were about to write a Natural History?” said -Garrick. - -“Well, I remarked that I had got paid for doing so--that's not just the -same thing,” laughed Goldsmith. - -“Ah, the money is in hand; the Natural History is left to the -imagination,” said Reynolds. “That is the most satisfactory -arrangement.” - -“Yes, for the author,” said Burke. “Some time ago it was the book which -was in hand, and the payment was left to the imagination.” - -“These sallies are all very well in their way,” said Garrick, “but their -brilliance tends to blind us to the real issue of the question that -Dr. Goldsmith introduced, which I take it was, Why should not acting be -included among the arts? As a matter of course, the question possesses -no more than a casual interest to any of the gentlemen present, with -the exception of Mr. Burke and myself. I am an actor and Mr. Burke is a -statesman--another branch of the same profession--and therefore we are -vitally concerned in the settlement of the question.” - -“The matter never rose to the dignity of being a question, sir,” said -Johnson. “It must be apparent to the humblest intelligence--nay, even to -Boswell's--that acting is a trick, not a profession--a diversion, not -an art. I am ashamed of Dr. Goldsmith for having contended to the -contrary.” - -“It must only have been in sport, sir,” said Boswell mildly. - -“Sir, Dr. Goldsmith may have earned reprobation,” cried Johnson, “but -he has been guilty of nothing so heinous as to deserve the punishment of -having you as his advocate.” - -“Oh, sir, surely Mr. Boswell is the best one in the world to pronounce -an opinion as to what was said in sport, and what in earnest,” said -Goldsmith. “His fine sense of humour----” - -“Sir, have you seen the picture which he got painted of himself on his -return from Corsica?” shouted Johnson. - -“Gentlemen, these diversions may be well enough for you,” said Garrick, -“but in my ears they sound as the jests of the crowd must in the ears of -a wretch on his way to Tyburn. Think, sirs, of the position occupied -by Mr. Burke and myself at the present moment. Are we to be branded as -outcasts because we happen to be actors?” - -“Undoubtedly you at least are, Davy,” cried Johnson. “And good enough -for you too, you rascal!” - -“And, for my part, I would rather be an outcast with David Garrick than -become chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury,” said Goldsmith. - -“Dr. Goldsmith, let me tell you that it is unbecoming in you, who -have relations in the church, to make such an assertion,” said Johnson -sternly. “What, sir, does friendship occupy a place before religion, in -your estimation?” - -“The Archbishop could easily get another chaplain, sir, but whither -could the stage look for another Garrick?” said Goldsmith. - -“Psha! Sir, the puppets which we saw last week in Panton street -delighted the town more than ever Mr. Garrick did,” cried Johnson; and -when he perceived that Garrick coloured at this sally of his, he lay -back in his chair and roared with laughter. - -Reynolds took snuff. - -“Dr. Goldsmith said he could act as adroitly as the best of the -puppets--I heard him myself,” said Boswell. - -“That was only his vain boasting which you have so frequently noted with -that acuteness of observation that makes you the envy of our circle,” - said Burke. “You understand the Irish temperament perfectly, Mr. -Boswell. But to resort to the original point raised by Goldsmith; -surely, Dr. Johnson, you will allow that an actor of genius is at least -on a level with a musician of genius.” - -“Sir, I will allow that he is on a level with a fiddler, if that will -satisfy you,” replied Johnson. - -“Surely, sir, you must allow that Mr. Garrick's art is superior to that -of Signor Piozzi, whom we heard play at Dr. Burney's,” said Burke. - -“Yes, sir; David Garrick has the good luck to be an Englishman, and -Piozzi the ill luck to be an Italian,” replied Johnson. “Sir, 't is no -use affecting to maintain that you regard acting as on a level with the -arts. I will not put an affront upon your intelligence by supposing that -you actually believe what your words would imply.” - -“You can take your choice, Mr. Burke,” said Goldsmith: “whether you will -have the affront put upon your intelligence or your sincerity.” - -“I am sorry that I am compelled to leave the company for a space, -just as there seems to be some chance of the argument becoming really -interesting to me personally,” said Garrick, rising; “but the fact is -that I rashly made an engagement for this hour. I shall be gone for -perhaps twenty minutes, and meantime you may be able to come to some -agreement on a matter which, I repeat, is one of vital importance to Mr. -Burke and myself; and so, sirs, farewell for the present.” - -He gave one of those bows of his, to witness which was a liberal -education in the days when grace was an art, and left the room. - -“If Mr. Garrick's bow does not prove my point, no argument that I -can bring forward will produce any impression upon you, sir,” said -Goldsmith. - -“The dog is well enough,” said Johnson; “but he has need to be kept in -his place, and I believe that there is no one whose attempts to keep him -in his place he will tolerate as he does mine.” - -“And what do you suppose is Mr. Garrick's place, sir?” asked Goldsmith. -“Do you believe that if we were all to stand on one another's shoulders, -as certain acrobats do, with Garrick on the shoulder of the topmost man, -we should succeed in keeping him in his proper place?” - -“Sir,” said Dr. Johnson, “your question is as ridiculous as anything you -have said to-night, and to say so much, sir, is, let me tell you, to say -a good deal.” - -“What a pity it is that honest Goldsmith is so persistent in his -attempts to shine,” whispered Boswell to Burke. - -“'Tis a great pity, truly, that a lark should try to make its voice -heard in the neighbourhood of a Niagara,” said Burke. - -“Pray, sir, what is a Niagara?” asked Boswell. - -“A Niagara?” said Burke. “Better ask Dr. Goldsmith; he alluded to it -in his latest poem. Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Boswell wishes to know what a -Niagara is.” - -“Sir,” said Goldsmith, who had caught every word of the conversation in -undertone. “Sir, Niagara is the Dr. Johnson of the New World.” - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -The conversation took place in the Crown and Anchor tavern in the -Strand, where the party had just dined. Dr. Johnson had been quite as -good company as usual. There was a general feeling that he had rarely -insulted Boswell so frequently in the course of a single evening--but -then, Boswell had rarely so laid himself open to insult as he had upon -this evening--and when he had finished with the Scotchman, he turned -his attention to Garrick, the opportunity being afforded him by Oliver -Goldsmith, who had been unguarded enough to say a word or two regarding -that which he termed “the art of acting.” - -“Dr. Goldsmith, I am ashamed of you, sir,” cried the great dictator. -“Who gave you the authority to add to the number of the arts 'the art of -acting'? We shall hear of the art of dancing next, and every tumbler -who kicks up the sawdust will have the right to call himself an artist. -Madame Violante, who gave Peggy Woffington her first lesson on the tight -rope, will rank with Miss Kauffman, the painter--nay, every poodle that -dances on its hind leg's in public will be an artist.” - -It was in vain that Goldsmith endeavoured to show that the admission -of acting to the list of arts scarcely entailed such consequences as -Johnson asserted would be inevitable, if that admission were once made; -it was in vain that Garrick asked if the fact that painting was included -among the arts, caused sign painters to claim for themselves the -standing of artists; and, if not, why there was any reason to suppose -that the tumblers to whom Johnson had alluded would advance their -claims to be on a level with the highest interpreters of the emotions of -humanity. Dr. Johnson roared down every suggestion that was offered to -him most courteously by his friends. - -Then, in the exuberance of his spirits, he insulted Boswell and told -Burke he did not know what he was talking about. In short, he was -thoroughly Johnsonian, and considered himself the best of company, and -eminently capable of pronouncing an opinion as to what were the elements -of a clubable man. - -He had succeeded in driving one of his best friends out of the room, and -in reducing the others of the party to silence--all except Boswell, who, -as usual, tried to-start him upon a discussion of some subtle point of -theology. Boswell seemed invariably to have adopted this course after -he had been thoroughly insulted, and to have been, as a rule, very -successful in its practice: it usually led to his attaining to the -distinction of another rebuke for him to gloat over. - -He now thought that the exact moment had come for him to find out what -Dr. Johnson thought on the subject of the immortality of the soul. - -“Pray, sir,” said he, shifting his chair so as to get between Reynolds' -ear-trumpet and his oracle--his jealousy of Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet was -as great as his jealousy of Goldsmith. “Pray, sir, is there any evidence -among the ancient Egyptians that they believed that the soul of man was -imperishable?” - -“Sir,” said Johnson, after a huge roll or two, “there is evidence that -the ancient Egyptians were in the habit of introducing a _memento mori_ -at a feast, lest the partakers of the banquet should become too merry.” - -“Well, sir?” said Boswell eagerly, as Johnson made a pause. - -“Well, sir, we have no need to go to the trouble of introducing such -an object, since Scotchmen are so plentiful in London, and so ready to -accept the offer of a dinner,” said Johnson, quite in his pleasantest -manner. - -Boswell was more elated than the others of the company at this sally. -He felt that he, and he only, could succeed in drawing his best from -Johnson. - -“Nay, Dr. Johnson, you are too hard on the Scotch,” he murmured, but in -no deprecatory tone. He seemed to be under the impression that every -one present was envying him, and he smiled as if he felt that it was -necessary for him to accept with meekness the distinction of which he -was the recipient. - -“Come, Goldy,” cried Johnson, turning his back upon Boswell, “you must -not be silent, or I will think that you feel aggrieved because I got the -better of you in the argument.” - -“Argument, sir?” said Goldsmith. “I protest that I was not aware that -any argument was under consideration. You make short work of another's -argument, Doctor.” - -“'T is due to the logical faculty which I have in common with Mr. -Boswell, sir,” said Johnson, with a twinkle. - -“The logical faculty of the elephant when it lies down on its tormentor, -the wolf,” muttered Goldsmith, who had just acquired some curious facts -for his Animated Nature. - -At that moment one of the tavern waiters entered the room with a message -to Goldsmith that his cousin, the Dean, had just arrived and was anxious -to obtain permission to join the party. - -“My cousin, the Dean! What Dean'? What does the man mean?” said -Goldsmith, who appeared to be both surprised and confused. - -“Why, sir,” said Boswell, “you have told us more than once that you had -a cousin who was a dignitary of the church.” - -“Have I, indeed?” said Goldsmith. “Then I suppose, if I said so, this -must be the very man. A Dean, is he?” - -“Sir, it is ill-mannered to keep even a curate waiting in the common -room of a tavern,” said Johnson, who was not the man to shrink from any -sudden addition to his audience of an evening. “If your relation were an -Archbishop, sir, this company would be worthy to receive him. Pray give -the order to show him into this room.” Goldsmith seemed lost in thought. -He gave a start when Johnson had spoken, and in no very certain tone -told the waiter to lead the clergyman up to the room. Oliver's face -undoubtedly wore an expression of greater curiosity than that of any -of his friends, before the waiter returned, followed by an elderly and -somewhat undersized clergyman wearing a full bottomed wig and the bands -and apron of a dignitary of the church. He walked stiffly, with an erect -carriage that gave a certain dignity to his short figure. His face was -white, but his eyebrows were extremely bushy. He had a slight squint in -one eye. - -The bow which he gave on entering the room was profuse but awkward. -It contrasted with the farewell salute of Garrick on leaving the table -twenty minutes before. Every one present, with the exception of Oliver, -perceived in a moment a family resemblance in the clergyman's bow to -that with which Goldsmith was accustomed to receive his friends. A -little jerk which the visitor gave in raising his head was laughably -like a motion made by Goldsmith, supplemental to his usual bow. - -“Gentlemen,” said the visitor, with a wave of his hand, “I entreat of -you to be seated.” His voice and accent more than suggested Goldsmith's, -although he had only a suspicion of an Irish brogue. If Oliver had made -an attempt to disown his relationship, no one in the room would have -regarded him as sincere. “Nay, gentlemen, I insist,” continued the -stranger; “you embarrass me with your courtesy.” - -“Sir,” said Johnson, “you will not find that any company over which I -have the honour to preside is found lacking in its duty to the church.” - -“I am the humblest of its ministers, sir,” said the stranger, with a -deprecatory bow. Then he glanced round the room, and with an exclamation -of pleasure went towards Goldsmith. “Ah! I do not need to ask which -of this distinguished company is my cousin Nolly--I beg your pardon, -Oliver--ah, old times--old times!” He had caught Goldsmith's hands -in both his own and was looking into his face with a pathetic air. -Goldsmith seemed a little embarrassed. His smile was but the shadow of -a smile. The rest of the party averted their heads, for in the long -silence that followed the exclamation of the visitor, there was an -element of pathos. - -Curiously enough, a sudden laugh came from Sir Joshua Reynolds, causing -all faces to be turned in his direction. An aspect of stern rebuke was -now worn by Dr. Johnson. The painter hastened to apologise. - -“I ask your pardon, sir,” he said, gravely, “but--sir, I am a -painter--my name is Reynolds--and--well, sir, the family resemblance -between you and our dear friend Dr. Goldsmith--a resemblance that -perhaps only a painter's eye could detect--seemed to me so extraordinary -as you stood together, that----” - -“Not another word, sir, I entreat of you,” cried the visitor. “My -cousin Oliver and I have not met for--how many years is it, Nolly? Not -eleven--no, it cannot be eleven--and yet----” - -“Ah, sir,” said Oliver, “time is fugitive--very fugitive.” - -He shook his head sadly. - -“I am pleased to hear that you have acquired this knowledge, which the -wisdom of the ancients has crystallised in a phrase,” said the stranger. -“But you must present me to your friends, Noll--Oliver, I mean. You, -sir”--he turned to Reynolds--“have told me your name. Am I fortunate -enough to be face to face with Sir Joshua Reynolds? Oh, there can be no -doubt about it. Oliver dedicated his last poem to you. Sir, I am your -servant. And you, sir”--he turned to Burke--“I seem to have seen your -face somewhere--it is strangely familiar----” - -“That gentleman is Mr. Burke, sir,” said Goldsmith. He was rapidly -recovering his embarrassment, and spoke with something of an air of -pride, as he made a gesture with his right hand towards Burke. The -clergyman made precisely the same gesture with his left hand, crying---- - -“What, Mr. Edmund Burke, the friend of liberty--the friend of the -people?” - -“The same, sir,” said Oliver. “He is, besides, the friend of Oliver -Goldsmith.” - -“Then he is my friend also,” said the clergyman. “Sir, to be in a -position to shake you by the hand is the greatest privilege of my life.” - -“You do me great honor, sir,” said Burke. - -Goldsmith was burning to draw the attention of his relative to Dr. -Johnson, who on his side was looking anything but pleased at being so -far neglected. - -“Mr. Burke, you are our countryman--Oliver's and mine--and I know you -are sound on the Royal Marriage Act. I should dearly like to have a talk -with you on that iniquitous measure. You opposed it, sir?” - -“With all my power, sir,” said Burke. “Give me your hand again, sir. -Mrs. Luttrel was an honour to her sex, and it is she who confers an -honour upon the Duke of Cumberland, not the other way about.” - -“You are with me, Mr. Burke? Eh, what is the matter, Cousin Noll? Why do -you work with your arm that way?” - -“There are other gentlemen in the room, Mr. Dean,” said Oliver. - -“They can wait,” cried Mr. Dean. “They are certain to be inferior to Mr. -Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds. If I should be wrong, they will not feel -mortified at what I have said.” - -“This is Mr. Boswell, sir,” said Goldsmith. - -“Mr. Boswell--of where, sir?” - -“Mr. Boswell, of--of Scotland, sir.” - -“Scotland, the land where the clergymen write plays for the theatre. -Your clergymen might be better employed, Mr.--Mr.----” - -“Boswell, sir.” - -“Mr. Boswell. Yes, I hope you will look into this matter should you -ever visit your country again--a remote possibility, from all that I can -learn of your countrymen.” - -“Why, sir, since Mr. Home wrote his tragedy of 'Douglas'----” began -Boswell, but he was interrupted by the stranger. - -“What, you would condone his offence?” he cried. “The fact of your -having a mind to do so shows that the clergy of your country are still -sadly lax in their duty, sir. They should have taught you better.” - -“And this is Dr. Johnson, sir,” said Goldsmith in tones of triumph. - -His relation sprang from his seat and advanced to the head of the table, -bowing profoundly. - -“Dr. Johnson,” he cried, “I have long desired to meet you, sir.” - -“I am your servant, Mr. Dean,” said Johnson, towering above him as he -got--somewhat awkwardly--upon his feet. “No gentleman of your cloth, -sir--leaving aside for the moment all consideration of the eminence in -the church to which you have attained--fails to obtain my respect.” - -“I am glad of that, sir,” said the Dean. “It shows that you, though -a Non-conformist preacher, and, as I understand, abounding in zeal -on behalf of the cause of which you are so able an advocate, are not -disposed to relinquish the example of the great Wesley in his admiration -for the church.” - -“Sir,” said Johnson, with great dignity, but with a scowl upon his face. -“Sir, you are the victim of an error as gross as it is unaccountable. -I am not a Non-conformist--on the contrary, I would give the rogues no -quarter.” - -“Sir,” said the clergyman, with the air of one administering a rebuke -to a subordinate. “Sir, such intoleration is unworthy of an enlightened -country and an age of some culture. But I ask your pardon; finding you -in the company of distinguished gentlemen, I was, led to believe -that you were the great Dr. Johnson, the champion of the rights of -conscience. I regret that I was mistaken.” - -“Sir!” cried Goldsmith, in great consternation--for Johnson was rendered -speechless through being placed in the position of the rebuked, instead -of occupying his accustomed place as the rebuker. “Sir, this is the -great Dr. Johnson--nay, there is no Dr. Johnson but one.” - -“'Tis so like your good nature, Cousin Oliver, to take the side of the -weak,” said the clergyman, smiling. “Well, well, we will take the honest -gentleman's greatness for granted; and, indeed, he is great in one -sense: he is large enough to outweigh you and me put together in one -scale. To such greatness we would do well to bow.” - -“Heavens, sir!” said Boswell in a whisper that had something of awe in -it. “Is it possible that you have never heard of Dr. Samuel Johnson?” - -“Alas! sir,” said the stranger, “I am but a country parson. I cannot be -expected to know all the men who are called great in London. Of course, -Mr. Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds have a European reputation; but you, -Mr.--Mr.--ah! you see I have e'en forgot your worthy name, sir, though -I doubt not you are one of London's greatest. Pray, sir, what have you -written that entitles you to speak with such freedom in the presence -of such gentlemen as Mr. Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and--I add with -pride--Oliver Goldsmith?” - -“I am the friend of Dr. Johnson, sir,” muttered Boswell. - -“And he has doubtless greatness enough--avoirdupois--to serve for both! -Pray, Oliver, as the gentleman from Scotland is too modest to speak for -himself, tell me what he has written.” - -“He has written many excellent works, sir, including an account of -Corsica,” said Goldsmith, with some stammering. - -“And his friend, Dr. Johnson, has he attained to an equally dizzy -altitude in literature?” - -“You are surely jesting, sir,” said Goldsmith. “The world is familiar -with Dr. Johnson's Dictionary.” - -“Alas, I am but a country parson, as you know, Oliver, and I have no -need for a dictionary, having been moderately well educated. Has the -work appeared recently, Dr. Johnson?” - -[Illustration: 0037] - -But Dr. Johnson had turned his back upon the stranger, and had picked up -a volume which Tom Davies, the bookseller, had sent to him at the Crown -and Anchor, and had buried his face in its pages, bending it, as was his -wont, until the stitching had cracked, and the back was already loose. - -“Your great friend, Noll, is no lover of books, or he would treat them -with greater tenderness,” said the clergyman. “I would fain hope that -the purchasers of his dictionary treat it more fairly than he does the -work of others. When did he bring out his dictionary?” - -“Eighteen years ago,” said Oliver. - -“And what books has he written within the intervening years?” - -“He has been a constant writer, sir, and is the most highly esteemed of -our authors.” - -“Nay, sir, but give me a list of his books published within the past -eighteen years, so that I may repair my deplorable ignorance. You, -cousin, have written many works that the world would not willingly be -without; and I hear that you are about to add to that already honourable -list; but your friend--oh, you have deceived me, Oliver!--he is no true -worker in literature, or he would--nay, he could not, have remained idle -all these years. How does he obtain his means of living if he will not -use his pen?” - -“He has a pension from the King, sir,” stuttered Oliver. “I tell you, -sir, he is the most learned man in Europe.” - -“His is a sad case,” said the clergyman. “To refrain from administering -to him the rebuke which he deserves would be to neglect an obvious -duty.” He took a few steps towards Johnson and raised his head. -Goldsmith fell into a chair and buried his face in his hands; Boswell's -jaw fell; Burke and Reynolds looked by turns grave and amused. “Dr. -Johnson,” said the stranger, “I feel that it is my duty as a clergyman -to urge upon you to amend your way of life.” - -“Sir,” shouted Johnson, “if you were not a clergyman I would say that -you were a very impertinent fellow!” - -“Your way of receiving a rebuke which your conscience--if you have -one--tells you that you have earned, supplements in no small measure the -knowledge of your character which I have obtained since entering this -room, sir. You may be a man of some parts, Dr. Johnson, but you have -acknowledged yourself to be as intolerant in matters of religion as you -have proved yourself to be intolerant of rebuke, offered to you in a -friendly spirit. It seems to me that your habit is to browbeat your -friends into acquiescence with every dictum that comes from your lips, -though they are workers--not without honour--at that profession of -letters which you despise--nay, sir, do not interrupt me. If you did not -despise letters, you would not have allowed eighteen years of your life -to pass without printing at least as many books. Think you, sir, that a -pension was granted to you by the state to enable you to eat the bread -of idleness while your betters are starving in their garrets? Dr. -Johnson, if your name should go down to posterity, how do you think -you will be regarded by all discriminating men? Do you think that those -tavern dinners at which you sit at the head of the table and shout down -all who differ from you, will be placed to your credit to balance your -love of idleness and your intolerance? That is the question which I -leave with you; I pray you to consider it well; and so, sir, I take my -leave of you. Gentlemen, Cousin Oliver, farewell, sirs. I trust I have -not spoken in vain.” - -He made a general bow--an awkward bow--and walked with some dignity to -the door. Then he turned and bowed again before leaving the room. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -When he had disappeared, the room was very silent. - -Suddenly Goldsmith, who had remained sitting at the table with his face -buried in his hands, started up, crying out, “'Rasse-las, Prince -of Abyssinia'! How could I be so great a fool as to forget that he -published 'Rasselas' since the Dictionary?” He ran to the door and -opened it, calling downstairs: “'Rasselas, Prince of Abysinia'!” - “Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia'!” - -“Sir!” came the roar of Dr. Johnson. “Close that door and return to your -chair, if you desire to retain even the smallest amount of the respect -which your friends once had for you. Cease your bawling, sir, and behave -decently.” - -Goldsmith shut the door. - -“I did you a gross injustice, sir,” said he, returning slowly to the -table. “I allowed that man to assume that you had published no book -since your Dictionary. The fact is, that I was so disturbed at the -moment I forgot your 'Rasselas.'” - -“If you had mentioned that book, you would but have added to the force -of your relation's contention, Dr. Goldsmith,” said Johnson. “If I am -suspected of being an idle dog, the fact that I have printed a small -volume of no particular merit will not convince my accuser of my -industry.” - -“Those who know you, sir,” cried Goldsmith, “do not need any evidence of -your industry. As for that man----” - -“Let the man alone, sir,” thundered Johnson. - -“Pray, why should he let the man alone, sir?” said Boswell. - -“Because, in the first place, sir, the man is a clergyman, in rank next -to a Bishop; in the second place, he is a relative of Dr. Goldsmith's; -and, in the third place, he was justified in his remarks.” - -“Oh, no, sir,” said Boswell. “We deny your generous plea of -justification. Idle! Think of the dedications which you have written -even within the year.” - -“Psha! Sir, the more I think of them the--well, the less I think of -them, if you will allow me the paradox,” said Johnson. “Sir, the man -is right, and there's an end on't. Dr. Goldsmith, you will convey -my compliments to your cousin, and assure him of my good will. I can -forgive him for everything, sir, except his ignorance respecting my -Dictionary. Pray what is his name, sir?” - -“His name, sir, his name?” faltered Goldsmith. - -“Yes, sir, his name. Surely the man has a name,” said Johnson. - -“His name, sir, is--is--God help me, sir, I know not what is his name.” - -“Nonsense, Dr. Goldsmith! He is your cousin and a Dean. Mr. Boswell -tells me that he has heard you refer to him in conversation; if you did -so in a spirit of boasting, you erred.” - -For some moments Goldsmith was silent. Then, without looking up, he said -in a low tone: - -“The man is no cousin of mine; I have no relative who is a Dean.” - -“Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, you need not deny it,” cried Boswell. “You boasted -of him quite recently, and in the presence of Mr. Garrick, too.” - -“Mr. Boswell's ear is acute, Goldsmith,” said Burke with a smile. - -“His ears are so long, sir, one is not surprised to find the unities of -nature are maintained when one hears his voice,” remarked Goldsmith in a -low tone. - -“Here comes Mr. Garrick himself,” said Reynolds as the door was opened -and Garrick returned, bowing in his usual pleasant manner as he advanced -to the chair which he had vacated not more than half an hour before. -“Mr. Garrick is an impartial witness on this point.” - -“Whatever he may be on some other points,” remarked Burke. - -“Gentlemen,” said Garrick, “you seem to be somewhat less harmonious than -you were when I was compelled to hurry away to keep my appointment. May -I inquire the reason of the difference?” - -“You may not, sir!” shouted Johnson, seeing that Boswell was burning to -acquaint Garrick with what had occurred. Johnson quickly perceived that -it would be well to keep the visit of the clergyman a secret, and he -knew that it would have no chance of remaining one for long if Garrick -were to hear of it. He could imagine Garrick burlesquing the whole scene -for the entertainment of the Burney girls or the Horneck family. He had -heard more than once of the diversion which his old pupil at Lichfield -had created by his mimicry of certain scenes in which he, Johnson, -played an important part. He had been congratulating himself upon the -fortunate absence of the actor during the visit of the clergyman. - -“You may tell Mr. Garrick nothing, sir,” he repeated, as Garrick looked -with a blank expression of interrogation around the company. - -“Sir,” said Boswell, “my veracity is called in question.” - -“What is a question of your veracity, sir, in comparison with the issues -that have been in the balance during the past half-hour?” cried Johnson. - -“Nay, sir, one question,” said Burke, seeing that Boswell had collapsed. -“Mr. Garrick--have you heard Dr. Goldsmith boast of having a Dean for a -relative?” - -“Why, no, sir,” replied Garrick; “but I heard him say that he had a -brother who deserved to be a Dean.” - -“And so I had,” cried Goldsmith. “Alas! I cannot say that I have now. My -poor brother died a country clergyman a few years ago.” - -“I am a blind man so far as evidence bearing upon things seen is -concerned,” said Johnson; “but it seemed to me that some of the man's -gestures--nay, some of the tones of his voice as well--resembled those -of Dr. Goldsmith. I should like to know if any one at the table noticed -the similarity to which I allude.” - -“I certainly noticed it,” cried Boswell eagerly. - -“Your evidence is not admissible, sir,” said Johnson. “What does Sir -Joshua Reynolds say?” - -“Why, sir,” said Reynolds with a laugh, and a glance towards Garrick, -“I confess that I noticed the resemblance and was struck by it, both as -regards the man's gestures and his voice. But I am as convinced that he -was no relation of Dr. Goldsmith's as I am of my own existence.” - -“But if not, sir, how can you account for----” - -Boswell's inquiry was promptly checked by Johnson. - -“Be silent, sir,” he thundered. “If you have left your manners in -Scotland in an impulse of generosity, you have done a foolish thing, for -the gift was meagre out of all proportion to the needs of your country -in that respect. Sir, let me tell you that the last word has been spoken -touching this incident. I will consider any further reference to it in -the light of a personal affront.” - -After a rather awkward pause, Garrick said: - -“I begin to suspect that I have been more highly diverted during the -past half-hour than any of this company.” - -“Well, Davy,” said Johnson, “the accuracy of your suspicion is wholly -dependent on your disposition to be entertained. Where have you been, -sir, and of what nature was your diversion?” - -“Sir,” said Garrick, “I have been with a poet.” - -“So have we, sir--with the greatest poet alive--the author of 'The -Deserted Village'--and yet you enter to find us immoderately glum,” said -Johnson. He was anxious to show his friend Goldsmith that he did not -regard him as accountable for the visit of the clergyman whom he quite -believed to be Oliver's cousin, in spite of the repudiation of the -relationship by Goldsmith himself, and the asseveration of Reynolds. - -“Ah, sir, mine was not a poet such as Dr. Goldsmith,” said Garrick. -“Mine was only a sort of poet.” - -“And pray, sir, what is a sort of poet?” asked Boswell. - -“A sort of poet, sir, is one who writes a sort of poetry,” replied -Garrick. - -He then began a circumstantial account of how he had made an appointment -for the hour at which he had left his friends, with a gentleman who -was anxious to read to him some portions of a play which he had just -written. The meeting was to take place in a neighbouring coffee-house -in the Strand; but even though the distance which he had to traverse was -short, it had been the scene of more than one adventure, which, narrated -by Garrick, proved comical to an extraordinary degree. - -“A few yards away I almost ran into the arms of a clergyman--he wore -the bands and apron of a Dean,” he continued, “not seeming to notice the -little start which his announcement caused in some directions. The man -grasped me by the arm,” he continued, “doubtless recognising me from -my portraits--for he said he had never seen me act--and then began an -harangue on the text of neglected opportunities. It seemed, however, -that he had no more apparent example of my sins in this direction -than my neglect to produce Dr. Goldsmith's 'Good-Natured Man.' Faith, -gentlemen, he took it quite as a family grievance.” Suddenly he paused, -and looked around the party; only Reynolds was laughing, all the rest -were grave. A thought seemed to strike the narrator. “What!” he cried, -“it is not possible that this was, after all, Dr. Goldsmith's cousin, -the Dean, regarding whom you interrogated me just now? If so, 'tis -an extraordinary coincidence that I should have encountered -him--unless--good heavens, gentlemen! is it the case that he came here -when I had thrown him off?” - -“Sir,” cried Oliver, “I affirm that no relation of mine, Dean or no -Dean, entered this room!” - -“Then, sir, you may look to find him at your chambers in Brick Court -on your return,” said Garrick. “Oh, yes, Doctor!--a small man with the -family bow of the Goldsmiths--something like this.” He gave a comical -reproduction of the salutation of the clergyman. - -“I tell you, sir, once and for all, that the man is no relation of -mine,” protested Goldsmith. - -“And let that be the end of the matter,” declared Johnson, with no lack -of decisiveness in his voice. - -“Oh, sir, I assure you I have no desire to meet the gentleman -again,” laughed Garrick. “I got rid of him by a feint, just as he was -endeavouring to force me to promise a production of a dramatic version -of 'The Deserted Village'--he said he had the version at his lodging, -and meant to read it to his cousin--I ask your pardon, sir, but he said -'cousin.'” - -“Sir, let us have no more of this--cousin or no cousin,” roared Johnson. - -“That is my prayer, sir--I utter it with all my heart and soul,” said -Garrick. “It was about my poet I meant to speak--my poet and his play. -What think you of the South Seas and the visit of Lieutenant Cook as the -subject of a tragedy in blank verse, Dr. Johnson?” - -“I think, Davy, that the subject represents so magnificent a scheme -of theatrical bankruptcy you would do well to hand it over to that -scoundrel Foote,” said Johnson pleasantly. He was by this time quite -himself again, and ready to pronounce an opinion on any question with -that finality which carried conviction with it--yes, to James Boswell. - -For the next half-hour Garrick entertained his friends with the details -of his interview with the poet who--according to his account--had -designed the drama of “Otaheite” in order to afford Garrick an -opportunity of playing the part of a cannibal king, dressed mainly in -feathers, and beating time alternately with a club and a tomahawk, while -he delivered a series of blank verse soliloquies and apostrophes to -Mars, Vulcan and Diana. - -“The monarch was especially devoted to Diana,” said Garrick. “My poet -explained that, being a hunter, he would naturally find it greatly to -his advantage to say a good word now and again for the chaste goddess; -and when I inquired how it was possible that his Majesty of Otaheite -could know anything about Diana, he said the Romans and the South Sea -Islanders were equally Pagans, and that, as such, they had equal rights -in the Pagan mythology; it would be monstrously unjust to assume that -the Romans should claim a monopoly of Diana.” - -Boswell interrupted him to express the opinion that the poet's -contention was quite untenable, and Garrick said it was a great relief -to his mind to have so erudite a scholar as Boswell on his side in the -argument, though he admitted that he thought there was a good deal in -the poet's argument. - -He adroitly led on his victim to enter into a serious argument on the -question of the possibility of the Otaheitans having any definite notion -of the character and responsibilities assigned to Diana in the Roman -mythology; and after keeping the party in roars of laughter for half an -hour, he delighted Boswell by assuring him that his eloquence and the -force of his arguments had removed whatever misgivings he, Garrick, -originally had, that he was doing the poet an injustice in declining his -tragedy. - -When the party were about to separate, Goldsmith drew Johnson -apart--greatly to the pique of Boswell--and said-- - -“Dr. Johnson, I have a great favour to ask of you, sir, and I hope you -will see your way to grant it, though I do not deserve any favour from -you.” - -“You deserve no favour, Goldy,” said Johnson, laying his hand on the -little man's shoulder, “and therefore, sir, you make a man who grants -you one so well satisfied with himself he should regard himself your -debtor. Pray, sir, make me your debtor by giving me a chance of granting -you a favour.” - -“You say everything better than any living man, sir,” cried Goldsmith. -“How long would it take me to compose so graceful a sentence, do you -suppose? You are the man whom I most highly respect, sir, and I am -anxious to obtain your permission to dedicate to you the comedy which I -have written and Mr. Colman is about to produce.” - -“Dr. Goldsmith,” said Johnson, “we have been good friends for several -years now.” - -“Long before Mr. Boswell came to town, sir.” - -“Undoubtedly, sir--long before you became recognised as the most -melodious of our poets--the most diverting of our play-writers. I wrote -the prologue to your first play, Goldy, and I'll stand sponsor for your -second--nay, sir, not only so, but I'll also go to see it, and if it be -damned, I'll drink punch with you all night and talk of my tragedy of -'Irene,' which was also damned; there's my hand on it, Dr. Goldsmith.” - -Goldsmith pressed the great hand with both of his own, and tears were in -his eyes and his voice as he said-- - -“Your generosity overpowers me, sir.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -Boswell, who was standing to one side watching---his eyes full of -curiosity and his ears strained to catch by chance a word--the little -scene that was being enacted in a corner of the room, took good care -that Johnson should be in his charge going home. This walk to Johnson's -house necessitated a walk back to his own lodgings in Piccadilly; -but this was nothing to Boswell, who had every confidence in his own -capability to extract from his great patron some account of the secrets -which had been exchanged in the corner. - -For once, however, he found himself unable to effect his object--nay, -when he began his operations with his accustomed lightness of touch, -Johnson turned upon him, saying-- - -“Sir, I observe what is your aim, and I take this opportunity to tell -you that if you make any further references, direct or indirect, to man, -woman or child, to the occurrences of this evening, you will cease to be -a friend of mine. I have been humiliated sufficiently by a stranger, -who had every right to speak as he did, but I refuse to be humiliated by -you, sir.” - -Boswell expressed himself willing to give the amplest security for his -good behaviour. He had great hope of conferring upon his patron a month -of inconvenience in making a tour of the west coast of Scotland during -the summer. - -The others of the party went northward by one of the streets off the -Strand into Coventry street, and thence toward Sir Joshua's house -in Leicester Square, Burke walking in front with his arm through -Goldsmith's, and Garrick some way behind with Reynolds. Goldsmith was -very eloquent in his references to the magnanimity of Johnson, who, -he said, in spite of the fact that he had been grossly insulted by an -impostor calling himself his, Goldsmith's, cousin, had consented to -receive the dedication of the new comedy. Burke, who understood the -temperament of his countryman, felt that he himself might surpass in -eloquence even Oliver Goldsmith if he took for his text the magnanimity -of the author of “The Good Natured Man.” He, however, refrained from the -attempt to prove to his companion that there were other ways by which a -man could gain a reputation for generosity than by permitting the most -distinguished writer of the age to dedicate a comedy to him. - -Of the other couple Garrick was rattling away in the highest spirits, -quite regardless of the position of Reynolds's ear-trumpet. Reynolds -was as silent as Burke for a considerable time; but then, stopping at -a corner so as to allow Goldsmith and his companion to get out of -ear-shot, he laid his hand on Garrick's arm, laughing heartily as he -said-- - -“You are a pretty rascal, David, to play such a trick upon your best -friends. You are a pretty rascal, and a great genius, Davy--the greatest -genius alive. There never has been such an actor as you, Davy, and there -never will be another such.” - -“Sir,” said Garrick, with an overdone expression of embarrassment upon -his face, every gesture that he made corresponding. “Sir, I protest that -you are speaking in parables. I admit the genius, if you insist upon it, -but as for the rascality--well, it is possible, I suppose, to be both -a great genius and a great rascal; there was our friend Benvenuto, for -example, but----” - -“Only a combination of genius and rascality could have hit upon such a -device as that bow which you made, Davy,” said Reynolds. “It presented -before my eyes a long vista of Goldsmiths--all made in the same fashion -as our friend on in front, and all striving---and not unsuccessfully, -either--to maintain the family tradition of the Goldsmith bow. And -then your imitation of your imitation of the same movement--how did we -contain ourselves--Burke and I?” - -“You fancy that Burke saw through the Dean, also?” said Garrick. - -“I'm convinced that he did.” - -“But he will not tell Johnson, I would fain hope.” - -“You are very anxious that Johnson should not know how it was he was -tricked. But you do not mind how you pain a much more generous man.” - -“You mean Goldsmith? Faith, sir, I do mind it greatly. If I were not -certain that he would forthwith hasten to tell Johnson, I would go to -him and confess all, asking his forgiveness. But he would tell Johnson -and never forgive me, so I'll e'en hold my tongue.” - -“You will not lose a night's rest through brooding on Goldsmith's pain, -David.” - -“It was an impulse of the moment that caused me to adopt that device, -my friend. Johnson is past all argument, sir. That sickening sycophant, -Boswell, may find happiness in being insulted by him, but there are -others who think that the Doctor has no more right than any ordinary man -to offer an affront to those whom the rest of the world respects.” - -“He will allow no one but himself to attack you, Davy.” - -“And by my soul, sir, I would rather that he allowed every one else to -attack me if he refrained from it himself. Where is the generosity of a -man who, with the force and influence of a dozen men, will not allow -a bad word to be said about you, but says himself more than the whole -dozen could say in as many years? Sir, do the pheasants, which our -friend Mr. Bunbury breeds so successfully, regard him as a pattern of -generosity because he won't let a dozen of his farmers have a shot at -them, but preserves them for his own unerring gun? By the Lord Harry, I -would rather, if I were a pheasant, be shot at by the blunderbusses of -a dozen yokels than by the fowling-piece of one good marksman, such -as Bunbury. On the same principle, I have no particular liking to be -preserved to make sport for the heavy broadsides that come from that -literary three-decker, Johnson.” - -“I have sympathy with your contentions, David; but we all allow your old -schoolmaster a license which would be permitted to no one else.” - -“That license is not a game license, Sir Joshua; and so I have made up -my mind that if he says anything more about the profession of an -actor being a degrading-one--about an actor being on the level with a -fiddler--nay, one of the puppets of Panton street, I will teach my old -schoolmaster a more useful lesson than he ever taught to me. I think it -is probable that he is at this very moment pondering upon those plain -truths which were told to him by the Dean.” - -“And poor Goldsmith has been talking so incessantly and so earnestly to -Burke, I am convinced that he feels greatly pained as well as puzzled -by that inopportune visit of the clergyman who exhibited such striking -characteristics of the Goldsmith family.” - -“Nay, did I not bear testimony in his favour--declaring that he had -never alluded to a relation who was a Dean?” - -“Oh, yes; you did your best to place us all at our ease, sir. You were -magnanimous, David--as magnanimous as the surgeon who cuts off an arm, -plunges the stump into boiling pitch, and then gives the patient a grain -or two of opium to make him sleep. But I should not say a word: I have -seen you in your best part, Mr. Garrick, and I can give the heartiest -commendation to your powers as a comedian, while condemning with equal -force the immorality of the whole proceeding.” - -They had now arrived at Reynolds's house in Leicester Square, Goldsmith -and Burke--the former still talking eagerly--having waited for them to -come up. - -“Gentlemen,” said Reynolds, “you have all gone out of your accustomed -way to leave me at my own door. I insist on your entering to have some -refreshment. Mr. Burke, you will not refuse to enter and pronounce an -opinion as to the portrait at which I am engaged of the charming Lady -Betty Hamilton.” - -“_O matre pulchra filia pulchrior_” said Goldsmith; but there was not -much aptness in the quotation, the mother of Lady Betty having been -the loveliest of the sisters Gunning, who had married first the Duke of -Hamilton, and, later, the Duke of Argyll. - -Before they had rung the bell the hall door was opened by Sir Joshua's -servant, Ralph, and a young man, very elegantly dressed, was shown out -by the servant. - -He at once recognised Sir Joshua and then Garrick. - -“Ah, my dear Sir Joshua,” he cried, “I have to entreat your forgiveness -for having taken the liberty of going into your painting-room in your -absence.” - -“Your Lordship has every claim upon my consideration,” said Sir Joshua. -“I cannot doubt which of my poor efforts drew you thither.” - -“The fact is, Sir Joshua, I promised her Grace three days ago to see the -picture, and as I think it likely that I shall meet her tonight, I made -a point of coming hither. The Duchess of Argyll is not easily put aside -when she commences to catechise a poor man, sir.” - -“I cannot hope, my Lord, that the picture of Lady Betty commended itself -to your Lordship's eye,” said Sir Joshua. - -“The picture is a beauty, my dear Sir Joshua,” said the young man, but -with no great show of ardour. “It pleases me greatly. Your macaw is also -a beauty. A capital notion of painting a macaw on a pedestal by the side -of the lady, is it not, Mr. Garrick--two birds with the one stone, you -know?” - -“True, sir,” said Garrick. “Lady Betty is a bird of Paradise.” - -“That's as neatly said as if it were part of a play,” said the young -man. “Talking of plays, there is going to be a pretty comedy enacted at -the Pantheon to-night.” - -“Is it not a mask?” said Garrick. - -“Nay, finer sport even than that,” laughed the youth. “We are going to -do more for the drama in an hour, Mr. Garrick, than you have done in -twenty years, sir.” - -“At the Pantheon, Lord Stanley?” inquired Garrick. - -“Come to the Pantheon and you shall see all that there is to be seen,” - cried Lord Stanley. “Who are your friends? Have I had the honour to be -acquainted with them?” - -“Your Lordship must have met Mr. Burke and Dr. Goldsmith,” said Garrick. - -“I have often longed for that privilege,” said Lord Stanley, bowing -in reply to the salutation of the others. “Mr. Burke's speech on the -Marriage Bill was a fine effort, and Mr. Goldsmith's comedy has always -been my favourite. I hear that you are at present engaged upon another, -Dr. Goldsmith. That is good news, sir. Oh, 't were a great pity if so -distinguished a party missed the sport which is on foot tonight! Let me -invite you all to the Pantheon--here are tickets to the show. You will -give me a box at your theatre, Garrick, in exchange, on the night when -Mr. Goldsmith's new play is produced.” - -“Alas, my Lord,” said Garrick, “that privilege will be in the hands of -Mr. Col-man.” - -“What, at t' other house? Mr. Garrick, I'm ashamed of you. Nevertheless, -you will come to the comedy at the Pantheon to-night. I must hasten to -act my part. But we shall meet there, I trust.” - -He bowed with his hat in his hand to the group, and hastened away with -an air of mystery. - -“What does he mean?” asked Reynolds. - -“That is what I have been asking myself,” replied Garrick. “By heavens, -I have it!” he cried after a pause of a few moments. “I have heard -rumours of what some of our young bloods swore to do, since the managers -of the Pantheon, in an outburst of virtuous indignation at the orgies of -Vauxhall and Ranelagh, issued their sheet of regulations prohibiting the -entrance of actresses to their rotunda. Lord Conway, I heard, was the -leader of the scheme, and it seems that this young Stanley is also -one of the plot. Let us hasten to witness the sport. I would not miss -being-present for the world.” - -“I am not so eager,” said Sir Joshua. “I have my work to engage me early -in the morning, and I have lost all interest in such follies as seem to -be on foot.” - -“I have not, thank heaven!” cried Garrick; “nor has Dr. Goldsmith, -I'll swear. As for Burke--well, being a member of Parliament, he is a -seasoned rascal; and so good-night to you, good Mr. President.” - -“We need a frolic,” cried Goldsmith. “God knows we had a dull enough -dinner at the Crown and Anchor.” - -“An Irishman and a frolic are like--well, let us say like Lady Betty and -your macaw, Sir Joshua,” said Burke. “They go together very naturally.” - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -Sir Joshua entered his house, and the others hastened northward to the -Oxford road, where the Pantheon had scarcely been opened more than a -year for the entertainment of the fashionable world--a more fashionable -world, it was hoped, than was in the habit of appearing at Ranelagh -and Vauxhall. From a hundred to a hundred and fifty years ago, rank and -fashion sought their entertainment almost exclusively at the Assembly -Rooms when the weather failed to allow of their meeting at the two great -public gardens. But as the government of the majority of these places -invariably became lax--there was only one Beau Nash who had the -cleverness to perceive that an autocracy was the only possible form of -government for such assemblies--the committee of the Pantheon determined -to frame so strict a code of rules, bearing upon the admission of -visitors, as should, they believed, prevent the place from falling to -the low level of the gardens. - -In addition to the charge of half-a-guinea for admission to the rotunda, -there were rules which gave the committee the option of practically -excluding any person whose presence they might regard as not tending to -maintain the high character of the Pantheon; and it was announced in the -most decisive way that upon no consideration would actresses be allowed -to enter. - -The announcements made to this effect were regarded in some directions -as eminently salutary. They were applauded by all persons who were -sufficiently strict to prevent their wives or daughters from going -to those entertainments that possessed little or no supervision. Such -persons understood the world and the period so indifferently as to be -optimists in regard to the question of the possibility of combining -Puritanism and promiscuous entertainments terminating long after -midnight. They hailed the arrival of the time when innocent recreation -would not be incompatible with the display of the richest dresses or the -most sumptuous figures. - -But there was another, and a more numerous set, who were very cynical on -the subject of the regulation of beauty and fashion at the Pantheon. The -best of this set shrugged their shoulders, and expressed the belief that -the supervised entertainments would be vastly dull. The worst of them -published verses full of cheap sarcasm, and proper names with asterisks -artfully introduced in place of vowels, so as to evade the possibility -of actions for libel when their allusions were more than usually -scandalous. - -While the ladies of the committee were applauding one another and -declaring that neither threats nor sarcasms would prevail against their -resolution, an informal meeting was held at White's of the persons who -affirmed that they were more affected than any others by the carrying -out of the new regulations; and at the meeting they resolved to make -the management aware of the mistake into which they had fallen in -endeavouring to discriminate between the classes of their patrons. - -When Garrick and his friends reached the Oxford road, as the -thoroughfare was then called, the result of this meeting was making -itself felt. The road was crowded with people who seemed waiting for -something unusual to occur, though of what form it was to assume no -one seemed to be aware. The crowd were at any rate good-humoured. They -cheered heartily every coach that rolled by bearing splendidly dressed -ladies to the Pantheon and to other and less public entertainments. -They waved their hats over the chairs which, similarly burdened, went -swinging along between the bearers, footmen walking on each side -and link-boys running in advance, the glare of their torches giving -additional redness to the faces of the hot fellows who had the -chair-straps over their shoulders. Every now and again an officer of the -Guards would come in for the cheers of the people, and occasionally a -jostling match took place between some supercilious young beau and the -apprentices, through the midst of whom he attempted to force his way. -More than once swords flashed beneath the sickly illumination of the -lamps, but the drawers of the weapons regretted their impetuosity the -next minute, for they were quickly disarmed, either by the crowd closing -with them or jolting them into the kennel, which at no time was savoury. -Once, however, a tall young fellow, who had been struck by a stick, -drew his sword and stood against a lamp-post preparatory to charging the -crowd. It looked as if those who interfered with him would suffer, and a -space was soon cleared in front of him. At that instant, however, he was -thrown to the ground by the assault of a previously unseen foe: a boy -dropped upon him from the lamp-post and sent his sword flying, while the -crowd cheered and jeered in turn. - -At intervals a roar would arise, and the people would part before the -frantic flight of a pickpocket, pursued and belaboured in his rush by a -dozen apprentices, who carried sticks and straps, and were well able to -use both. - -But a few minutes after Garrick, Goldsmith and Burke reached the road, -all the energies of the crowds seemed to be directed upon one object, -and there was a cry of, “Here they come--here she comes--a cheer for -Mrs. Baddeley!” - -“O Lord,” cried Garrick, “they have gone so far as to choose Sophia -Baddeley for their experiment!” - -“Their notion clearly is not to do things by degrees,” said Goldsmith. -“They might have begun with a less conspicuous person than Mrs. -Baddeley. There are many gradations in colour between black and white.” - -“But not between black and White's,” said Burke. “This notion is well -worthy of the wit of White's.” - -“Sophia is not among the gradations that Goldsmith speaks of,” said -Garrick. “But whatever be the result of this jerk into prominence, it -cannot fail to increase her popularity at the playhouse.” - -“That's the standpoint from which a good manager regards such a scene -as this,” said Burke. “Sophia will claim an extra twenty guineas a week -after to-night.” - -“By my soul!” cried Goldsmith, “she looks as if she would give double -that sum to be safe at home in bed.” - -The cheers of the crowd increased as the chair containing Mrs. Baddeley, -the actress, was borne along, the lady smiling in a half-hearted way -through her paint. On each side of the chair, but some short distance -in front, were four link-boys in various liveries, shining with gold -and silver lace. In place of footmen, however, there walked two rows of -gentlemen on each side of the chair. They were all splendidly dressed, -and they carried their swords drawn. At the head of the escort on one -side was the well known young Lord Conway, and at the other side Mr. -Hanger, equally well known as a leader of fashion. Lord Stanley was -immediately behind his friend Conway, and almost every other member of -the lady's escort was a young nobleman or the heir to a peerage. - -The lines extended to a second chair, in which Mrs. Abington was -seated, smiling----“Very much more naturally than Mrs. Baddeley,” Burke -remarked. - -“Oh, yes,” cried Goldsmith, “she was always the better actress. I am -fortunate in having her in my new comedy.” - -“The Duchesses have become jealous of the sway of Mrs. Abington,” said -Garrick, alluding to the fact that the fashions in dress had been for -several years controlled by that lovely and accomplished actress. - -“And young Lord Conway and his friends have become tired of the sway of -the Duchesses,” said Burke. - -“My Lord Stanley looked as if he were pretty nigh weary of his Duchess's -sway,” said Garrick. “I wonder if he fancies that his joining that band -will emancipate him.” - -“If so he is in error,” said Burke. “The Duchess of Argyll will never -let him out of her clutches till he is safely married to the Lady -Betty.” - -“Till then, do you say?” said Goldsmith. “Faith, sir, if he fancies he -will escape from her clutches by marrying her daughter he must have had -a very limited experience of life. Still, I think the lovely young lady -is most to be pitied. You heard the cold way he talked of her picture to -Reynolds.” - -The engagement of Lord Stanley, the heir to the earldom of Derby, to -Lady Betty Hamilton, though not formally announced, was understood to be -a _fait accompli_; but there were rumours that the young man had of -late been making an effort to release himself--that it was only with -difficulty the Duchess managed to secure his attendance in public upon -her daughter, whose portrait was being painted by Reynolds. - -The picturesque procession went slowly along amid the cheers of the -crowds, and certainly not without many expressions of familiarity and -friendliness toward the two ladies whose beauty of countenance and of -dress was made apparent by the flambeaux of the link-boys, which also -gleamed upon the thin blades of the ladies' escort. The actresses were -plainly more popular than the committee of the Pantheon. - -It was only when the crowds were closing in on the end of the procession -that a voice cried-- - -“Woe unto them! Woe unto Aholah and Aholibah! Woe unto ye who follow -them to your own destruction! Turn back ere it be too late!” The -discordant note came from a Methodist preacher who considered the moment -a seasonable one for an admonition against the frivolities of the town. - -The people did not seem to agree with him in this matter. They sent up -a shout of laughter, and half a dozen youths began a travesty of a -Methodist service, introducing all the hysterical cries and moans with -which the early followers of Wesley punctuated their prayers. In another -direction a ribald parody of a Methodist hymn was sung by women as -well as men; but above all the mockery the stern, strident voice of the -preacher was heard. - -“By my soul,” said Garrick, “that effect is strikingly dramatic. I -should like to find some one who would give me a play with such a -scene.” - -A good-looking young officer in the uniform of the Guards, who was in -the act of hurrying past where Garrick and his friends stood, turned -suddenly round. - -“I'll take your order, sir,” he cried. “Only you will have to pay me -handsomely.” - -“What, Captain Horneck? Is 't possible that you are a straggler from the -escort of the two ladies who are being feted to-night?” said Garrick. - -“Hush, man, for Heaven's sake,” cried Captain Horneck--Goldsmith's -“Captain in lace.” - -“If Mr. Burke had a suspicion that I was associated with such a rout he -would, as the guardian of my purse if not of my person, give notice to -my Lord Albemarle's trustees, and then the Lord only knows what would -happen.” Then he turned to Goldsmith. “Come along, Nolly, my friend,” he -cried, putting his arm through Oliver's; “if you want a scene for -your new comedy you will find it in the Pantheon to-night. You are not -wearing the peach-bloom coat, to be sure, but, Lord, sir! you are not to -be resisted, whatever you wear.” - -“You, at any rate, are not to be resisted, my gallant Captain,” said -Goldsmith. “I have half a mind to see the sport when the ladies' chairs -stop at the porch of the Pantheon.” - -“As a matter of course you will come,” said young Horneck. “Let us -hasten out of range of that howling. What a time for a fellow to begin -to preach!” - -He hurried Oliver away, taking charge of him through the crowd with his -arm across his shoulder. Garrick and Burke followed as rapidly as -they could, and Charles Horneck explained to them, as well as to his -companion, that he would have been in the escort of the actress, but -for the fact that he was about to marry the orphan daughter of Lord -Albemarle, and that his mother had entreated him not to do anything that -might jeopardise the match. - -“You are more discreet than Lord Stanley,” said Garrick. - -“Nay,” said Goldsmith. “'Tis not a question of discretion, but of the -means to an end. Our Captain in lace fears that his joining the escort -would offend his charming bride, but Lord Stanley is only afraid that -his act in the same direction will not offend his Duchess.” - -“You have hit the nail on the head, as usual, Nolly,” said the Captain. -“Poor Stanley is anxious to fly from his charmer through any loop-hole. -But he'll not succeed. Why, sir, I'll wager that if her daughter Betty -and the Duke were to die, her Grace would marry him herself.” - -“Ay, assuming that a third Duke was not forthcoming,” said Burke. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -The party found, on approaching the Pantheon, the advantage of being -under the guidance of Captain Horneck. Without his aid they would have -had considerable difficulty getting near the porch of the building, -where the crowds were most dense. The young guardsman, however, pushed -his way quite good-humouredly, but not the less effectively, through the -people, and was followed by Goldsmith, Garrick and Burke being a little -way behind. But as soon as the latter couple came within the light of -the hundred lamps which hung around the porch, they were recognised and -cheered by the crowd, who made a passage for them to the entrance just -as Mrs. Baddeley's chair was set down. - -The doors had been hastily closed and half-a-dozen constables stationed -in front with their staves. The gentlemen of the escort formed in a -line on each side of her chair to the doors, and when the lady stepped -out--she could not be persuaded to do so for some time--and walked -between the ranks of her admirers, they took off their hats and lowered -the points of their swords, bowing to the ground with greater courtesy -than they would have shown to either of the royal Duchesses, who just at -that period were doing their best to obtain some recognition. - -Mrs. Baddeley had rehearsed the “business” of the part which she had -to play, but she was so nervous that she forgot her words on finding -herself confronted by the constables. She caught sight of Garrick -standing at one side of the door with his hat swept behind him as he -bowed with exquisite irony as she stopped short, and the force of habit -was too much for her. Forgetting that she was playing the part of a -_grande dame_, she turned in an agony of fright to Garrick, raising her -hands--one holding a lace handkerchief, the other a fan--crying-- - -“La! Mr. Garrick, I'm so fluttered that I've forgot my words. Where's -the prompter, sir? Pray, what am I to say now?” - -“Nay, madam, I am not responsible for this production,” said Garrick -gravely, and there was a roar of laughter from the people around the -porch. - -The young gentlemen who had their swords drawn were, however, extremely -serious. They began to perceive the possibility of their heroic plan -collapsing into a merry burlesque, and so young Mr. Hanger sprang to the -side of the lady. - -“Madam,” he cried, “honour me by accepting my escort into the Pantheon. -What do you mean, sirrah, by shutting that door in the face of a lady -visitor?” he shouted to the liveried porter. - -“Sir, we have orders from the management to permit no players to enter,” - replied the man. - -“Nevertheless, you will permit this lady to enter,” said the young -gentleman. “Come, sir, open the doors without a moment's delay.” - -“I cannot act contrary to my orders, sir,” replied the man. - -“Nay, Mr. Hanger,” replied the frightened actress, “I wish not to be the -cause of a disturbance. Pray, sir, let me return to my chair.” - -“Gentlemen,” cried Mr. Hanger to his friends, “I know that it is not -your will that we should come in active contest with the representatives -of authority; but am I right in assuming that it is your desire that -our honoured friend, Mrs. Baddeley, should enter the Pantheon?” When -the cries of assent came to an end he continued, “Then, sirs, the -responsibility for bloodshed rests with those who oppose us. Swords -to the front! You will touch no man with a point unless he oppose you. -Should a constable assault any of this company you will run him through -without mercy. Now, gentlemen.” - -In an instant thirty sword-blades were radiating from the lady, and -in that fashion an advance was made upon the constables, who for a few -moments stood irresolute, but then--the points of a dozen swords were -within a yard of their breasts--lowered their staves and slipped quietly -aside. The porter, finding himself thus deserted, made no attempt to -withstand single-handed an attack converging upon the doors; he hastily -went through the porch, leaving the doors wide apart. - -To the sound of roars of laughter and shouts of congratulation from -the thousands who blocked the road, Mrs. Baddeley and her escort -walked through the porch and on to the rotunda beyond, the swords being -sheathed at the entrance. - -It seemed as if all the rank and fashion of the town had come to the -rotunda this night. Peeresses were on the raised dais by the score, some -of them laughing, others shaking their heads and doing their best to -look scandalised. Only one matron, however, felt it imperative to leave -the assembly and to take her daughters with her. She was a lady whose -first husband had divorced her, and her daughters were excessively -plain, in spite of their masks of paint and powder. - -The Duchess of Argyll stood in the centre of the dais by the side of -her daughter, Lady Betty Hamilton, her figure as graceful as it had been -twenty years before, when she and her sister Maria, who became Countess -of Coventry, could not walk down the Mall unless under the protection of -a body of soldiers, so closely were they pressed by the fashionable mob -anxious to catch a glimpse of the beautiful Miss Gunnings. She had -no touch of carmine or powder to obscure the transparency of her -complexion, and her wonderful long eyelashes needed no darkening to add -to their silken effect. Her neck and shoulders were white, not with the -cold whiteness of snow, but with the pearl-like charm of the white rose. -The solid roundness of her arms, and the grace of every movement that -she made with them, added to the delight of those who looked upon that -lovely woman. - -Her daughter had only a measure of her mother's charm. Her features were -small, and though her figure was pleasing, she suggested nothing of the -Duchess's elegance and distinction. - -Both mother and daughter looked at first with scorn in their eyes at -the lady who stood at one of the doors of the rotunda, surrounded by her -body guard; but when they perceived that Lord Stanley was next to her, -they exchanged a few words, and the scorn left their eyes. The Duchess -even smiled at Lady Ancaster, who stood near her, and Lady Ancaster -shrugged her shoulders almost as naturally as if she had been a -Frenchwoman. - -Cynical people who had been watching the Duchess's change of countenance -also shrugged their shoulders (indifferently), saying-- - -“Her Grace will not be inexorable; the son-in-law upon whom she has set -her heart, and tried to set her daughter's heart as well, must not be -frightened away.” - -Captain Horneck had gone up to his _fiancee_. - -“You were not in that creature's train, I hope,” said the lady. - -“I? Dear child, for what do you take me?” he said. “No, I certainly was -not in her train. I was with my friend Dr. Goldsmith.” - -“If you had been among that woman's escort, I should never have forgiven -you the impropriety,” said she. - -(She was inflexible as a girl, but before she had been married more than -a year she had run away with her husband's friend, Mr. Scawen.) - -By this time Lord Conway had had an interview with the management, and -now returned with two of the gentlemen who comprised that body to where -Mrs. Baddeley was standing simpering among her admirers. - -“Madam,” said Lord Conway, “these gentlemen are anxious to offer you -their sincere apologies for the conduct of their servants to-night, and -to express the hope that you and your friends will frequently honour -them by your patronage.” - -And those were the very words uttered by the spokesman of the -management, with many humble bows, in the presence of the smiling -actress. - -“And now you can send for Mrs. Abing-ton,” said Lord Stanley. “She -agreed to wait in her chair until this matter was settled.” - -“She can take very good care of herself,” said Mrs. Baddeley somewhat -curtly. Her fright had now vanished, and she was not disposed to -underrate the importance of her victory. She had no particular wish to -divide the honours attached to her position with another woman, much -less with one who was usually regarded as better-looking than herself. -“Mrs. Abington is a little timid, my Lord,” she continued; “she may not -find herself quite at home in this assembly.'Tis a monstrous fine place, -to be sure; but for my part, I think Vauxhall is richer and in better -taste.” - -But in spite of the indifference of Mrs. Baddeley, a message was -conveyed to Mrs. Abington, who had not left her chair, informing her of -the honours which were being done to the lady who had entered the room, -and when this news reached her she lost not a moment in hurrying through -the porch to the side of her sister actress. - -And then a remarkable incident occurred, for the Duchess of Argyll -and Lady Ancaster stepped down from their dais and went to the two -actresses, offering them hands, and expressing the desire to see them -frequently at the assemblies in the rotunda. - -The actresses made stage courtesies and returned thanks for the -condescension of the great ladies. The cynical ones laughed and shrugged -their shoulders once more. - -Only Lord Stanley looked chagrined. He perceived that the Duchess was -disposed to regard his freak in the most liberal spirit, and he knew -that the point of view of the Duchess was the point of view of the -Duchess's daughter. He felt rather sad as he reflected upon the laxity -of mothers with daughters yet unmarried. Could it be that eligible -suitors were growing scarce? - -Garrick was highly amused at the little scene that was being played -under his eyes; he considered himself a pretty fair judge of comedy, -and he was compelled to acknowledge that he had never witnessed any more -highly finished exhibition of this form of art. - -His friend Goldsmith had not waited at the door for the arrival of Mrs. -Abington. He was not wearing any of the gorgeous costumes in which he -liked to appear at places of amusement, and so he did not intend to -remain in the rotunda for longer than a few minutes; he was only curious -to see what would be the result of the bold action of Lord Conway and -his friends. But when he was watching the act of condescension on the -part of the Duchess and the Countess, and had had his laugh with Burke, -he heard a merry voice behind him saying-- - -“Is Dr. Goldsmith a modern Marius, weeping over the ruin of the -Pantheon?” - -“Nay,” cried another voice, “Dr. Goldsmith is contemplating the writing -of a history of the attempted reformation of society in the eighteenth -century, through the agency of a Greek temple known as the Pantheon on -the Oxford road.” - -He turned and stood face to face with two lovely laughing girls and a -handsome elder lady, who was pretending to look scandalised. - -“Ah, my dear Jessamy Bride--and my sweet Little Comedy!” he cried, as -the girls caught each a hand of his. He had dropped his hat in the act -of making his bow to Mrs. Horneck, the mother of the two girls, Mary and -Katherine--the latter the wife of Mr. Bunbury. “Mrs. Horneck, madam, -I am your servant--and don't I look your servant, too,” he added, -remembering that he was not wearing his usual gala dress. - -“You look always the same good friend,” said the lady. - -“Nay,” laughed Mrs. Bunbury, “if he were your servant he would take -care, for the honour of the house, that he was splendidly dressed; it -is not that snuff-coloured suit we should have on him, but something -gorgeous. What would you say to a peach-bloom coat, Dr. Goldsmith?” - -(His coat of this tint had become a family joke among the Hornecks and -Bun-burys.) - -“Well, if the bloom remain on the peach it would be well enough in your -company, madam,” said Goldsmith, with a face of humorous gravity. “But -a peach with the bloom off would be more congenial to the Pantheon after -to-night.” He gave a glance in the direction of the group of actresses -and their admirers. - -Mrs. Horneck looked serious, her two daughters looked demurely down. - -“The air is tainted,” said Goldsmith, solemnly. - -“Yes,” said Mrs. Bunbury, with a charming mock demureness. “'T is as you -say: the Pantheon will soon become as amusing as Ranelagh.” - -“I said not so, madam,” cried Goldsmith, shaking-his head. “As -amusing---amusing----” - -“As Ranelagh. Those were your exact words, Doctor, I assure you,” - protested Little Comedy. “Were they not, Mary?” - -“Oh, undoubtedly those were his words--only he did not utter them,” - replied the Jessamy Bride. - -“There, now, you will not surely deny your words in the face of two such -witnesses!” said Mrs. Bunbury. - -“I could deny nothing to two such faces,” said Goldsmith, “even though -one of the faces is that of a little dunce who could talk of Marius -weeping over the Pantheon.” - -“And why should not he weep over the Pantheon if he saw good cause for -it?” she inquired, with her chin in the air. - -“Ah, why not indeed? Only he was never within reach of it, my dear,” - said Goldsmith. - -“Psha! I daresay Marius was no better than he need be,” cried the young -lady. - -“Few men are even so good as it is necessary for them to be,” said -Oliver. - -“That depends upon their own views as to the need of being good,” - remarked Mary. - -“And so I say that Marius most likely made many excursions to the -Pantheon without the knowledge of his biographer,” cried her sister, -with an air of worldly wisdom of which a recent bride was so well -qualified to be an exponent. - -“'Twere vain to attempt to contend against such wisdom,” said Goldsmith. - -“Nay, all things are possible, with a Professor of Ancient History to -the Royal Academy of Arts,” said a lady who had come up with Burke at -that moment--a small but very elegant lady with distinction in every -movement, and withal having eyes sparkling with humour. - -Goldsmith bowed low--again over his fallen hat, on the crown of which -Little Comedy set a very dainty foot with an aspect of the sweetest -unconsciousness. She was a tom-boy down to the sole of that dainty foot. - -“In the presence of Mrs. Thrale,” Goldsmith began, but seeing the -ill-treatment to which his hat was subjected, he became confused, and -the compliment which he had been elaborating dwindled away in a murmur. - -“Is it not the business of a professor to contend with wisdom, Dr. -Goldsmith?” said Mrs. Thrale. - -“Madam, if you say that it is so, I will prove that you are wrong by -declining to argue out the matter with you,” said the Professor of -Ancient History. - -Miss Horneck's face shone with appreciation of her dear friend's -quickness; but the lively Mrs. Thrale was, as usual, too much engrossed -in her own efforts to be brilliant to be able to pay any attention -to the words of so clumsy a person as Oliver Goldsmith, and one who, -moreover, declined to join with so many other distinguished persons in -accepting her patronage. - -She found it to her advantage to launch into a series of sarcasms--most -of which had been said at least once before--at the expense of the -Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster, and finding that Goldsmith was more -busily, engaged in listening to Mrs. Bunbury's mock apologies for the -injury she had done to his hat than in attending to her _jeux d'esprit_, -she turned her back upon him, and gave Burke and Mrs. Horneck the -benefit of her remarks. - -Goldsmith continued taking part in the fun made by Little Comedy, -pointing out to her the details of his hat's disfigurement, when, -suddenly turning in the direction of Mary Horneck, who was standing -behind her mother, the jocular remark died on his lips. He saw the -expression of dismay--worse than dismay--which was on the girl's face as -she gazed across the rotunda. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -Goldsmith followed the direction of her eyes and saw that their object -was a man in the uniform of an officer, who was chatting with Mrs. -Abingdon. He was a showily handsome man, though his face bore evidence -of some dissipated years, and there was an undoubted swagger in his -bearing. - -Meanwhile Goldsmith watched him. The man caught sight of Miss Horneck -and gave a slight start, his jaw falling for an instant--only for an -instant, however; then he recovered himself and made an elaborate bow to -the girl across the room. - -Goldsmith turned to Miss Horneck and perceived that her face had become -white; she returned very coldly the man's recognition, and only after -the lapse of some seconds. Goldsmith possessed naturally both delicacy -of feeling and tact. He did not allow the girl to see that he had been -a witness of a _rencontre_ which evidently was painful to her; but -he spoke to her sister, who was amusing her husband by a scarcely -noticeable imitation of a certain great lady known to both of them; -and, professing himself woefully ignorant as to the _personnel_ of the -majority of the people who were present, inquired first what was the -name of a gentleman wearing a star and talking to a group of apparently -interested ladies, and then of the officer whom he had seen make that -elaborate bow. - -Mrs. Bunbury was able to tell him who was the gentleman with the star, -but after glancing casually at the other man, she shook her head. - -“I have never seen him before,” she said. “I don't think he can be -any one in particular. The people whom we don't know are usually -nobodies--until we come to know them.” - -“That is quite reasonable,” said he. “It is a distinction to become your -friend. It will be remembered in my favour when my efforts as Professor -at the Academy are forgotten.” - -His last sentence was unheard, for Mrs. Bunbury was giving all her -attention to her sister, of whose face she had just caught a glimpse. - -“Heavens, child!” she whispered to her, “what is the matter with you?” - -“What should be the matter with me?” said Mary. “What, except--oh, this -place is stifling! And the managers boasted that it would be cool and -well ventilated at all times!” - -“My dear girl, you'll be quite right when I take you into the air,” said -Bunbury. - -“No, no; I do not need to leave the rotunda; I shall be myself in a -moment,” said the girl somewhat huskily and spasmodically. “For heaven's -sake don't stare so, child,” she added to her sister, making a pitiful -attempt to laugh. - -“But, my dear----” began Mrs. Bunbury; she was interrupted by Mary. - -“Nay,” she cried, “I will not have our mother alarmed, and--well, every -one knows what a tongue Mrs. Thrale has. Oh, no; already the faintness -has passed away. What should one fear with a doctor in one's company? -Come, Dr. Goldsmith, you are a sensible person. You do not make a fuss. -Lend me your arm, if you please.” - -“With all pleasure in life,” cried Oliver. - -He offered her his arm, and she laid her hand upon it. He could feel how -greatly she was trembling. - -When they had taken a few steps away Mary looked back at her sister -and Bunbury and smiled reassuringly at them. Her companion saw that, -immediately afterwards, her glance went in the direction of the officer -who had bowed to her. - -“Take me up to one of the galleries, my dear friend,” she said. “Take me -somewhere--some place away from here--any place away from here.” - -He brought her to an alcove off one of the galleries where only one -sconce with wax candles was alight. - -“Why should you tremble, my dear girl?” said he. “What is there to be -afraid of? I am your friend--you know that I would die to save you from -the least trouble.” - -“Trouble? Who said anything about trouble?” she cried. “I am in no -trouble--only for the trouble I am giving you, dear Goldsmith. And you -did not come in the bloom-tinted coat after all.” - -He made no reply to her spasmodic utterances. The long silence was -broken only by the playing of the band, following Madame Agujari's -song--the hum of voices and laughter from the well-dressed mob in the -rotunda and around the galleries. - -At last the girl put her hand again upon his arm, saying-- - -“I wonder what you think of this business, my dear friend--I wonder what -you think of your Jessamy Bride.” - -“I think nothing but what is good of you, my dear,” said he tenderly. -“But if you can tell me of the matter that troubles you, I think I may -be able to make you see that it should not be a trouble to you for a -moment. Why, what can possibly have happened since we were all so merry -in France together?” - -“Nothing--nothing has happened--I give you my word upon it,” she -said. “Oh, I feel that you are altogether right. I have no cause to be -frightened--no cause to be troubled. Why, if it came to fighting, have -not I a brother? Ah, I had much better say nothing more. You could not -understand--psha! there is nothing to be understood, dear Dr. Goldsmith; -girls are foolish creatures.” - -“Is it nothing to you that we have been friends so long, dear child?” - said he. “Is it not possible for you to let me have your confidence? -Think if it be possible, Mary. I am not a wise man where my own affairs -are concerned, but I feel that for others--for you, my dear--ah, child, -don't you know that if you share a secret trouble with another its -poignancy is blunted?” - -“I have never had consolation except from you,” said the girl. “But -this--this--oh, my friend, by what means did you look into a woman's -soul to enable you to write those lines-- - - 'When lovely woman stoops to folly, - - And finds too late. . . '?” - -There was a long pause before he started up, with his hand pressed to -his forehead. He looked at her strangely for a moment, and then walked -slowly away from her with his head bent. Before he had taken more than -a dozen steps, however, he stopped, and, after another moment of -indecision, hastened back to her and offered her his hand, saying-- - -“I am but a man; I can think nothing of you but what is good.” - -“Yes,” she said; “it is only a woman who can think everything that is -evil about a woman. It is not by men that women are deceived to their -own destruction, but by women.” - -She sprang to her feet and laid her hand upon his arm once again. - -“Let us go away,” she said. “I am sick of this place. There is no corner -of it that is not penetrated by the Agujari's singing. Was there ever -any singing so detestable? And they pay her fifty guineas a song! -I would pay fifty guineas to get out of earshot of the best of her -efforts.” Her laugh had a shrill note that caused it to sound very -pitiful to the man who heard it. - -He spoke no word, but led her tenderly back to where her mother was -standing with Burke and her son. - -“I do hope that you have not missed Agujari's last song,” said Mrs. -Horneck. “We have been entranced with its melody.” - -“Oh, no; I have missed no note of it--no note. Was there ever anything -so delicious--so liquid-sweet? Is it not time that we went homeward, -mother? I do feel a little tired, in spite of the Agujari.” - -“At what an admirable period we have arrived in the world's history!” - said Burke. “It is the young miss in these days who insists on her -mother's keeping good hours. How wise we are all growing!” - -“Mary was always a wise little person,” said Mrs. Horneck. - -“Wise? Oh, let us go home!” said the girl wearily. - -“Dr. Goldsmith will, I am sure, direct our coach to be called,” said her -mother. - -Goldsmith bowed and pressed his way to the door, where he told the -janitor to call for Mrs. Horneck's coach. - -He led Mary out of the rotunda, Burke having gone before with the elder -lady. Goldsmith did not fail to notice the look of apprehension on the -girl's face as her eyes wandered around the crowd in the porch. He could -hear the little sigh of relief that she gave after her scrutiny. - -The coach had drawn up at the entrance, and the little party went -out into the region of flaring links and pitch-scented smoke. While -Goldsmith was in the act of helping Mary Horneck up the steps, he was -furtively glancing around, and before she had got into a position for -seating herself by the side of her mother, he dropped her hand in so -clumsy a way that several of the onlookers laughed. Then he retreated, -bowing awkwardly, and, to crown his stupidity, he turned round so -rapidly and unexpectedly that he ran violently full-tilt against a -gentleman in uniform, who was hurrying to the side of the chariot as if -to take leave of the ladies. - -The crowd roared as the officer lost his footing for a moment and -staggered among the loiterers in the porch, not recovering himself until -the vehicle had driven away. Even then Goldsmith, with disordered -wig, was barring the way to the coach, profusely apologising for his -awkwardness. - -“Curse you for a lout!” cried the officer. - -Goldsmith put his hat on his head. - -“Look you, sir!” he said. “I have offered you my humblest apologies for -the accident. If you do not choose to accept them, you have but got to -say as much and I am at your service. My name is Goldsmith, sir--Oliver -Goldsmith--and my friend is Mr. Edmund Burke. I flatter myself that we -are both as well known and of as high repute as yourself, whoever you -may be.” - -The onlookers in the porch laughed, those outside gave an encouraging -cheer, while the chairmen and linkmen, who were nearly all Irish, -shouted “Well done, your Honour! The little Doctor and Mr. Burke -forever!” For both Goldsmith and Burke were as popular with the mob as -they were in society. - -While Goldsmith stood facing the scowling officer, an elderly gentleman, -in the uniform of a general and with his breast covered with orders, -stepped out from the side of the porch and shook Oliver by the hand. -Then he turned to his opponent, saying-- - -“Dr. Goldsmith is my friend, sir. If you have any quarrel with him you -can let me hear from you. I am General Oglethorpe.” - -“Or if it suits you better, sir,” said another gentleman coming to -Goldsmith's side, “you can send your friend to my house. My name is Lord -Clare.” - -“My Lord,” cried the man, bowing with a little swagger, “I have no -quarrel with Dr. Goldsmith. He has no warmer admirer than myself. If in -the heat of the moment I made use of any expression that one gentleman -might not make use of toward another, I ask Dr. Goldsmith's pardon. I -have the honour to wish your Lordship good-night.” - -He bowed and made his exit. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -When Goldsmith reached his chambers in Brick Court, he found awaiting -him a letter from Colman, the lessee of Covent Garden Theatre, to let -him know that Woodward and Mrs. Abington had resigned their parts in his -comedy which had been in rehearsal for a week, and that he, Colman, -felt they were right in doing so, as the failure of the piece was so -inevitable. He hoped that Dr. Goldsmith would be discreet enough to -sanction its withdrawal while its withdrawal was still possible. - -He read this letter--one of several which he had received from Colman -during the week prophesying disaster--without impatience, and threw it -aside without a further thought. He had no thought for anything save the -expression that had been on the face of Mary Horneck as she had spoken -his lines-- - - “When lovely woman stoops to folly, - - And finds too late....” - -“Too late----” She had not got beyond those words. Her voice had broken, -as he had often believed that his beloved Olivia's voice had broken, -when trying to sing her song in which a woman's despair is enshrined for -all ages. Her voice had broken, though not with the stress of tears. It -would not have been so full of despair if tears had been in her eyes. -Where there are tears there is hope. But her voice.... - -What was he to believe? What was he to think regarding that sweet girl -who had, since the first day he had known her, treated him as no other -human being had ever treated him? The whole family of the Hornecks had -shown themselves to be his best friends. They insisted on his placing -himself on the most familiar footing in regard to their house, and when -Little Comedy married she maintained the pleasant intimacy with him -which had begun at Sir Joshua Reynolds's dinner-table. The days that he -spent at the Bunburys' house at Barton were among the pleasantest of his -life. - -But, fond though he was of Mrs. Bun-bury, her sister Mary, his “Jessamy -Bride,” drew him to her by a deeper and warmer affection. He had felt -from the first hour of meeting her that she understood his nature--that -in her he had at last found some one who could give him the sympathy -which he sought. More than once she had proved to him that she -recognised the greatness of his nature--his simplicity, his generosity, -the tenderness of his heart for all things that suffered, his -trustfulness, that caused him to be so frequently imposed upon, his -intolerance of hypocrisy and false sentiment, though false sentiment was -the note of the most successful productions of the day. Above all, -he felt that she recognised his true attitude in relation to English -literature. If he was compelled to work in uncongenial channels in order -to earn his daily bread, he himself never forgot what he owed to English -literature. How nobly he discharged this debt his “Traveller,” “The -Vicar of Wakefield,” “The Deserted Village,” and “The Good Natured -Man” testified at intervals. He felt that he was the truest poet, the -sincerest dramatist, of the period, and he never allowed the work which -he was compelled to do for the booksellers to turn him aside from his -high aims. - -It was because Mary Horneck proved to him daily that she understood -what his aims were he regarded her as different from all the rest of -the world. She did not talk to him of sympathising with him, but she -understood him and sympathised with him. - -As he lay back in his chair now asking himself what he should think of -her, he recalled every day that he had passed in her company, from the -time of their first meeting at Reynolds's house until he had accompanied -her and her mother and sister on the tour through France. He remembered -how, the previous year, she had stirred his heart on returning from a -long visit to her native Devonshire by a clasp of the hand and a look -of gratitude, as she spoke the name of the book which he had sent to her -with a letter. “The Vicar of Wakefield” was the book, and she had said-- - -“You can never, never know what it has been to me--what it has done -for me.” Her eyes had at that time been full of tears of gratitude--of -affection, and the sound of her voice and the sight of her liquid eyes -had overcome him. He knew there was a bond between them that would not -be easily severed. - -[Illustration: 0105] - -But there were no tears in her eyes as she spoke the words of Olivia's -song. - -What was he to think of her? - -One moment she had been overflowing with girlish merriment, and then, -on glancing across the hall, her face had become pale and her mood had -changed from one of merriment to one of despair--the despair of a bird -that finds itself in the net of the fowler. - -What was he to think of her? - -He would not wrong her by a single thought. He thought no longer of -her, but of the man whose sudden appearance before her eyes had, he felt -certain, brought about her change of mood. - -It was his certainty of feeling on this matter that had caused him to -guard her jealously from the approach of that man, and, when he saw him -going toward the coach, to prevent his further advance by the readiest -means in his power. He had had no time to elaborate any scheme to keep -the man away from Mary Horneck, and he had been forced to adopt the most -rudimentary scheme to carry out his purpose. - -Well, he reflected upon the fact that if the scheme was rudimentary -it had proved extremely effective. He had kept the man apart from the -girls, and he only regretted that the man had been so easily led to -regard the occurrence as an accident. He would have dearly liked to run -the man through some vital part. - -What was that man to Mary Horneck that she should be in terror at the -very sight of him? That was the question which presented itself to him, -and his too vivid imagination had no difficulty in suggesting a number -of answers to it, but through all he kept his word to her: he thought no -ill of her. He could not entertain a thought of her that was not wholly -good. He felt that her concern was on account of some one else who -might be in the power of that man. He knew how generous she was--how -sympathetic. He had told her some of his own troubles, and though he did -so lightly, as was his custom, she had been deeply affected on hearing -of them. Might it not then be that the trouble which affected her was -not her own, but another's? - -Before he went to bed he had brought himself to take this view of the -incident of the evening, and he felt much easier in his mind. - -Only he felt a twinge of regret when he reflected that the fellow -whose appearance had deprived Mary Horneck of an evening's pleasure had -escaped with no greater inconvenience than would be the result of an -ordinary shaking. His contempt for the man increased as he recalled how -he had declined to prolong the quarrel. If he had been anything of a -man he would have perceived that he was insulted, not by accident but -design, and would have been ready to fight. - -Whatever might be the nature of Mary Horneck's trouble, the killing of -the man would be a step in the right direction. - -It was not until his servant, John Eyles, had awakened him in the -morning that he recollected receiving a letter from Colman which -contained some unpleasant news. He could not at first remember the -details of the news, but he was certain that on receiving it he had a -definite idea that it was unpleasant. When he now read Colman's -letter for the second time he found that his recollection of his first -impression was not at fault. It was just his luck: no man was in the -habit of writing more joyous letters or receiving more depressing than -Goldsmith. - -He hurried off to the theatre and found Colman in his most disagreeable -mood. The actor and actress who had resigned their parts were just those -to whom he was looking, Colman declared, to pull the play through. He -could not, however, blame them, he frankly admitted. They were, he said, -dependent for a livelihood upon their association with success on the -stage, and it could not be otherwise than prejudicial to their best -interests to be connected with a failure. - -This was too much, even for the long suffering Goldsmith. - -“Is it not somewhat premature to talk of the failure of a play that has -not yet been produced, Mr. Colman?” he said. - -“It might be in respect to most plays, sir,” replied Colman; “but in -regard to this particular play, I don't think that one need be afraid to -anticipate by a week or two the verdict of the playgoers. Two things in -this world are inevitable, sir: death and the damning of your comedy.” - -“I shall try to bear both with fortitude,” said Goldsmith quietly, -though he was inwardly very indignant with the manager for his -gratuitous predictions of failure--predictions which from the first his -attitude in regard to the play had contributed to realise. “I should -like to have a talk with Mrs. Abington and Woodward,” he added. - -“They are in the green room,” said the manager. “I must say that I was -in hope, Dr. Goldsmith, that your critical judgment of your own work -would enable you to see your way to withdraw it.” - -“I decline to withdraw it, sir,” said Goldsmith. - -“I have been a manager now for some years,” said Colman, “and, speaking -from the experience which I have gained at this theatre, I say without -hesitation that I never had a piece offered to me which promised so -complete a disaster as this, sir. Why, 'tis like no other comedy that -was ever wrote.” - -“That is a feature which I think the playgoers will not be slow to -appreciate,” said Goldsmith. “Good Lord! Mr. Colman, cannot you see that -what the people want nowadays is a novelty?” - -“Ay, sir; but there are novelties and novelties, and this novelty of -yours is not to their taste.'T is not a comedy of the pothouse that's -the novelty genteel people want in these days; and mark my words, -sir, the bringing on of that vulgar young boor--what's the fellow's -name?--Lumpkin, in his pothouse, and the unworthy sneers against the -refinement and sensibility of the period--the fellow who talks of his -bear only dancing to the genteelest of tunes--all this, Dr. Goldsmith, -I pledge you my word and reputation as a manager, will bring about an -early fall of the curtain.” - -“An early fall of the curtain?” - -“Even so, sir; for the people in the house will not permit another scene -beyond that of your pothouse to be set.” - -“Let me tell you, Mr. Colman, that the Three Pigeons is an hostelry, not -a pothouse.” - -“The playgoers will damn it if it were e'en a Bishop's palace.” - -“Which you think most secure against such a fate. Nay, sir, let us not -apply the doctrine of predestination to a comedy. Men have gone mad -through believing that they had no chance of being saved from the Pit. -Pray let not us take so gloomy a view of the hereafter of our play.” - -“Of _your_ play, sir, by your leave. I have no mind to accept even a -share of its paternity, though I know that I cannot escape blame for -having anything to do with its production.” - -“If you are so anxious to decline the responsibilities of a father in -respect to it, sir, I must beg that you will not feel called upon to act -with the cruelty of a step-father towards it.” - -Goldsmith bowed in his pleasantest manner as he left the manager's -office and went to the green room. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -The attitude of Colman in regard to the comedy was quite in keeping -with the traditions of the stage of the eighteenth century, nor was it -so contrary to the traditions of the nineteenth century. Colman, like -the rest of his profession--not even excepting Garrick--possessed only a -small amount of knowledge as to what playgoers desired to have presented -to them. Whatever successes he achieved were certainly not due to his -own acumen. He had no idea that audiences had grown tired of stilted -blank verse tragedies and comedies constructed on the most conventional -lines, with plentiful allusions to heathen deities, but a plentiful lack -of human nature. Such plays had succeeded in his hands previously, and -he could see no reason why he should substitute for them anything more -natural. He had no idea that playgoers were ready to hail with pleasure -a comedy founded upon scenes of everyday life, not upon the spurious -sentimentality of an artificial age. - -He had produced “The Good Natured Man” some years before, and had made -money by the transaction. But the shrieks of the shallow critics who -had condemned the introduction of the low-life personages into that -play were still ringing in his ears; so, when he found that the leading -characteristics of these personages were not only introduced but -actually intensified in the new comedy, which the author had named -provisionally “The Mistakes of a Night,” he at first declined to have -anything to do with it. But, fortunately, Goldsmith had influential -friends--friends who, like Dr. Johnson and Bishop Percy, had recognised -his genius when he was living in a garret and before he had written -anything beyond a few desultory essays--and they brought all their -influence to bear upon the Covent Garden manager. He accepted the -comedy, but laid it aside for several months, and only grudgingly, at -last, consented to put it in rehearsal. - -Daily, when Goldsmith attended the rehearsals, the manager did his best -to depreciate the piece, shaking his head over some scenes, shrugging -his shoulders over others, and asking the author if he actually meant -to allow certain portions of the dialogue to be spoken as he had written -them. - -This attitude would have discouraged a man less certain of his position -than Goldsmith. It did not discourage him, however, but its effect was -soon perceptible upon the members of the company. They rehearsed in a -half-hearted way, and accepted Goldsmith's suggestions with demur. - -At the end of a week Gentleman Smith, who had been cast for Young -Marlow, threw up the part, and Colman inquired of Goldsmith if he was -serious in his intention to continue rehearsing the piece. In a moment -Goldsmith assured him that he meant to perform his part of the contract -with the manager, and that he would tolerate no backing out of that same -contract by the manager. At his friend Shuter's suggestion, the part was -handed over to Lee Lewes. - -After this, it might at least have been expected that Colman would make -the best of what he believed to be a bad matter, and give the play every -chance of success. On the contrary, however, he was stupid even for the -manager of a theatre, and was at the pains to decry the play upon every -possible occasion. Having predicted failure for it, he seemed determined -to do his best to cause his prophecies to be realized. At rehearsal he -provoked Goldsmith almost beyond endurance by his sneers, and actually -encouraged the members of his own company in their frivolous complaints -regarding their dialogue. He spoke the truth to Goldsmith when he said -he was not surprised that Woodward and Mrs. Abington had thrown up -their parts: he would have been greatly surprised if they had continued -rehearsing. - -When the unfortunate author now entered the green room, the buzz of -conversation which had been audible outside ceased in an instant. He -knew that he had formed the subject of the conversation, and he could -not doubt what was its nature. For a moment he was tempted to turn round -and go back to Colman in order to tell him that he would withdraw -the play. The temptation lasted but a moment, however: the spirit of -determination which had carried him through many difficulties--that -spirit which Reynolds appreciated and had embodied in his portrait--came -to his aid. He walked boldly into the green room and shook hands with -both Woodward and Mrs. Abington. - -“I am greatly mortified at the news which I have just had from Mr. -Colman,” he said; “but I am sure that you have not taken this serious -step without due consideration, so I need say no more about it. Mr. -Colman will be unable to attend this rehearsal, but he is under an -agreement with me to produce my comedy within a certain period, and he -will therefore sanction any step I may take on his behalf. Mr. Quick -will, I hope, honour me by reading the part of Tony Lumpkin and Mrs. -Bulk-ley that of Miss Hardcastle, so that there need be no delay in the -rehearsal.” - -The members of the company were somewhat startled by the tone adopted by -the man who had previously been anything but fluent in his speech, and -who had submitted with patience to the sneers of the manager. They now -began to perceive something of the character of the man whose life had -been a fierce struggle with adversity, but who even in his wretched -garret knew what was due to himself and to his art, and did not hesitate -to kick downstairs the emissary from the government that offered him -employment as a libeller. - -“Sir,” cried the impulsive Mrs. Bulkley, putting out her hand to -him--“Sir, you are not only a genius, you are a man as well, and it will -not be my fault if this comedy of yours does not turn out a success. -You have been badly treated, Dr. Goldsmith, and you have borne your -ill-treatment nobly. For myself, sir, I say that I shall be proud to -appear in your piece.” - -“Madam,” said Goldsmith, “you overwhelm me with your kindness. As for -ill-treatment, I have nothing to complain of so far as the ladies and -gentlemen of the company are concerned, and any one who ventures to -assert that I bear ill-will toward Mr. Woodward and Mrs. Abington I -shall regard as having put an affront upon me. Before a fortnight has -passed I know that they will be overcome by chagrin at their rejection -of the opportunity that was offered them of being associated with the -success of this play, for it will be a success, in spite of the untoward -circumstances incidental to its birth.” - -He bowed several times around the company, and he did it so awkwardly -that he immediately gained the sympathy and good-will of all the actors: -they reflected how much better they could do it, and that, of course, -caused them to feel well disposed towards Goldsmith. - -“You mean to give the comedy another name, sir, I think,” said Shuter, -who was cast for the part of Old Hardcastle. - -“You may be sure that a name will be forthcoming,” said Goldsmith. -“Lord, sir, I am too good a Christian not to know that if an accident -was to happen to my bantling before it is christened it would be damned -to a certainty.” - -The rehearsal this day was the most promising that had yet taken place. -Col-man did not put in an appearance, consequently the disheartening -influence of his presence was not felt. The broadly comical scenes were -acted with some spirit, and though it was quite apparent to Goldsmith -that none of the company believed that the play would be a success, yet -the members did not work, as they had worked hitherto, on the assumption -that its failure was inevitable. - -On the whole, he left the theatre with a lighter heart than he had had -since the first rehearsal. It was not until he returned to his chambers -to dress for the evening that he recollected he had not yet arrived at -a wholly satisfactory solution of the question which had kept him awake -during the greater part of the night. - -The words that Mary Horneck had spoken and the look there was in her -eyes at the same moment had yet to be explained. - -He seated himself at his desk with his hand to his head, his -elbow resting on a sheet of paper placed ready for his pen. After -half-an-hour's thought his hand went mechanically to his tray of pens. -Picking one up with a sigh, he began to write. - -Verse after verse appeared upon the paper--the love-song of a man who -feels that love is shut out from his life for evermore, but whose only -consolation in life is love. - -After an hour's fluent writing he laid down the pen and once again -rested his head on his hand. He had not the courage to read what he -had written. His desk was full of such verses, written with unaffected -sincerity when every one around him was engaged in composing verses -which were regarded worthy of admiration only in proportion as they were -artificial. - -He wondered, as he sat there, what would be the result of his sending to -Mary Horneck one of those poems which his heart had sung to her. Would -she be shocked at his presumption in venturing to love her? Would his -delightful relations with her and her family be changed when it became -known that he had not been satisfied with the friendship which he had -enjoyed for some years, but had hoped for a response to his deeper -feeling? - -His heart sank as he asked himself the question. - -“How is it that I seem ridiculous as a lover even to myself?” he -muttered. “Why has God laid upon me the curse of being a poet? A poet is -the chronicler of the loves of others, but it is thought madness should -he himself look for the consolation of love. It is the irony of life -that the man who is most capable of deep feeling should be forced to -live in loneliness. How the world would pity a great painter who was -struck blind--a great orator struck dumb! But the poet shut out from -love receives no pity--no pity on earth--no pity in heaven.” - -He bowed his head down to his hands, and remained in that attitude for -an hour. Then he suddenly sprang to his feet. He caught up the paper -which he had just covered with verses, and was in the act of tearing it. -He did not tear the sheet quite across, however; it fell from his hand -to the desk and lay there, a slight current of air from a window making -the torn edge rise and fall as though it lay upon the beating heart of -a woman whose lover was beside her--that was what the quivering motion -suggested to the poet who watched it. - -“And I would have torn it in pieces and made a ruin of it!” he said. -“Alas! alas! for the poor torn, fluttering heart!” - -He dressed himself and went out, but to none of his accustomed haunts, -where he would have been certain to meet with some of the distinguished -men who were rejoiced to be regarded as his friends. In his mood he knew -that friendship could afford him no solace. - -He knew that to offer a man friendship when love is in his heart is like -giving a loaf of bread to one who is dying of thirst. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -For the next two days Goldsmith was fully occupied making such changes -in his play as were suggested to him in the course of the rehearsals. -The alterations were not radical, but he felt that they would be -improvements, and his judgment was rarely at fault. Moreover, he was -quick to perceive in what direction the strong points and the weak -points of the various members of the company lay, and he had no -hesitation in altering the dialogue so as to give them a better chance -of displaying their gifts. But not a line of what Colman called the -“pot-house scene” would he change, not a word of the scene where the -farm servants are being trained to wait at table would he allow to be -omitted. - -Colman declined to appear upon the stage during the rehearsals. He seems -to have spent all his spare time walking from coffee house to coffee -house talking about the play, its vulgarity, and the certainty of the -fate that was in store for it. It would have been impossible, had he -not adopted this remarkable course, for the people of the town to become -aware, as they certainly did, what were his ideas regarding the comedy. -When it was produced with extraordinary success, the papers held the -manager up to ridicule daily for his false predictions, and every day a -new set of lampoons came from the coffee-house wits on the same subject. - -But though the members of the company rehearsed the play loyally, some -of them were doubtful about the scene at the Three Pigeons, and did not -hesitate to express their fears to Goldsmith. They wondered if he -might not see his way to substitute for that scene one which could not -possibly be thought offensive by any section of playgoers. Was it not a -pity, one of them asked him, to run a chance of failure when it might be -so easily avoided? - -To all of these remonstrances he had but one answer: the play must stand -or fall by the scenes which were regarded as ungenteel. He had written -it, he said, for the sake of expressing his convictions through the -medium of these particular scenes, and he was content to accept the -verdict of the playgoers on the point in question. Why he had brought on -those scenes so early in the play was that the playgoers might know not -to expect a sentimental piece, but one that was meant to introduce a -natural school of comedy, with no pretence to be anything but a copy of -the manners of the day, with no fine writing in the dialogue, but only -the broadest and heartiest fun. - -“If the scenes are ungenteel,” said he, “it is because nature is made -up of ungenteel things. Your modern gentleman is, to my mind, much less -interesting than your ungenteel person; and I believe that Tony Lumpkin -when admirably represented, as he will be by Mr. Quick, will be a -greater favourite with all who come to the playhouse than the finest -gentleman who ever uttered an artificial sentiment to fall exquisitely -on the ear of a boarding-school miss. So, by my faith! I'll not -interfere with his romping.” - -He was fluent and decisive on this point, as he was on every other point -on which he had made up his mind. He only stammered and stuttered when -he did not know what he was about to say, and this frequently arose from -his over-sensitiveness in regard to the feelings of others--a disability -which could never be laid to the charge of Dr. Johnson, who was, in -consequence, delightfully fluent. - -On the evening of the third rehearsal of the play with the amended cast, -he went to Reynolds's house in Leicester Square to dine. He knew that -the Horneck family would be there, and he looked forward with some -degree of apprehension to his meeting with Mary. He felt that she might -think he looked for some explanation of her strange words spoken when he -was by her side at the Pantheon. But he wanted no explanation from her. -The words still lay as a burden upon his heart, but he felt that it -would pain her to attempt an explanation of them, and he was quite -content that matters should remain as they were. Whatever the words -might have meant, it was impossible that they could mean anything that -might cause him to think of her with less reverence and affection. - -He arrived early at Reynolds's house, but it did not take him long to -find out that he was not the first arrival. From the large drawingroom -there came to his ears the sound of laughter--such laughter as caused -him to remark to the servant-- - -“I perceive that Mr. Garrick is already in the house, Ralph.” - -“Mr. Garrick has been here with the young ladies for the past half-hour, -sir,” replied Ralph. - -“I shouldn't wonder if, on inquiry, it were found that he has been -entertaining them,” said Goldsmith. - -Ralph, who knew perfectly well what was the exact form that the -entertainment assumed, busied himself hanging up the visitor's hat. - -The fact was that, for the previous quarter of an hour, Garrick had been -keeping Mary Horneck and her sister, and even Miss Reynolds, in fits -of laughter by his burlesque account of Goldsmith's interview with an -amanuensis who had been recommended to him with a view of saving him -much manual labour. Goldsmith had told him the story originally, and the -imagination of Garrick was quite equal to the duty of supplying all the -details necessary for the burlesque. He pretended to be the amanuensis -entering the room in which Goldsmith was supposed to be seated working -laboriously at his “Animated Nature.” - -“Good morning, sir, good morning,” he cried, pretending to take off -his gloves and shake the dust off them with the most perfect -self-possession, previous to laying them in his hat on a chair. “Now -mind you don't sit there, Dr. Goldsmith,” he continued, raising a -warning finger. A little motion of his body, and the pert amanuensis, -with his mincing ways, was transformed into the awkward Goldsmith, shy -and self-conscious in the presence of a stranger, hastening with clumsy -politeness to get him a chair, and, of course, dragging forward the very -one on which the man had placed his hat. “Now, now, now, what are you -about?”--once more Garrick was the amanuensis. “Did not I warn you to -be careful about that chair, sir? Eh? I only told you not to sit in it? -Sir, that excuse is a mere quibble--a mere quibble. This must not occur -again, or I shall be forced to dismiss you, and where will you be then, -my good sir? Now to business, Doctor; but first you will tell your man -to make me a cup of chocolate--with milk, sir--plenty of milk, and two -lumps of sugar--plantation sugar, sir; I flatter myself that I am a -patriot--none of your foreign manufactures for me. And now that I think -on't, your laundress would do well to wash and iron my ruffles for -me; and mind you tell her to be careful of the one with the tear in -it”--this shouted half-way out of the door through which he had shown -Goldsmith hurrying with the ruffles and the order for the chocolate. -Then came the monologue of the amanuensis strolling about the room, -passing his sneering remarks at the furniture--opening a letter which -had just come by post, and reading it _sotto voce_. It was supposed to -be from Filby, the tailor, and to state that the field-marshal's uniform -in which Dr. Goldsmith meant to appear at the next masked ball at the -Haymarket would be ready in a few days, and to inquire if Dr. Goldsmith -had made up his mind as to the exact orders which he meant to -wear, ending with a compliment upon Dr. Goldsmith's good taste and -discrimination in choosing a costume which was so well adapted to -his physique, and a humble suggestion that it should be worn upon the -occasion of the first performance of the new comedy, when the writer -hoped no objection would be raised to the hanging of a board in front of -the author's box with “Made by Filby” printed on it. - -Garrick's reading of the imaginary letter, stumbling over certain -words--giving an odd turn and a ludicrous misreading to a phrase here -and there, and finally his turning over the letter and mumbling a -postscript alluding to the length of time that had passed since the -writer had received a payment on account, could not have been surpassed. -The effect of the comedy upon the people in the room was immeasurably -heightened by the entrance of Goldsmith in the flesh, when Garrick, -as the amanuensis, immediately walked to him gravely with the scrap of -paper which had done duty as the letter, in his hand, asking him if what -was written there in black and white about the field-marshal's uniform -was correct, and if he meant to agree to Filby's request to wear it on -the first night of the comedy. - -Goldsmith perceived that Garrick was giving an example of the impromptu -entertainment in which he delighted, and at once entered into the spirit -of the scene, saying-“Why, yes, sir; I have come to the conclusion that -more credit should be given to a man who has brought to a successful -issue a campaign against the prejudices and stupidities of the manager -of a playhouse than to the generalissimo of an army in the field, so why -should not I wear a field-marshal's uniform, sir?” - -The laugh was against Garrick, which pleased him greatly, for he knew -that Goldsmith would feel that he was sharing in the entertainment, -and would not regard it as a burlesque upon himself personally. In -an instant, however, the actor had ceased to be the supercilious -amanuensis, and became David Garrick, crying-- - -“Nay, sir, you are out of the play altogether. You are presuming to -reply to the amanuensis, which, I need scarcely tell a gentleman of -your experience, is a preposterous idea, and out of all consistency with -nature.” - -Goldsmith had shaken hands with all his friends, and being quite elated -at the success of his reply to the brilliant Garrick, did not mind much -what might follow. - -At what did actually follow Goldsmith laughed as heartily as any one in -the room. - -“Come, sir,” said the amanuensis, “we have no time to waste over empty -civilities. We have our 'Animated Nature' to proceed with; we -cannot keep the world waiting any longer; it matters not about the -booksellers, 'tis the world we think of. What is this?”--picking up an -imaginary paper--“'The derivation of the name of the elephant has taxed -the ingeniousness of many able writers, but there can be no doubt in -the mind of any one who has seen that noble creature, as I have, in -its native woods, careering nimbly from branch to branch of the largest -trees in search of the butterflies, which form its sole food, that -the name elephant is but a corruption of elegant, the movements of the -animal being as singularly graceful as its shape is in accordance with -all accepted ideas of symmetry.' Sir, this is mighty fine, but your -style lacks animation. A writer on 'Animated Nature' should be himself -both animated and natural, as one who translates Buffon should himself -be a buffoon.” - -In this strain of nonsense Garrick went on for the next ten minutes, -leading up to a simulated dispute between Goldsmith and his amanuensis -as to whether a dog lived on land or water. The dispute waxed warmer -and warmer, until at last blows were exchanged and the amanuensis kicked -Goldsmith through the door and down the stairs. The bumping of the -imaginary man from step to step was heard in the drawing-room, and then -the amanuensis entered, smiling and rubbing his hands as he remarked-- - -“The impertinent fellow! To presume to dictate to his amanuensis! -Lord! what's the world coming to when a common literary man presumes to -dictate to his amanuensis?” - -Such buffoonery was what Garrick loved. At Dr. Burney's new house, -around the corner in St. Martin's street, he used to keep the household -in roars of laughter--as one delightful member of the household has -recorded--over his burlesque auctions of books, and his imitations of -Dr. Johnson. - -“And all this,” said Goldsmith, “came out of the paltry story which I -told him of how I hired an amanuensis, but found myself dumb the moment -he sat down to work, so that, after making a number of excuses which I -knew he saw through, I found it to my advantage to give the man a guinea -and send him away.” - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -Goldsmith was delighted to find that the Jessamy Bride seemed free from -care. He had gone to Reynolds' in fear and trembling lest he should hear -that she was unable to join the party; but now he found her in as merry -a mood as he had ever known her to be in. He was seated by her side at -dinner, and he was glad to find that there was upon her no trace of the -mysterious mood that had spoiled his pleasure at the Pantheon. - -She had, of course, heard of the troubles at the playhouse, and she told -him that nothing would induce her ever to speak to Colman, though -she said that she and Little Comedy, when they had first heard of the -intention of the manager to withdraw the piece, had resolved to go -together to the theatre and demand its immediate production on the -finest scale possible. - -“There's still great need for some one who will be able to influence -Colman in that respect,” said Goldsmith. “Only to-day, when I ventured -to talk of a fresh scene being painted, He told me that it was not -his intention to proceed to such expense for a piece that would not be -played for longer than a small portion of one evening.” - -“The monster!” cried the girl. “I should like to talk to him as I -feel about this. What, is he mad enough to expect that playgoers will -tolerate his wretched old scenery in a new comedy? Oh, clearly he needs -some one to be near him who will speak plainly to him and tell him -how contemptible he is. Your friend Dr. Johnson should go to him. -The occasion is one that demands the powers of a man who has a whole -dictionary at his back--yes, Dr. Johnson should go to him and threaten -that if he does not behave handsomely he will, in his next edition of -the Dictionary, define a scoundrel as a playhouse manager who keeps -an author in suspense for months, and then produces his comedy so -ungenerously as to make its failure a certainty. But, no, your play -will be the greater success on account of its having to overcome all the -obstacles which Mr. Colman has placed in its way.” - -“I know, dear child, that if it depended on your good will it would be -the greatest success of the century,” said he. - -“And so it will be--oh, it must be! Little Comedy and I will--oh, we -shall insist on the playgoers liking it! We will sit in front of a box -and lead all the applause, and we will, besides, keep stern eyes fixed -upon any one who may have the bad taste to decline to follow us.” - -“You are kindness itself, my dear; and meanwhile, if you would come to -the remaining rehearsals, and spend all your spare time thinking out a -suitable name for the play you would be conferring an additional favour -upon an ill-treated author.” - -“I will do both, and it will be strange if I do not succeed in at least -one of the two enterprises--the first being the changing of the mistakes -of a manager into the success of a night, and the second the changing of -the 'Mistakes of a Night' into the success of a manager--ay, and of an -author as well.” - -“Admirably spoke!” cried the author. “I have a mind to let the name 'The -Mistakes of a Night' stand, you have made such a pretty play upon it.” - -“No, no; that is not the kind of play to fill the theatre,” said she. -“Oh, do not be afraid; it will be very strange if between us we cannot -hit upon a title that will deserve, if not a coronet, at least a wreath -of laurel.” Sir Joshua, who was sitting at the head of the table, not -far away, had put up his ear-trumpet between the courses, and caught a -word or two of the girl's sentence. - -“I presume that you are still discussing the great title question,” said -he. “You need not do so. Have I not given you my assurance that 'The -Belle's Stratagem' is the best name that the play could receive?” - -“Nay, that title Dr. Goldsmith holds to be one of the 'mistakes of a -Knight!'” said Mr. Bunbury in a low tone. He delighted in a pun, but did -not like too many people to hear him make one. - -“'The Belle's Stratagem' I hold to be a good enough title until we get -a better,” said Goldsmith. “I have confidence in the ingenuity of Miss -Horneck to discover the better one.” - -“Nay, I protest if you do not take my title I shall go to the playhouse -and damn the play,” said Reynolds. “I have given it its proper name, -and if it appears in public under any other it will have earned the -reprobation of all honest folk who detest an _alias_.” - -“Then that name shall stand,” said Goldsmith. “I give you my word, Sir -Joshua, I would rather see my play succeed under your title than have -it damned under a title given to it by the next best man to you in -England.” - -“That is very well said, indeed,” remarked Sir Joshua. “It gives -evidence of a certain generosity of feeling on your part which all -should respect.” - -Miss Kauffman, who sat at Sir Joshua's right, smiled a trifle vaguely, -for she had not quite understood the drift of Goldsmith's phrase, -but from the other end of the table there came quite an outburst of -laughter. Garrick sat there with Mrs. Bunbury and Baretti, to whom he -was telling an imaginary story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room. - -Dr. Burney, who sat at the other side of the table, had ventured to -question the likelihood of an audience's apprehending the humour of the -story at which Diggory had only hinted. He wondered if the story should -not be told for the benefit of the playgoers. - -A gentleman whom Bunbury had brought to dinner--his name was Colonel -Gwyn, and it was known that he was a great admirer of Mary Horneck--took -up the question quite seriously. - -“For my part,” he said, “I admit frankly that I have never heard the -story of Grouse in the gun-room.” - -“Is it possible, sir?” cried Garrick. “What, you mean to say that you -are not familiar with the reply of Ould Grouse to the young woman who -asked him how he found his way into the gun-room when the door was -locked--that about every gun having a lock, and so forth?” - -“No, sir,” cried Colonel Gwyn. “I had no idea that the story was a -familiar one. It seems interesting, too.” - -“Oh, 't is amazingly interesting,” said Garrick. “But you are an -army man, Colonel Gwyn; you have heard it frequently told over the -mess-table.” - -“I protest, sir,” said Colonel Gwyn, “I know so little about it that -I fancied Ould Grouse was the name of a dog--I have myself known of -sporting dogs called Grouse.” - -“Oh, Colonel, you surprise me,” cried Garrick. “Ould Grouse a dog! Pray -do not hint so much to Dr. Goldsmith. He is a very sensitive man, -and would feel greatly hurt by such a suggestion. I believe that Dr. -Goldsmith was an intimate friend of Ould Grouse and felt his death -severely.” - -“Then he is dead?” said Gwyn. “That, sir, gives a melancholy interest to -the narrative.” - -“A particularly pathetic interest, sir,” said Garrick, shaking his head. -“I was not among his intimates, Colonel Gwyn, but when I reflect that -that dear simple-minded old soul is gone from us--that the gunroom door -is now open, but that within there is silence--no sound of the dear old -feet that were wont to patter and potter--you will pardon my emotion, -madam”--He turned with streaming eyes to Miss Reynolds, who forthwith -became sympathetically affected, her voice breaking as she endeavoured -to assure Garrick that his emotion, so far from requiring an apology, -did him honour. Bunbury, who was ready to roar, could not do so now -without seeming to laugh at the feeling of his hostess, and his wife had -too high an appreciation of comedy not to be able to keep her face -perfectly grave, while a sob or two that he seemed quite unable to -suppress came from the napkin which Garrick held up to his face. Baretti -said something in Italian to Dr. Burney across the table, about the -melancholy nature of the party, and then Garrick dropped his napkin, -saying-- - -“'T is selfish to repine, and he himself--dear old soul!--would be the -last to countenance a show of melancholy; for, as his remarks in the -gun-room testify, Colonel Gwyn, he had a fine sense of humour. I fancy -I see him, the broad smile lighting up his homely features, as he -delivered that sly thrust at his questioner, for it is perfectly well -known, Colonel, that so far as poaching was concerned the other man had -no particular character in the neighbourhood.” - -“Oh, Grouse was a poacher, then,” said the Colonel. - -“Well, if the truth must be told--but no, the man is dead and gone now,” - cried Garrick, “and it is more generous only to remember, as we all -do, the nimbleness of his wit--the genial mirth which ran through the -gun-room after that famous sally of his. It seems that honest homely fun -is dying out in England; the country stands in need of an Ould Grouse -or two just now, and let us hope that when the story of that quiet, yet -thoroughly jovial, remark of his in the gun-room comes to be told in the -comedy, there will be a revival of the good old days when men were not -afraid to joke, sir, and----” - -“But so far as I can gather from what Mrs. Bunbury, who heard the comedy -read, has told me, the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room is never -actually narrated, but only hinted at,” said Gwyn. - -“That makes little matter, sir,” said Garrick. “The untold story of Ould -Grouse in the gun-room will be more heartily laughed at during the next -year or two than the best story of which every detail is given.” - -“At any rate, Colonel Gwyn,” said Mrs. Bunbury, “after the pains which -Mr. Garrick has taken to acquaint you with the amplest particulars of -the story you cannot in future profess to be unacquainted with it.” - Colonel Gwyn looked puzzled. - -“I protest, madam,” said he, “that up to the present--ah! I fear that -the very familiarity of Mr. Garrick with the story has caused him to -be led to take too much for granted. I do not question the humour, mind -you--I fancy that I am as quick as most men to see a joke, but----” - -This was too much for Bunbury and Burney. They both roared with -laughter, which increased in volume as the puzzled look upon Colonel -Gwyn's face was taken up by Garrick, as he glanced first at Burney and -then at Little Comedy's husband. Poor Miss Reynolds, who could never -quite make out what was going on around her in that strange household -where she had been thrown by an ironical fate, looked gravely at the -ultra-grave Garrick, and then smiled artificially at Dr. Burney with -a view of assuring him that she understood perfectly how he came to be -merry. - -“Colonel Gwyn,” said Garrick, “these gentlemen seem to have their own -reasons for merriment, but I think you and I can better discriminate -when to laugh and when to refrain from laughter. And yet--ah, I perceive -they are recalling the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, and that, -sure enough, would convulse an Egyptian mummy or a statue of Nestor; and -the funny part of the business is yet to come, for up to the present I -don't believe that I told you that the man had actually been married for -some years.” - -He laughed so heartily that Colonel Gwyn could not refrain from joining -in, though his laughter was a good deal less hearty than that of any of -the others who had enjoyed Garrick's whimsical fun. - -When the men were left alone at the table, there was some little -embarrassment owing to the deficiency of glass, for Sir Joshua, who -was hospitable to a fault, keeping an open house and dining his friends -every evening, could never be persuaded to replace the glass which -chanced to be broken. Garrick made an excuse of the shortness of -port-glasses at his end of the table to move up beside Goldsmith, whom -he cheered by telling him that he had already given a lesson to Woodward -regarding the speaking of the prologue which he, Garrick, had written -for the comedy. He said he believed Woodward would repeat the lines very -effectively. When Goldsmith mentioned that Colman declined to have a -single scene painted for the production, both Sir Joshua and Garrick -were indignant. - -“You would have done well to leave the piece in my hands, Noll,” said -the latter, alluding to the circumstance of Goldsmith's having sent the -play to him on Colman's first refusal to produce it. - -“Ah, Davy, my friend,” Goldsmith replied, “I feel more at my ease in -reflecting that in another week I shall know the worst--or the best. If -the play had remained with you I should feel like a condemned criminal -for the next year or two.” - -In the drawing-room that evening Garrick and Goldsmith got up the -entertainment, which was possibly the most diverting one ever seen in a -room. - -Goldsmith sat on Garrick's knees with a table-cloth drawn over his head -and body, leaving his arms only exposed. Garrick then began reciting -long sentimental soliloquies from certain plays, which Goldsmith was -supposed to illustrate by his gestures. The form of the entertainment -has survived, and sometimes by chance it becomes humourous. But with -Garrick repeating the lines and thrilling his audience by his marvellous -change of expression as no audience has since been thrilled, and with -Goldsmith burlesquing with inappropriately extravagant and wholly -amusing gestures the passionate deliverances, it can easily be believed -that Sir Joshua's guests were convulsed. - -After some time of this division of labour, the position of the two -playmates was reversed. It was Garrick who sat on Goldsmith's knees and -did the gesticulating, while the poet attempted to deliver his lines -after the manner of the player. The effect was even more ludicrous -than that of the previous combination; and then, in the middle of an -affecting passage from Addison's “Cato,” Goldsmith began to sing -the song which he had been compelled to omit from the part of Miss -Hardcastle, owing to Mrs. Bulkley's not being a singer. Of course -Garrick's gestures during the delivery of the song were marvellously -ingenious, and an additional element of attraction was introduced by -Dr. Burney, who hastily seated himself at the pianoforte and interwove a -medley accompaniment, introducing all the airs then popular, but without -prejudice to the harmonies of the accompaniment. - -Reynolds stood by the side of his friend, Miss Kauffman, and when this -marvellous fooling had come to an end, except for the extra diversion -caused by Garrick's declining to leave Goldsmith's knees--he begged the -lady to favour the company with an Italian song which she was accustomed -to sing to the accompaniment of a guitar. But Miss Angelica shook her -head. - -“Pray add your entreaties to mine, Miss Horneck,” said Sir Joshua to -the Jessamy Bride. “Entreat our Angel of Art to give us the pleasure of -hearing her sing.” - -Miss Horneck rose, and made an elaborate curtsey before the smiling -Angelica. - -“Oh, Madame Angel, live forever!” she cried. “Will your Majesty -condescend to let us hear your angelic voice? You have already deigned -to captivate our souls by the exercise of one art; will you now stoop to -conquer our savage hearts by the exercise of another?” - -A sudden cry startled the company, and at the same instant Garrick was -thrown on his hands and knees on the floor by the act of Goldsmith's -springing to his feet. - -“By the Lord, I've got it!” shouted Goldsmith. “The Jessamy Bride has -given it to me, as I knew she would--the title of my comedy--she has -just said it: '_She Stoops to Conquer_.'” - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -As a matter of course, Colman objected to the new title when Goldsmith -communicated it to him the next day; but the latter was firm on this -particular point. He had given the play its name, he said, and he would -not alter it now on any consideration. - -Colman once again shrugged his shoulders. The production of the play -gave him so much practice at shrugging, Goldsmith expressed his regret -at not being able to introduce the part of a Frenchman, which he said he -believed the manager would play to perfection. - -But when Johnson, who attended the rehearsal with Miss Reynolds, the -whole Horneck family, Cradock and Murphy, asserted, as he did with his -customary emphasis, that no better title than “She Stoops to Conquer” - could be found for the comedy, Colman made no further objections, and -the rehearsal was proceeded with. - -“Nay, sir,” cried Johnson, when Goldsmith was leaving his party in a box -in order to go upon the stage, “Nay, sir, you shall not desert us. You -must stay by us to let us know when the jests are spoken, so that we -may be fully qualified to laugh at the right moments when the theatre is -filled. Why, Goldy, you would not leave us to our own resources?” - -“I will be the Lieutenant Cook of the comedy, Dr. Johnson,” said Miss -Horneck--Lieutenant Cook and his discoveries constituted the chief -topics of the hour. “I believe that I know so much of the dialogue as -will enable me to pilot you, not merely to the Otaheite of a jest, but -to a whole archipelago of wit.” - -“Otaheite is a name of good omen,” said Cradock. “It is suggestive of -palms, and '_palmam qui meruit ferat._'” - -“Sir,” said Johnson, “you should know better than to quote Latin in the -presence of ladies. Though your remark is not quite so bad as I expected -it would be, yet let me tell you, sir, that unless the wit in the comedy -is a good deal livelier than yours, it will have a poor chance with the -playgoers.” - -“Oh, sir, Dr. Goldsmith's wit is greatly superior to mine,” laughed -Cradock. “Otherwise it would be my comedy that would be in rehearsal, -and Dr. Goldsmith would be merely on a level with us who constitute his -critics.” - -Goldsmith had gone on the stage and the rehearsal had begun, so that -Johnson was enabled, by pretending to give all his attention to the -opening dialogue, to hide his lack of an effective reply to Cradock for -his insolence in suggesting that they were both on the same level as -critics. - -Before Shuter, as Old Hardcastle, had more than begun to drill his -servants, the mighty laughter of Dr. Johnson was shaking the box. Every -outburst was like the exploding of a bomb, or, as Cradock put it, the -broadside coming from the carronade of a three-decker. He had laughed -and applauded during the scene at the Three Pigeons--especially the -satirical sallies directed against the sentimentalists--but it was the -drilling of the servants that excited him most, and he inquired of Miss -Horneck-- - -“Pray what is the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, my dear?” - -When the members of the company learned that it was the great Dr. Samuel -Johnson who was roaring with laughter in the box, they were as much -amazed as they were encouraged. Colman, who had come upon the stage -out of compliment to Johnson, feeling that his position as an authority -regarding the elements of diversion in a play was being undermined in -the estimation of his company, remarked-- - -“Your friend Dr. Johnson will be a friend indeed if he comes in as -generous a mood to the first representation. I only hope that the -playgoers will not resent his attempt to instruct them on the subject of -your wit.” - -“I don't think that there is any one alive who will venture to resent -the instruction of Dr. Johnson,” said Goldsmith quietly. - -The result of this rehearsal and of the three rehearsals that followed -it during the week, was more than encouraging to the actors, and it -became understood that Woodward and Gentleman Smith were ready to admit -their regret at having relinquished the parts for which they had been -originally cast. The former had asked to be permitted to speak the -prologue, which Garrick had written, and, upon which, as he had told -Goldsmith, he had already given a hint or two to Woodward. - -The difficulty of the epilogue, however, still remained. The one which -Murphy had written for Mrs. Bulkley was objected to by Miss Catley, who -threatened to leave the company if Mrs. Bulkley, who had been merely -thrust forward to take Mrs. Abington's place, were entrusted with the -epilogue; and, when Cradock wrote another for Miss Catley, Mrs. Bulkley -declared that if Miss Catley were allowed the distinction which she -herself had a right to claim, she would leave the theatre. Goldsmith's -ingenuity suggested the writing of an epilogue in which both the ladies -were presented in their true characters as quarreling on the subject; -but Colman placed his veto upon this idea and also upon another simple -epilogue which the author had written. Only on the day preceding -the first performance did Goldsmith produce the epilogue which was -eventually spoken by Mrs. Bulkley. - -“It seems to me to be a pity to waste so much time discussing an -epilogue which will never be spoke,” sneered Colman when the last -difficulties had been smoothed over. - -Goldsmith walked away without another word, and joined his party, -consisting of Johnson, Reynolds, Miss Reynolds, the Bunburys and Mary -Horneck. Now that he had done all his work connected with the production -of the play--when he had not allowed himself to be overcome by the -niggardly behaviour of the manager in declining to spend a single penny -either upon the dresses or the scenery, that parting sneer of Colman's -almost caused him to break down. - -Mary Horneck perceived this, and hastened to say something kind to him. -She knew so well what would be truly encouraging to him that she did not -hesitate for a moment. - -“I am glad I am not going to the theatre to-night,” she said; “my dress -would be ruined.” - -He tried to smile as he asked her for an explanation. - -“Why, surely you heard the way the cleaners were laughing at the humour -of the play,” she cried. “Oh, yes, all the cleaners dropped their -dusters, and stood around the boxes in fits of laughter. I overheard one -of the candle-snuffers say that no play he had seen rehearsed for years -contained such wit as yours. I also overheard another man cursing Mr. -Col-man for a curmudgeon.” - -“You did? Thank God for that; 't is a great responsibility off my mind,” - said Goldsmith. “Oh, my dear Jessamy Bride, I know how kind you are, and -I only hope that your god-child will turn out a credit to me.” - -“It is not merely your credit that is involved in the success of this -play, sir,” said Johnson. “The credit of your friends, who insisted on -Colman's taking the play, is also at stake.” - -“And above all,” said Reynolds pleasantly, “the play must be a success -in order to put Colman in the wrong.” - -“That is the best reason that could be advanced why its success is -important to us all,” said Mary. “It would never do for Colman to be in -the right. Oh, we need live in no trepidation; all our credits will be -saved by Monday night.” - -“I wonder if any unworthy man ever had so many worthy friends,” said -Goldsmith. “I am overcome by their kindness, and overwhelmed with a -sense of my own unworthiness.” - -“You will have another thousand friends by Monday night, sir,” cried -Johnson. “Your true friend, sir, is the friend who pays for his seat to -hear your play.” - -“I always held that the best definition of a true friend is the man who, -when you are in the hands of bailiffs, comes to see you, but takes care -to send a guinea in advance,” said Goldsmith, and every one present knew -that he alluded to the occasion upon which he had been befriended by -Johnson on the day that “The Vicar of Wakefield” was sold. - -“And now,” said Reynolds, “I have to prove how certain we are of the -future of your piece by asking you to join us at dinner on Monday -previous to the performance.” - -“Commonplace people would invite you to supper, sir, to celebrate the -success of the play,” said Johnson. “To proffer such an invitation would -be to admit that we were only convinced of your worth after the public -had attested to it in the most practical way. But we, Dr. Goldsmith, who -know your worth, and have known it all these years, wish to show that -our esteem remains independent of the verdict of the public. On Monday -night, sir, you will find a thousand people who will esteem it an honour -to have you to sup with them; but on Monday afternoon you will dine with -us.” - -“You not only mean better than any other man, sir, you express what -you mean better,” said Goldsmith. “A compliment is doubly a compliment -coming from Dr. Johnson.” - -He was quite overcome, and, observing this, Reynolds and Mary Horneck -walked away together, leaving him to compose himself under the shelter -of a somewhat protracted analysis by Dr. Johnson of the character -of Young Marlow. In the course of a quarter of an hour Goldsmith had -sufficiently recovered to be able to perceive for the first time how -remarkable a character he had created. - -On Monday George Steevens called for Goldsmith to accompany him to the -St. James's coffee-house, where the dinner was to take place. He found -the author giving the finishing touches to his toilet, his coat being a -salmon-pink in tint, and his waistcoat a pale yellow, embroidered -with silver. Filby's bills (unpaid, alas!) prevent one from making any -mistake on this point. - -“Heavens!” cried the visitor. “Have you forgot that you cannot wear -colours?” - -“Why not?” asked Goldsmith. “Because Woodward is to appear in mourning -to speak the prologue, is that any reason why the author of the comedy -should also be in black?” - -“Nay,” said Steevens, “that is not the reason. How is it possible that -you forget the Court is in mourning for the King of Sardinia? That coat -of yours is a splendid one, I allow, but if you were to appear in it in -front of your box a very bad impression would be produced. I suppose you -hope that the King will command a performance.” - -Goldsmith's face fell. He looked at the reflection of the gorgeous -garments in a mirror and sighed. He had a great weakness for colour in -dress. At last he took off the coat and gave another fond look at it -before throwing it over the back of a chair. - -“It was an inspiration on your part to come for me, my dear friend,” - said he. “I would not for a good deal have made such a mistake.” - -He reappeared in a few moments in a suit of sober grey, and drove with -his friend to the coffee-house, where the party, consisting of Johnson, -Reynolds, Edmund and Richard Burke, and Caleb Whitefoord, had already -assembled. - -It soon became plain that Goldsmith was extremely nervous. He shook -hands twice with Richard Burke and asked him if he had heard that the -King of Sardinia was dead, adding that it was a constant matter for -regret with him that he had not visited Sardinia when on his travels. He -expressed a hope that the death of the King of Sardinia would not have -so depressing an effect upon playgoers generally as to prejudice their -enjoyment of his comedy. - -Edmund Burke, understanding his mood, assured him gravely that he did -not think one should be apprehensive on this score, adding that it would -be quite possible to overestimate the poignancy of the grief which the -frequenters of the pit were likely to feel at so melancholy but, after -all, so inevitable an occurrence as the decease of a potentate whose -name they had probably never heard. - -Goldsmith shook his head doubtfully, and said he would try and hope for -the best, but still.... - -Then he hastened to Steevens, who was laughing heartily at a pun of -Whitefoord's, and said he was certain that neither of them could have -heard that the King of Sardinia was dead, or they would moderate their -merriment. - -The dinner was a dismal failure, so far as the guest of the party was -concerned. He was unable to swallow a morsel, so parched had his throat -become through sheer nervousness, and he could not be induced to partake -of more than a single glass of wine. He was evermore glancing at the -clock and expressing a hope that the dinner would be over in good time -to allow of their driving comfortably to the theatre. - -Dr. Johnson was at first greatly concerned on learning from Reynolds -that Goldsmith was eating nothing; but when Goldsmith, in his -nervousness, began to boast of the fine dinners of which he had partaken -at Lord Clare's house, and of the splendour of the banquets which took -place daily in the common hall of Trinity College, Dublin, Johnson gave -all his attention to his own plate, and addressed no further word to -him--not even to remind him, as he described the glories of Trinity -College to his friend Burke, that Burke had been at the college with -him. - -While there was still plenty of time to spare even for walking to the -theatre, Goldsmith left the room hastily, explaining elaborately that he -had forgotten to brush his hat before leaving his chambers, and he meant -to have the omission repaired without delay. - -He never returned. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -The party remained in the room for some time, and when at last a waiter -from the bar was sent for and requested to tell Dr. Goldsmith, who was -having his hat brushed, that his party were ready to leave the house, -the man stated that Dr. Goldsmith had left some time ago, hurrying in -the direction of Pall Mall. - -“Psha! sir,” said Johnson to Burke, “Dr. Goldsmith is little better than -a fool.” Johnson did not know what such nervousness as Goldsmith's was. - -“Yes,” said Burke, “Dr. Goldsmith is, I suppose, the greatest fool that -ever wrote the best poem of a century, the best novel of a century, and -let us hope that, after the lapse of a few hours, I may be able to say -the best comedy of a century.” - -“I suppose we may take it for granted that he has gone to the -playhouse?” said Richard Burke. - -“It is not wise to take anything for granted so far as Goldsmith is -concerned,” said Steevens. “I think that the best course we can adopt -is for some of us to go to the playhouse without delay. The play must be -looked after; but for myself I mean to look after the author. Gentlemen, -Oliver Goldsmith needs to be looked after carefully. No one knows what a -burden he has been forced to bear during the past month.” - -“You think it is actually possible that he has not preceded us to the -playhouse, sir,” said Johnson. - -“If I know anything of him, sir,” said Steevens, “the playhouse is just -the place which he would most persistently avoid.” There was a long -pause before Johnson said in his weightiest manner: - -“Sir, we are all his friends; we hold you responsible for his safety.” - -“That is very kind of you, sir,” replied Steevens. “But you may rest -assured that I will do my best to find him, wherever he may be.” - -While the rest of the party set out for Covent Garden Theatre, Steevens -hurried off in the opposite direction. He felt that he understood -Goldsmith's mood. He believed that he would come upon him sitting -alone in some little-frequented coffee house brooding over the probable -failure of his play. The cheerful optimism of the man, which enabled -him to hold out against Colman and his sneers, would, he was convinced, -suffer a relapse when there was no urgent reason for its exercise, and -his naturally sanguine temperament would at this critical hour of his -life give place to a brooding melancholy, making it impossible for him -to put in an appearance at the theatre, and driving him far from his -friends. Steevens actually made up his mind that if he failed to find -Goldsmith during the next hour or two, he would seek him at his cottage -on the Edgware road. - -He went on foot from coffee house to coffee house--from Jack's, in Dean -street, to the Old Bell, in Westminster--but he failed to discover his -friend in one of them. An hour and a half he spent in this way; and all -this time roars of laughter from every part of the playhouse--except -the one box that held Cumberland and his friends--were greeting the -brilliant dialogue, the natural characterisation, and the admirably -contrived situations in the best comedy that a century of brilliant -authors had witnessed. - -The scene comes before one with all the vividness that many able pens -have imparted to a description of its details. We see the enormous -figure of Dr. Johnson leaning far out of the box nearest the stage, with -a hand behind his ear, so as to lose no word spoken on the stage; and -as phrase after phrase, sparkling with wit, quivering with humour and -vivified with numbers of allusions to the events of the hour, is spoken, -he seems to shake the theatre with his laughter. - -Reynolds is in the opposite corner, his ear-trumpet resting on the ledge -of the box, his face smiling thoughtfully; and between these two -notable figures Miss Reynolds is seated bolt upright, and looking rather -frightened as the people in the pit look up now and again at the box. - -Baretti is in the next box with Angelica Kauffman, Dr. Burney and little -Miss Fanny Burney, destined in a year or two to become for a time the -most notable woman in England. On the other side of the house Lord Clare -occupies a box with his charming tom-boy daughter, who is convulsed with -laughter as she hears reference made in the dialogue to the trick which -she once played upon the wig of her dear friend the author. General -Oglethorpe, who is beside her, holds up his finger in mock reproof, and -Lord Camden, standing behind his chair, looks as if he regretted having -lost the opportunity of continuing his acquaintance with an author whom -every one is so highly honouring at the moment. - -Cumberland and his friends are in a lower box, “looking glum,” as one -witness asserts, though a good many years later Cumberland boasted of -having contributed in so marked a way to the applause as to call forth -the resentment of the pit. - -In the next box Hugh Kelly, whose most noted success at Drury Lane a few -years previously eclipsed Goldsmith's “Good-Natured Man” at “the other -house,” sits by the side of Macpherson, the rhapsodist who invented -“Ossian.” He glares at Dr. Johnson, who had no hesitation in calling him -an impostor. - -The Burkes, Edmund and Richard, are in a box with Mrs. Horneck and her -younger daughter, who follows breathlessly the words with which she has -for long been familiar, and at every shout of laughter that comes from -the pit she is moved almost to tears. She is quite unaware of the fact -that Colonel Gwyn, sitting alone in another part of the house, has his -eyes fixed upon her--earnestly, affectionately. Her brother and his -_fiancée_ are in a box with the Bunburys; and in the most important -box in the house Mrs. Thrale sits well forward, so that all eyes may -be gratified by beholding her. It does not so much matter about her -husband, who once thought that the fact of his being the proprietor of a -concern whose operations represented the potentialities of wealth -beyond the dreams of avarice entitled him to play upon the mother of the -Gunnings when she first came to London the most contemptible hoax ever -recorded to the eternal discredit of a man. The Duchess of Argyll, -mindful of that trick which the cleverness of her mother turned to so -good account, does not condescend to notice from her box, where she sits -with Lady Betty Hamilton, either the brewer or his pushing wife, though -she is acquainted with old General Paoli, whom the latter is patronising -between the acts. - -What a play! What spectators! - -We listen to the one year by year with the same delight that it brought -to those who heard it this night for the first time; and we look with -delight at the faces of the notable spectators which the brush of the -little man with the ear-trumpet in Johnson's box has made immortal. - -Those two men in that box were the means of conferring immortality -upon their century. Incomparable Johnson, who chose Boswell to be his -biographer! Incomparable Reynolds, who, on innumerable canvases, handed -down to the next century all the grace and distinction of his own! - -And all this time Oliver Goldsmith is pacing with bent head and hands -nervously clasped behind him, backward and forward, the broad walk in -St. James's Park. - -Steevens came upon him there after spending nearly two hours searching -for him. - -“Don't speak, man, for God's sake,” cried Oliver. “'Tis not so dark but -that I can see disaster imprinted on your face. You come to tell me that -the comedy is ended--that the curtain was obliged to be rung down in the -middle of an act. You come to tell me that my comedy of life is ended.” - -“Not I,” said Steevens. “I have not been at the playhouse yet. Why, man, -what can be the matter with you? Why did you leave us in the lurch at -the coffee house?” - -“I don't know what you speak of,” said Goldsmith. “But I beg of you to -hasten to the playhouse and carry me the news of the play--don't fear to -tell me the worst; I have been in the world of letters for nearly twenty -years; I am not easily dismayed.” - -“My dear friend,” said Steevens, “I have no intention of going to -the playhouse unless you are in my company--I promised so much to Dr. -Johnson. What, man, have you no consideration for your friends, leaving -yourself out of the question? Have you no consideration for your art, -sir?” - -“What do you mean by that?” - -“I mean that perhaps while you are walking here some question may arise -on the stage that you, and you only, can decide--are you willing to -allow the future of your comedy to depend upon the decision of Colman, -who is not the man to let pass a chance of proving himself to be a true -prophet? Come, sir, you have shown yourself to be a man, and a great -man, too, before to-night. Why should your courage fail you now when I -am convinced you are on the eve of achieving a splendid success?” - -“It shall not--it shall not!” cried Goldsmith after a short pause. -“I'll not give in should the worst come to the worst. I feel that I -have something of a man in me still. The years that I have spent in -this battle have not crushed me into the earth. I'll go with you, my -friend--I'll go with you. Heaven grant that I may yet be in time to -avert disaster.” - -They hurried together to Charing Cross, where a hackney coach was -obtainable. All the time it was lumbering along the uneven streets to -Covent Garden, Goldsmith was talking excitedly about the likelihood of -the play being wrecked through Colman's taking advantage of his absence -to insist on a scene being omitted--or, perhaps, a whole act; and -nothing that Steevens could say to comfort him had any effect. - -When the vehicle turned the corner into Covent Garden he craned his -head out of the window and declared that the people were leaving the -playhouse--that his worst fears were realized. - -“Nonsense!” cried Steevens, who had put his head out of the other -window. “The people you see are only the footmen and linkmen incidental -to any performance. What, man, would the coachmen beside us be dozing on -their boxes if they were waiting to be called? No, my friend, the comedy -has yet to be damned.” - -When they got out of the coach Goldsmith hastened round to the stage -door, looking into the faces of the people who were lounging around, as -if to see in each of them the fate of his play written. He reached the -back of the stage and made for where Colman was standing, just as Quick, -in the part of Tony Lumpkin, was telling Mrs. Hardcastle that he had -driven her forty miles from her own house, when all the time she was -within twenty yards of it. In a moment he perceived that the lights -were far too strong; unless Mrs. Hardcastle was blind she could not have -failed to recognise the familiar features of the scene. The next moment -there came a hiss--a solitary hiss from the boxes. - -“What's that, Mr. Colman?” whispered the excited author. - -“Psha! sir,” said Colman brutally. “Why trouble yourself about a squib -when we have all been sitting on a barrel of gunpowder these two hours?” - -“That's a lie,” said Shuter, who was in the act of going on the stage as -Mr. Hardcastle. “'Tis a lie, Dr. Goldsmith. The success of your play was -assured from the first.” - -“By God! Mr. Colman, if it is a lie I'll never look on you as a friend -while I live!” said Goldsmith. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -It was a lie, and surely the most cruel and most objectless lie ever -uttered. Goldsmith was soon made aware of this. The laughter that -followed Tony Lumpkin's pretending to his mother that Mr. Hard-castle -was a highwayman was not the laugh of playgoers who have endured four -acts of a dull play; it was the laugh of people who have been in a good -humour for over two hours, and Goldsmith knew it. He perceived from -their laughter that the people in every part of the house were following -the comedy with extraordinary interest. Every point in the dialogue was -effective--the exquisite complications, the broad fun, the innumerable -touches of nature, all were appreciated by an audience whose expression -of gratification fell little short of rapture. - -When the scene was being shifted Col-man left the stage and did not -return to it until it was his duty to come forward after the epilogue -was spoken by Mrs. Bulkley and announce the date of the author's night. - -As soon as the manager had disappeared Goldsmith had a chance of -speaking to several of the actors at intervals as they made their exits, -and from them he learned the whole truth regarding the play: from the -first scene to the one which was being represented, the performance had -been a succession of triumphs, not only for the author, but for every -member of the company concerned in the production. With old dresses and -scenery familiar to all frequenters of the playhouse, the extraordinary -success of the comedy was beyond all question. The allusion to the -offensive terms of the Royal Marriage Act was especially relished by the -audience, several of the occupants of the pit rising to their feet and -cheering for some time--so much Goldsmith learned little by little at -intervals from the actors. - -“I swore never to look on Colman as my friend again, and I'll keep my -word; he has treated me cruelly--more cruelly than he has any idea -of,” said Goldsmith to Lee Lewes. “But as for you, Mr. Lewes, I'll do -anything that is in my power for you in the future. My poor play owes -much to you, sir.” - -“Faith then, sir,” cried Lewes, “I'll keep you to your word. My benefit -will take place in a short time; I'll ask you for a prologue, Dr. -Goldsmith.” - -“You shall have the best prologue I ever wrote,” said Goldsmith. - -And so he had. - -When the house was still cheering at the conclusion of the epilogue, -Goldsmith, overcome with emotion, hurried into the green room. Mrs. -Abington was the first person whom he met. She held down her head, -and affected a guilty look as she glanced at him sideways through -half-closed eyes. - -“Dr. Goldsmith,” she said in a tone modulated to a point of humility, -“I hope in your hour of triumph you will be generous to those who were -foolish enough to doubt the greatness of your work. Oh, sir, I pray -of you not to increase by your taunts the humiliation which I feel at -having resigned my part in your comedy. Believe me, I have been punished -sufficiently during the past two hours by hearing the words, which I -might have spoken, applauded so rapturously coming from another.” - -“Taunts, my dear madam; who speaks of taunts?” said he. “Nay, I have a -part in my mind for you already--that is, if you will be good enough to -accept it.” - -“Oh, sir, you are generosity itself!” cried the actress, offering him -both her hands. “I shall not fail to remind you of your promise, Dr. -Goldsmith.” - -[Illustration: 0173] - -And now the green room was being crowded by the members of the company -and the distinguished friends of the author, who were desirous of -congratulating him. Dr. Johnson's voice filled the room as his laughter -had filled the theatre. - -“We perceived the reason of your extraordinary and unusual modesty, Dr. -Goldsmith, before your play was many minutes on the stage,” said he. -“You dog, you took as your example the Italians who, on the eve of Lent, -indulge in a carnival, celebrating their farewell to flesh by a feast. -On the same analogy you had a glut of modesty previous to bidding -modesty good-bye forever; for to-night's performance will surely make -you a coxcomb.” - -“Oh, I hope not, sir,” said Goldsmith. “No, you don't hope it, sir,” - cried Johnson. “You are thinking at this moment how much better you are -than your betters--I see it on your face, you rascal.” - -“And he has a right to think so,” said Mrs. Bunbury. “Come, Dr. -Goldsmith, speak up, say something insulting to your betters.” - -“Certainly, madam,” said Goldsmith. “Where are they?” - -“Well said!” cried Edmund Burke. - -“Nay, sir,” said Johnson. “Dr. Goldsmith's satire is not strong enough. -We expected something more violent. 'Tis like landing one in one's back -garden when one has looked for Crackskull Common.” - -His mighty laughter echoed through the room and made the pictures shake -on the walls. - -Mary Horneck had not spoken. She had merely given her friend her hand. -She knew that he would understand her unuttered congratulations, and she -was not mistaken. - -For the next quarter of an hour there was an exchange of graceful wit -and gracious compliment between the various persons of distinction in -the green room. Mrs. Thrale, with her usual discrimination, conceived -the moment to be an opportune one for putting on what she fondly -imagined was an Irish brogue, in rallying Goldsmith upon some of the -points in his comedy. Miss Kauffman and Signor Baretti spoke Italian -into Reynolds's ear-trumpet, and Edmund Burke talked wittily in the -background with the Bunburys. - -So crowded the room was, no one seemed to notice how an officer in -uniform had stolen up to the side of Mary Horneck where she stood behind -Mr. Thrale and General Oglethorpe, and had withdrawn her into a corner, -saying a whispered word to her. No one seemed to observe the action, -though it was noticed by Goldsmith. He kept his eyes fixed upon the -girl, and perceived that, while the man was speaking to her, her eyes -were turned upon the floor and her left hand was pressed against her -heart. - -He kept looking at her all the time that Mrs. Thrale was rattling out -her inanities, too anxious to see what effect she was producing upon the -people within ear-shot to notice that the man whom she was addressing -was paying no attention to her. - -When the others as well ceased to pay any attention to her, she thought -it advisable to bring her prattle to a close. - -“Psha! Dr. Goldsmith,” she cried. “We have given you our ears for more -than two hours, and yet you refuse to listen to us for as many minutes.” - -“I protest, madam, that I have been absorbed,” said Goldsmith. “Yes, you -were remarking that----” - -“That an Irishman, when he achieves a sudden success, can only be -compared to a boy who has robbed an orchard,” said the lady. - -“True--very true, madam,” said he. He saw Mary Horneck's hands clasp -involuntarily for a moment as she spoke to the man who stood smiling -beside her. She was not smiling. - -“Yes, 'tis true; but why?” cried Mrs. Thrale, taking care that her voice -did not appeal to Goldsmith only. - -“Ah, yes; that's just it--why?” said he. Mary Horneck had turned away -from the officer, and was coming slowly back to where her sister and -Henry Bunbury were standing. - -“Why?” said Mrs. Thrale shrilly. “Why? Why is an Irishman who has become -suddenly successful like a boy who has robbed an orchard? Why, because -his booty so distends his body that any one can perceive he has got in -his pockets what he is not entitled to.” - -She looked around for appreciation, but failed to find it. She certainly -did not perceive any appreciation of her pleasantry on the face of the -successful Irishman before her. He was not watching Mary now. All his -attention was given to the man to whom she had been talking, and who had -gone to the side of Mrs. Abington, where he remained chatting with even -more animation than was usual for one to assume in the green room. - -“You will join us at supper, Dr. Goldsmith?” said Mr. Thrale. - -“Nay, sir!” cried Bunbury; “mine is a prior claim. Dr. Goldsmith agreed -some days ago to honour my wife with his company to-night.” - -“What did I say, Goldy?” cried Johnson. “Was it not that, after the -presentation of the comedy, you would receive a hundred invitations?” - -“Well, sir, I have only received two since my play was produced, and one -of them I accepted some days ago,” said the Irishman, and Mrs. Thrale -hoped she would be able to remember the bull in order to record it as -conclusive evidence of Goldsmith's awkwardness of speech. - -But Burke, who knew the exact nature of the Irish bull, only smiled. He -laughed, however, when Goldsmith, assuming the puzzled expression of -the Irishman who adds to the humour of his bull by pretending that it is -involuntary, stumbled carefully in his words, simulating a man anxious -to explain away a mistake that he has made. Goldsmith excelled at this -form of humour but too well; hence, while the pages of every book that -refers to him are crowded with his brilliant saying's, the writers quote -Garrick's lines in proof--proof positive, mind--that he “talked like -poor Poll.” He is the first man on record who has been condemned solely -because of the exigencies of rhyme, and that, too, in the doggerel -couplet of the most unscrupulous jester of the century. - -Mary Horneck seems to have been the only one who understood him -thoroughly. She has left her appreciation of his humour on record. The -expression which she perceived upon his face immediately after he had -given utterance to some delightful witticism--which the recording demons -around him delighted to turn against himself--was the expression which -makes itself apparent in Reynolds's portrait of him. The man who “talked -like poor Poll” was the man who, even before he had done anything in -literature except a few insignificant essays, was visited by Bishop -Percy, though every visit entailed a climb up a rickety staircase and -a seat on a rickety stool in a garret. Perhaps, however, the fastidious -Percy was interested in ornithology and was ready to put himself to -great inconvenience in order to hear parrot-talk. - -While he was preparing to go with the Bunburys, Goldsmith noticed that -the man who, after talking with Mary Horneck, had chatted with Mrs. -Abington, had disappeared; and when the party whom he was accompanying -to supper had left the room he remained for a few moments to make his -adieux to the players. He shook hands with Mrs. Abington, saying-- - -“Have no fear that I shall forget my promise, madam.” - -“I shall take good care that you don't, sir,” said she. - -“Do not fancy that I shall neglect my own interests!” he cried, bowing -as he took a step away from her. When he had taken another step he -suddenly returned to her as if a sudden thought had struck him. “Why, if -I wasn't going away without asking you what is the name of the gentleman -in uniform who was speaking with you just now,” said he. “I fancy I have -met him somewhere, and one doesn't want to be rude.” - -“His name is Jackson,” she replied. “Yes, Captain Jackson, though the -Lord only knows what he is captain of.” - -“I have been mistaken; I know no one of that name,” said Goldsmith. -“'Tis as well I made sure; one may affront a gentleman as easily by -professing to have met him as by forgetting that one has done so.” - -When he got outside, he found that Mary Horneck has been so greatly -affected by the heat of the playhouse and the excitement of the -occasion, she had thought it prudent to go away with the Reynoldses in -their coach--her mother had preceded her by nearly half an hour. - -The Bunburys found that apparently the excitement of the evening had -produced a similar effect upon their guest. Although he admitted having -eaten no dinner--Johnson and his friends had been by no means reticent -on the subject of the dinner--he was without an appetite for the -delightful little supper which awaited him at Mrs. Bunbury's. It was -in vain too that his hostess showed herself to be in high spirits, and -endeavoured to rally him after her own delightful fashion. He remained -almost speechless the whole evening. - -“Ah,” said she, “I perceive clearly that your Little Comedy has been -quite obscured by your great comedy. But wait until we get you down with -us at Barton; you will find the first time we play loo together that a -little comedy may become a great tragedy.” - -Bunbury declared that he was as poor company during the supper as if his -play had been a mortifying failure instead of a triumphant success, and -Goldsmith admitted that this was true, taking his departure as soon as -he could without being rude. - -He walked slowly through the empty streets to his chambers in Brick -Court. But it was almost daylight before he went to bed. - -All his life he had been looking forward to this night--the night -that should put the seal upon his reputation, that should give him -an incontestable place at the head of the imaginative writers of his -period. And yet, now that the fame for which he had struggled with -destiny was within his grasp, he felt more miserable than he had ever -felt in his garret. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -What did it all mean? - -That was the question which was on his mind when he awoke. It did not -refer to the reception given to “She Stoops to Conquer,” which had -placed him in the position he had longed for; it had reference solely to -the strange incident which had occurred in the green room. - -The way Mrs. Abington had referred to the man with whom Mary had -been speaking was sufficient to let him know that he was not a man of -reputation--he certainly had not seemed to Goldsmith to be a man of -reputation either when he had seen him at the Pantheon or in the green -room. He had worn an impudent and forward manner which, in spite of his -glaring good looks that might possibly make him acceptable in the -eyes of such generous ladies as Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Bulkley or Mrs. -Woffington, showed that he was a person of no position in society. This -conclusion to which Goldsmith had come was confirmed by the fact that no -persons of any distinction who had been present at the Pantheon or the -playhouse had shown that they were acquainted with him--no one person -save only Mary Horneck. - -Mary Horneck had by her act bracketed herself with Mrs. Abington and -Mrs. Bulk-ley. - -This he felt to be a very terrible thing. A month ago it would have -been incredible to him that such a thing could be. Mary Horneck had -invariably shunned in society those persons--women as well as men--who -had shown themselves to be wanting in modesty. She had always detested -the man--he was popular enough at that period--who had allowed -innuendoes to do duty for wit; and she had also detested the woman--she -is popular enough now--who had laughed at and made light of the -innuendoes, bordering upon impropriety, of such a man. - -And yet she had by her own act placed herself on a level with the least -fastidious of the persons for whom she had always professed a contempt. -The Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster had, to be sure, shaken hands -with the two actresses; but the first named at least had done so for -her own ends, and had got pretty well sneered at in consequence. Mary -Horneck stood in a very different position from that occupied by the -Duchess. While not deficient in charity, she had declined to follow the -lead of any leader of fashion in this matter, and had held aloof from -the actresses. - -And yet he had seen her in secret conversation with a man at whom one -of these same actresses had not hesitated to sneer as an impostor--a man -who was clearly unacquainted with any other member of her family. - -What could this curious incident mean? - -The letters which had come from various friends congratulating him upon -the success of the comedy lay unheeded by him by the side of those which -had arrived--not a post had been missed--from persons who professed the -most disinterested friendship for him, and were anxious to borrow from -him a trifle until they also had made their success. Men whom he had -rescued from starvation, from despair, from suicide, and who had, -consequently, been living on him ever since, begged that he would -continue his contributions on a more liberal scale now that he had in so -marked a way improved his own position. But, for the first time, their -letters lay unread and unanswered. (Three days actually passed before he -sent his guineas flying to the deserving and the undeserving alike. That -was how he contrived to get rid of the thousands of pounds which he had -earned since leaving his garret.) - -His man servant had never before seen him so depressed as he was when he -left his chambers. - -He had made up his mind to go to Mary and tell her that he had seen what -no one else either in the Pantheon or in the green room had seemed -to notice in regard to that man whose name he had learned was Captain -Jackson--he would tell her and leave it to her to explain what appeared -to him more than mysterious. If any one had told him in respect to -another girl all that he had noticed, he would have said that such a -matter required no explanation; he had heard of the intrigues of young -girls with men of the stamp of that Captain Jackson. With Mary Horneck, -however, the matter was not so easily explained. The shrug and -the raising of the eyebrows were singularly inappropriate to any -consideration of an incident in which she was concerned. - -He found before he had gone far from his chambers that the news of the -success of the comedy had reached his neighbours. He was met by several -of the students of the Temple, with whom he had placed himself on -terms of the pleasantest familiarity, and they all greeted him with a -cordiality, the sincerity of which was apparent on their beaming faces. -Among them was one youth named Grattan, who, being an Irishman, had -early found a friend in Goldsmith. He talked years afterward of this -early friendship of his. - -Then the head porter, Ginger, for whom Goldsmith had always a pleasant -word, and whose wife was his laundress--not wholly above suspicion as -regards her honesty--stammered his congratulations, and received the -crown which he knew was certain; and Goldsmith began to feel what he -had always suspected--that there was a great deal of friendliness in the -world for men who have become successful. - -Long before he had arrived at the house of the Hornecks he was feeling -that he would be the happiest man in London or the most miserable before -another hour would pass. - -He was fortunate enough to find, on arriving at the house, that Mary was -alone. Mrs. Horneck and her son had gone out together in the coach some -time before, the servant said, admitting him, for he was on terms of -such intimacy with the family the man did not think it necessary to -inquire if Miss Horneck would see him. The man was grinning from ear to -ear as he admitted the visitor. - -“I hope, Doctor, that I know my business better than Diggory,” he said, -his grin expanding genially. - -“Ah! so you were one of the gentlemen in the gallery?” said Goldsmith. -“You had my destiny in your keeping for two hours?” - -“I thought I'd ha' dropped, sir, when it came to Diggory at the -table--and Mr. Marlow's man, sir--as drunk as a lord. 'I don't know what -more you want unless you'd have had him soused in a beer barrel,' says -he quite cool-like and satisfied--and it's the gentleman's own private -house, after all. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Didn't Sir Joshua's Ralph laugh -till he thought our neighbours would think it undignified-like, and then -sent us off worse than ever by trying to look solemn. Only some -fools about us said the drunk servant was ungenteel; but young Mr. -Northcote--Sir Joshua's young man, sir--he up and says that nature isn't -always genteel, and that nature was above gentility, and so forth--I beg -your pardon, Doctor, what was I thinking of? Why, sir, Diggory himself -couldn't ha' done worse than me--talking so familiar-like, instead of -showing you up.” - -“Nay, sir,” said Goldsmith, “the patron has the privilege of addressing -his humble servant at what length he please. You are one of my patrons, -George; but strike me dumb, sir, I'll be patronised by you no longer; -and, to put a stop to your airs, I'll give you half a dozen tickets for -my benefit, and that will turn the tables on you, my fine fellow.” - -“Oh, Doctor, you are too kind, sir,” whispered the man, for he had led -the way to the drawingroom door. “I hope I've not been too bold, sir. If -I told them in the kitchen about forgetting myself they'd dub me Diggory -without more ado. There'll be Diggorys enough in the servants' halls -this year, sir.” - -In another moment Goldsmith was in the presence of Mary Horneck. - -She was seated on a low chair at the window. He could not fail to notice -that she looked ill, though it was not until she had risen, trying to -smile, that he saw how very ill she was. Her face, which he had scarcely -ever seen otherwise than bright, had a worn appearance, her eyes were -sunken through much weeping, and there was a frightened look in them -that touched him deeply. - -“You will believe me when I say how sorry I was not to be able to do -honour last night to the one whom I honour most of all men,” she said, -giving him her hand. “But it was impossible--oh, quite impossible, for -me to sup even with my sister and you. Ah, it was pitiful! considering -how I had been looking forward to your night of triumph, my dear -friend.” - -“It was pitiful, indeed, dear child,” said he. “I was looking forward to -that night also--I don't know for how many years--all my life, it seems -to me.” - -“Never mind!” she cried, with a feeble attempt at brightness. “Never -mind! your night of triumph came, and no one can take it away from you -now; every one in the town is talking of your comedy and its success.” - -“There is no one to whom success is sweeter than it is to me,” said -Goldsmith. “But you know me too well, my Jessamy Bride, to think for a -single moment that I could enjoy my success when my dearest friend was -miserable.” - -“I know it,” she said, giving him her hand once more. “I know it, and -knowing it last night only made me feel more miserable.” - -“What is the matter, Mary?” he asked her after a pause. “Once before I -begged of you to tell me if you could. I say again that perhaps I may be -able to help you out of your trouble, though I know that I am not a man -of many resources.” - -“I cannot tell you,” she said slowly, but with great emphasis. “There -are some sorrows that a woman must bear alone. It is Heaven's decree -that a woman's sorrow is only doubled when she tries to share it with -another--either with a sister or with a brother--even so good a friend -as Oliver Goldsmith.” - -“That such should be your thought shows how deep is your misery,” said -he. “I cannot believe that it could be increased by your confiding its -origin to me.” - -“Ah, I see everything but too plainly,” she cried, throwing herself down -on her chair once more and burying her face in her hands. “Why, all my -misery arises from the possibility of some one knowing whence it arises. -Oh, I have said too much,” she cried piteously. She had sprung to her -feet and was standing looking with eager eyes into his. “Pray forget -what I have said, my friend. The truth is that I do not know what I say; -oh, pray go away--go away and leave me alone with my sorrow--it is my -own--no one has a right to it but myself.” - -There was actually a note of jealousy in her voice, and there came a -little flash from her eyes as she spoke. - -“No, I will not go away from you, my poor child,” said he. “You shall -tell me first what that man to whom I saw you speak in the green room -last night has to do with your sorrow.” - -She did not give any visible start when he had spoken. There was a -curious look of cunning in her eyes--a look that made him shudder, so -foreign was it to her nature, which was ingenuous to a fault. - -“A man? Did I speak to a man?” she said slowly, affecting an endeavour -to recall a half-forgotten incident of no importance. “Oh, yes, I -suppose I spoke to quite a number of men in the green room. How crowded -it was! And it became so heated! Ah, how terrible the actresses looked -in their paint!--almost as terrible as a lady of quality!” - -“Poor child!” said he. “My heart bleeds for you. In striving to hide -everything from me you have told me all--all except--listen to me, Mary. -Nothing that I can hear--nothing that you can tell me--will cause me to -think the least that is ill of you; but I have seen enough to make me -aware that that man--Captain Jackson, he calls himself----” - -“How did you find out his name?” she said in a whisper. “I did not tell -you his name even at the Pantheon.” - -“No, you did not; but yet I had no difficulty in finding it out. Tell me -why it is that you should be afraid of that man. Do you not know as well -as I do that he is a rascal? Good heavens! Mary, could you fail to see -rascal written on his countenance for all men and women to read?” - -“He is worse than you or any one can imagine, and yet----” - -“How has he got you in his power--that is what you are going to tell -me.” - -“No, no; that is impossible. You do not know what you ask. You do not -know me, or you would not ask me to tell you.” - -“What would you have me think, child?” - -“Think the worst--the worst that your kind heart can think--only leave -me--leave me. God may prove less unkind than He seems to me. I may soon -die. 'The only way her guilt to cover.'” - -“I cannot leave you, and I say again that I refuse to believe anything -ill of you. Do you really think that it is possible for me to have -written so much as I have written about men and women without being able -to know when a woman is altogether good--a man altogether bad? I know -you, my dear, and I have seen him. Why should you be afraid of him? -Think of the friends you have.” - -“It is the thought of them that frightens me. I have friends now, but -if they knew all that that man can tell, they would fly from me with -loathing. Oh! when I think of it all, I abhor myself. Oh, fool, fool, -fool! Was ever woman such a fool before?” - -“For God's sake, child, don't talk in that strain.” - -“It is the only strain in which I can talk. It is the cry of a wretch -who stands on the brink of a precipice and knows that hands are being -thrust out behind to push her over.” - -She tottered forward with wild eyes, under the influence of her own -thought. He caught her and supported her in his arms. - -“That shows you, my poor girl, that if there are unkind hands behind -you, there are still some hands that are ready to keep your feet from -slipping. There are hands that will hold you back from that precipice, -or else those who hold them out to you will go over the brink with -you. Ah, my dear, dear girl, nothing can happen to make you despair. In -another year--perhaps in another month--you will wonder how you could -ever have taken so gloomy a view of the present hour.” - -A gleam of hope came into her eyes. Only for an instant it remained -there, however. Then she shook her head, saying-- - -“Alas! Alas!” - -She seated herself once more, but he retained her hand in one of his -own, laying his other caressingly on her head. - -“You are surely the sweetest girl that ever lived,” said he. “You fill -with your sweetness the world through which I walk. I do not say that -it would be a happiness for me to die for you, for you know that if my -dying could save you from your trouble I would not shrink from it. What -I do say is that I should like to live for you--to live to see happiness -once again brought to you. And yet you will tell me nothing--you will -not give me a chance of helping you.” - -She shook her head sadly. - -“I dare not--I dare not,” she said. “I dare not run the chance of -forfeiting your regard forever.” - -“Good-bye,” he said after a pause. - -He felt her fingers press his own for a moment; then he dropped her hand -and walked toward the door. Suddenly, however, he returned to her. - -“Mary,” he said, “I will seek no more to learn your secret; I will only -beg of you to promise me that you will not meet that man again--that -you will hold no communication with him. If you were to be seen in the -company of such a man--talking to him as I saw you last night--what -would people think? The world is always ready to put the worst possible -construction upon anything unusual that it sees. You will promise me, my -dear?” - -“Alas! alas!” she cried piteously. “I cannot make you such a promise. -You will not do me the injustice to believe that I spoke to him of my -own free will?” - -“What, you would have me believe that he possesses sufficient power over -you to make you do his bidding? Great God! that can never be!” - -“That is what I have said to myself day by day; he cannot possess that -power over me--he cannot be such a monster as to. . . oh, I cannot speak -to you more! Leave me--leave me! I have been a fool and I must pay the -penalty of my folly.” Before he could make a reply, the door was opened -and Mrs. Bunbury danced into the room, her mother following more -sedately and with a word of remonstrance. - -“Nonsense, dear Mamma,” cried Little Comedy. “What Mary needs is some -one who will raise her spirits--Dr. Goldsmith, for instance. He has, I -am sure, laughed her out of her whimsies. Have you succeeded, Doctor? -Nay, you don't look like it, nor does she, poor thing! I felt certain -that you would be in the act of reading a new comedy to her, but -I protest it would seem as if it was a tragedy that engrossed your -attention. He doesn't look particularly like our agreeable Rattle at -the present moment, does he, Mamma? And it was the same at supper -last night. It might have been fancied that he was celebrating a great -failure instead of a huge success.” - -For the next quarter of an hour the lively girl chatted away, imitating -the various actors who had taken part in the comedy, and giving the -author some account of what the friends whom she had met that day -said of the piece. He had never before felt the wearisomeness of a -perpetually sparkling nature. Her laughter grated upon his ears; her -gaiety was out of tune with his mood. He took leave of the family at the -first breathing space that the girl permitted him. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -He felt that the result of his interview with Mary was to render more -mysterious than ever the question which he had hoped to solve. - -He wondered if he was more clumsy of apprehension than other men, as he -had come away from her without learning her secret. He was shrewd -enough to know that the majority of men to whom he might give a detailed -account of his interview with the girl--a detailed account of his -observation of her upon the appearance of Captain Jackson first at the -Pantheon, then in the green room of Covent Garden--would have no trouble -whatever in accounting for her behaviour upon both occasions. He could -see the shrugs of the cynical, the head-shakings of those who professed -to be vastly grieved. - -Ah, they did not know this one girl. They were ready to lump all -womankind together and to suppose that it would be impossible for one -woman to be swayed by other impulses than were common to womankind -generally. - -But he knew this girl, and he felt that it was impossible to believe -that she was otherwise than good. Nothing would force him to think -anything evil regarding her. - -“She is not as others,” was the phrase that was in his mind--the thought -that was in his heart. - -He did not pause to reflect upon the strangeness of the circumstance -that when a man wishes to think the best of a woman he says she is not -as other women are. - -He did not know enough of men and women to be aware of the fact that -when a man makes up his mind that a woman is altogether different from -other women, he loves that woman. - -He felt greatly grieved to think that he had been unable to search out -the heart of her mystery; but the more he recalled of the incidents that -had occurred upon the two occasions when that man Jackson had been in -the same apartment as Mary Horneck, the more convinced he became that -the killing of that man would tend to a happy solution of the question -which was puzzling him. - -After giving this subject all his thought for the next day or two, he -went to his friend Baretti, and presented him with tickets for one of -the author's nights for “She Stoops to Conquer.” Baretti was a -well known personage in the best literary society in London, having -consolidated his reputation by the publication of his English and -Italian dictionary. He had been Johnson's friend since his first exile -from Italy, and it was through his influence Baretti, on the formation -of the Royal Academy, had been appointed Secretary for Foreign -Correspondence. To Johnson also he owed the more remunerative -appointment of Italian tutor at the Thrales'. He had frequently dined -with Goldsmith at his chambers. - -Baretti expressed himself grateful for the tickets, and complimented the -author of the play upon his success. - -“If one may measure the success of a play by the amount of envy it -creates in the breasts of others, yours is a huge triumph,” said the -Italian. - -“Yes,” said Goldsmith quickly, “that is just what I wish to have a word -with you about. The fact is, Baretti, I am not so good a swordsman as I -should be.” - -“What,” cried Baretti, smiling as he looked at the man before him, who -had certainly not the physique of the ideal swordsman. “What, do you -mean to fight your detractors? Take my advice, my friend, let the pen be -your weapon if such is your intention. If you are attacked with the pen -you should reply with the same weapon, and with it you may be pretty -certain of victory.” - -“Ah, yes; but there are cases--well, one never knows what may happen, -and a man in my position should be prepared for any emergency. I can -do a little sword play--enough to enable me to face a moderately good -antagonist. A pair of coxcombs insulted me a few days ago and I retorted -in a way that I fancy might be thought effective by some people.” - -“How did you retort?” - -“Well, I warned the passers-by that the pair were pickpockets disguised -as gentlemen.” - -“Bacchus! An effective retort! And then----” - -“Then I turned down a side street and half drew my sword; but, after -making a feint of following me, they gave themselves over to a bout -of swearing and went on. What I wish is to be directed by you to any -compatriot of yours who would give me lessons in fencing. Do you know of -any first-rate master of the art in London?” - -The Italian could not avoid laughing, Goldsmith spoke so seriously. - -“You would like to find a maestro who would be capable of turning you -into a first-rate swordsman within the space of a week?” - -“Nay, sir, I am not unreasonable; I would give him a fortnight.” - -“Better make it five years.” - -“Five years?” - -“My dear friend, I pray of you not to make me your first victim if I -express to you my opinion that you are not the sort of man who can be -made a good swordsman. You were born, not made, a poet, and let me tell -you that a man must be a born swordsman if he is to take a front -place among swordsmen. I am in the same situation as yourself: I am so -short-sighted I could make no stand against an antagonist. No, sir, I -shall never kill a man.” - -He laughed as men laugh who do not understand what fate has in store for -them. - -“I have made up my mind to have some lessons,” said Goldsmith, “and I -know there are no better teachers than your countrymen, Baretti.” - -“Psha!” said Baretti. “There are clever fencers in Italy, just as there -are in England. But if you have made up your mind to have an Italian -teacher, I shall find out one for you and send him to your chambers. If -you are wise, however, you will stick to your pen, which you wield with -such dexterity, and leave the more harmless weapon to others of coarser -fiber than yourself.” - -“There are times when it is necessary for the most pacific of men--nay, -even an Irishman--to show himself adroit with a sword,” said Goldsmith; -“and so I shall be forever grateful to you for your services towards -this end.” - -He was about to walk away when a thought seemed to strike him. - -“You will add to my debt to you if you allow this matter to go no -further than ourselves. You can understand that I have no particular -wish to place myself at the mercy of Dr. Johnson or Garrick,” said -he. “I fancy I can see Garrick's mimicry of a meeting between me and a -fencing master.” - -“I shall keep it a secret,” laughed Baretti; “but mind, sir, when you -run your first man through the vitals you need not ask me to attend the -court as a witness as to your pacific character.” - -(When the two did appear in court it was Goldsmith who had been called -as a witness on behalf of Baretti, who stood in the dock charged with -the murder of a man.) - -He felt very much better after leaving Baretti. He felt that he had -taken at least one step on behalf of Mary Horneck. He knew his own -nature so imperfectly that he thought if he were to engage in a duel -with Captain Jackson and disarm him he would not hesitate to run him -through a vital part. - -He returned to his chambers and found awaiting him a number of papers -containing some flattering notices of his comedy, and lampoons upon -Colman for his persistent ill treatment of the play. In fact, the topic -of the town was Colman's want of judgment in regard to this matter, and -so strongly did the critics and lampooners, malicious as well as genial, -express themselves, that the manager found life in London unbearable. He -posted off to Bath, but only to find that his tormentors had taken good -care that his reputation should precede him thither. His chastisement -with whips in London was mild in comparison with his chastisement with -scorpions at Bath; and now Goldsmith found waiting for him a letter from -the unfortunate man imploring the poet to intercede for him, and get the -lampooners to refrain from molesting him further. - -If Goldsmith had been in a mood to appreciate a triumph he would have -enjoyed reading this letter from the man who had given him so many -months of pain. He was not, however, in such a mood. He looked for his -triumph in another direction. - -After dressing he went to the Mitre for dinner, and found in the tavern -several of his friends. Cradock had run up from the country, and with -him were Whitefoord and Richard Burke. - -He was rather chilled at his reception by the party. They were all -clearly ill at ease in his presence for some reason of which he was -unaware; and when he began to talk of the criticisms which his play had -received, the uneasiness of his friends became more apparent. - -He could stand this unaccountable behaviour no longer, and inquired what -was the reason of their treating him so coldly. - -“You were talking about me just before I entered,” said he: “I always -know on entering a room if my friends have been talking about me. Now, -may I ask what this admirable party were saying regarding me? Tell it to -me in your own way. I don't charge you to be frank with me. Frankness I -hold to be an excellent cloak for one's real opinion. Tell me all -that you can tell--as simply as you can--without prejudice to your own -reputation for oratory, Richard. What is the matter, sir?” - -Richard Burke usually was the merriest of the company, and the most -fluent. But now he looked down, and the tone was far from persuasive in -which he said-- - -“You may trust--whatever may be spoken, or written, about you, -Goldsmith--we are your unalterable friends.” - -“Psha, sir!” cried Goldsmith, “don't I know that already? Were you not -all my friends in my day of adversity, and do you expect me suddenly to -overthrow all my ideas of friendship by assuming that now that I have -bettered my position in the world my friends will be less friendly?” - -“Goldsmith,” said Steevens, “we received a copy of the _London Packet_ -half an hour before you entered. We were discussing the most infamous -attack that has ever been made upon a distinguished man of letters.” - -“At the risk of being thought a conceited puppy, sir, I suppose I may -assume that the distinguished man of letters which the article refers to -is none other than myself,” said Goldsmith. - -“It is a foul and scurrilous slander upon you, sir,” said Steevens. “It -is the most contemptible thing ever penned by that scoundrel Kenrick.” - -“Do not annoy yourselves on my account, gentlemen,” said Goldsmith. “You -know how little I think of anything that Kenrick may write of me. Once -I made him eat his words, and the fit of indigestion that that operation -caused him is still manifest in all he writes about me. I tell you that -it is out of the power of that cur to cause me any inconvenience. Where -is the _Packet?_” - -“There is no gain in reading such contemptible stuff,” said Cradock. -“Take my advice, Goldsmith, do not seek to become aware of the precise -nature of that scoundrel's slanders.” - -“Nay, to shirk them would be to suggest that they have the power to -sting me,” replied Goldsmith. “And so, sir, let me have the _Packet_, -and you shall see me read the article without blenching. I tell you, Mr. -Cradock, no man of letters is deserving of an eulogy who is scared by a -detraction.” - -“Nay, Goldsmith, but one does not examine under a magnifying glass the -garbage that a creature of the kennel flings at one,” said Steevens. - -“Come, sirs, I insist,” cried Goldsmith. “Why do I waste time with you?” - he added, turning round and going to the door of the room. “I waste time -here when I can read the _Packet_ in the bar.” - -“Hold, sir,” said Burke. “Here is the thing. If you will read it, you -would do well to read it where you will find a dozen hands stretched -forth to you in affection and sympathy. Oliver Goldsmith, this is the -paper and here are our hands. We look on you as the greatest of English -writers--the truest of English poets--the best of Englishmen.” - -“You overwhelm me, sir. After this, what does it matter if Kenrick -flings himself upon me?” - -He took the _Packet_. It opened automatically, where an imaginary letter -to himself, signed “Tom Tickle,” appeared. - -He held it up to the light; a smile was at first on his features; he had -nerved himself to the ordeal. His friends would not find that he shrank -from it--he even smiled, after a manner, as he read the thing--but -suddenly his jaw fell, his face became pale. In another second he had -crushed the paper between his hands. He crushed it and tore it, and then -flung it on the floor and trampled on it. He walked to and fro in the -room with bent head. Then he did a strange thing: he removed his sword -and placed it in a corner, as if he were going to dine, and, without a -word to any of his friends, left the room, carrying with him his cane -only. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -Kenrick's article in the _London Packet_ remains to this day as the -vilest example of scurrility published under the form of criticism. All -the venom that can be engendered by envy and malice appears in every -line of it. It contains no suggestion of literary criticism; it contains -no clever phrase. It is the shriek of a vulgar wretch dominated by the -demon of jealousy. The note of the Gadarene herd sounds through it, -strident and strenuous. It exists as the worst outcome of the period -when every garret scribbler emulated “Junius,” both as regards style and -method, but only succeeded in producing the shriek of a wildcat, instead -of the thunder of the unknown master of vituperation. - -Goldsmith read the first part of the scurrility without feeling hurt; -but when he came to that vile passage--“For hours the _great_ Goldsmith -will stand arranging his grotesque orangoutang figure before a -pier-glass. Was but the lovely H------k as much enamoured, you would not -sigh, my gentle swain”--his hands tore the paper in fury. - -He had received abuse in the past without being affected by it. He did -not know much about natural history, but he knew enough to make him -aware of the fact that the skunk tribe cannot change their nature. He -did not mind any attack that might be made upon himself; but to have -the name that he most cherished of all names associated with his in an -insult that seemed to him diabolical in the manner of its delivery, was -more than he could bear. He felt as if a foul creature had crept behind -him and had struck from thence the one who had been kindest to him of -all the people in the world. - -There was the horrible thing printed for all eyes in the town to read. -There was the thing that had in a moment raised a barrier between him -and the girl who was all in all to him. How could he look Mary Horneck -in the face again? How could he ever meet any member of the family to -whom he had been the means of causing so much pain as the Hornecks would -undoubtedly feel when they read that vile thing? He felt that he himself -was to blame for the appearance of that insult upon the girl. He felt -that if the attack had not been made upon him she would certainly have -escaped. Yes, that blow had been struck by a hand that stretched over -him to her. - -His first impulse had sent his hand to his sword. He had shown himself -upon several occasions to be a brave man; but instead of drawing his -sword he had taken it off and had placed it out of the reach of his -hands. - -And this was the man who, a few hours earlier in the day, had been -assuming that if a certain man were in his power he would not shrink -from running him through the body with his sword. - -On leaving the Mitre he did not seek any one with whom he might take -counsel as to what course it would be wise for him to pursue. He knew -that he had adopted a wise course when he had placed his sword in a -corner; he felt he did not require any further counsel. His mind was -made up as to what he should do, and all that he now feared was that -some circumstance might prevent his realising his intention. - -He grasped his cane firmly, and walked excitedly to the shop of Evans, -the publisher of the _London Packet_. He arrived almost breathless at -the place--it was in Little Queen street--and entered the shop demanding -to see Kenrick, who, he knew was employed on the premises. Evans, the -publisher, being in a room the door of which was open, and hearing -a stranger's voice speaking in a high tone, came out to the shop. -Goldsmith met him, asking to see Kenrick; and Evans denied that he was -in the house. - -“I require you to tell me if Kenrick is the writer of that article upon -me which appeared in the _Packet_ of to-day. My name is Goldsmith!” said -the visitor. - -The shopkeeper smiled. - -“Does anything appear about you in the _Packet_, sir?” he said, -over-emphasising the tone of complete ignorance and inquiry. - -“You are the publisher of the foul thing, you rascal!” cried Goldsmith, -stung by the supercilious smile of the man; “you are the publisher of -this gross outrage upon an innocent lady, and, as the ruffian who wrote -it struck at her through me, so I strike at him through you.” - -He rushed at the man, seized him by the throat, and struck at him with -his cane. The bookseller shouted for help while he struggled with his -opponent, and Kenrick himself, who had been within the shelter of a -small wooden-partitioned office from the moment of Goldsmith's entrance, -and had, consequently, overheard every word of the recrimination and -all the noise of the scuffle that followed, ran to the help of his -paymaster. It was quite in keeping with his cowardly nature to hold back -from the cane of Evans's assailant. He did so, and, looking round for a -missile to fling at Goldsmith, he caught up a heavy lamp that stood on a -table and hurled it at his enemy's head. Missing this mark, however, it -struck Evans on the chest and knocked him down, Goldsmith falling over -him. This Kenrick perceived to be his chance. He lifted one of the small -shop chairs and rushed forward to brain the man whom he had libelled; -but, before he could carry out his purpose, a man ran into the shop -from the street, and, flinging him and the chair into a corner, caught -Goldsmith, who had risen, by the shoulder and hurried him into a -hackney-coach, which drove away. - -The man was Captain Higgins. When Goldsmith had failed to return to the -room in the Mitre where he had left his sword, his friends became -uneasy regarding him, and Higgins, suspecting his purpose in leaving -the tavern, had hastened to Evans's, hoping to be in time to prevent -the assault which he felt certain Goldsmith intended to commit upon the -person of Kenrick. - -He ordered the coachman to drive to the Temple, and took advantage of -the occasion to lecture the excited man upon the impropriety of his -conduct. A lecture on the disgrace attached to a public fight, when -delivered in a broad Irish brogue, can rarely be effective, and Captain -Higgins's counsel of peace only called for Goldsmith's ridicule. - -“Don't tell me what I ought to have done or what I ought to have -abstained from doing,” cried the still breathless man. “I did what my -manhood prompted me to do, and that is just what you would have done -yourself, my friend. God knows I didn't mean to harm Evans--it was -that reptile Kenrick whom I meant to flail; but when Evans undertook to -shelter him, what was left to me, I ask you, sir?” - -“You were a fool, Oliver,” said his countryman; “you made a great -mistake. Can't you see that you should never go about such things -single-handed? You should have brought with you a full-sized friend who -would not hesitate to use his fists in the interests of fair play. Why -the devil, sir, didn't you give me a hint of what was on your mind when -you left the tavern?” - -“Because I didn't know myself what was on my mind,” replied Goldsmith. -“And, besides,” he added, “I'm not the man to carry bruisers about with -me to engage in my quarrels. I don't regret what I have done to-day. -I have taught the reptiles a lesson, even though I have to pay for it. -Kenrick won't attack me again so long as I am alive.” - -He was right. It was when he was lying in his coffin, yet unburied, that -Kenrick made his next attack upon him in that scurrility of phrase of -which he was a master. - -When this curious exponent of the advantages of peace had left him at -Brick Court, and his few incidental bruises were attended to by John -Eyles, poor Oliver's despondency returned to him. He did not feel very -like one who has got the better of another in a quarrel, though he knew -that he had done all that he said he had done: he had taught his enemies -a lesson. - -But then he began to think about Mary Horneck, who had been so grossly -insulted simply because of her kindness to him. He felt that if she had -been less gracious to him--if she had treated him as Mrs. Thrale, for -example, had been accustomed to treat him--regarding him and his defects -merely as excuses for displaying her own wit, she would have escaped -all mention by Kenrick. Yes, he still felt that he was the cause of her -being insulted, and he would never forgive himself for it. - -But what did it matter whether he forgave himself or not? It was the -forgiveness of Mary Horneck and her friends that he had good reason to -think about. - -The longer he considered this point the more convinced he became that -he had forfeited forever the friendship which he had enjoyed for several -years, and which had been a dear consolation to him in his hours of -despondency. A barrier had been raised between himself and the Hornecks -that could not be surmounted. - -He sat down at his desk and wrote a letter to Mary, asking her -forgiveness for the insult for which he said he felt himself to be -responsible. He could not, he added, expect that in the future it would -be allowed to him to remain on the same terms of intimacy with her and -her family as had been permitted to him in the past. - -Suddenly he recollected the unknown trouble which had been upon the girl -when he had last seen her. She was not yet free from that secret sorrow -which he had hoped it might be in his power to dispel. He and he only -had seen Captain Jackson speaking to her in the green room at Covent -Garden, and he only had good reason to believe that her sorrow had -originated with that man. Under these circumstances he asked himself if -he was justified in leaving her to fight her battle alone. She had not -asked him to be her champion, and he felt that if she had done so, it -was a very poor champion that he would have made; but still he knew more -of her grief than any one else, and he believed he might be able to help -her. - -He tore up the letter which he had written to her. - -“I will not leave her,” he cried. “Whatever may happen--whatever blame -people who do not understand may say I have earned, I will not leave her -until she has been freed from whatever distress she is in.” - -He had scarcely seated himself when his servant announced Captain -Horneck. - -For an instant Goldsmith was in trepidation. Mary Horneck's brother -had no reason to visit him except as he himself had visited Evans and -Kenrick. But with the sound of Captain Horneck's voice his trepidation -passed away. - -“Ha, my little hero!” Horneck cried before he had quite crossed the -threshold. “What is this that is the talk of the town? Good Lord! what -are things coming to when the men of letters have taken to beating the -booksellers?” - -“You have heard of it?” said Oliver. “You have heard of the quarrel, but -you cannot have heard of the reason for it!” - -“What, there is something behind the _London Packet_, after all?” cried -Captain Horneck. - -“Something behind it--something behind that slander--the mention of your -sister's name, sir? What should be behind it, sir?” - -“My dear old Nolly, do you fancy that the friendship which exists -between my family and you is too weak to withstand such a strain as -this--a strain put upon it by a vulgar scoundrel, whose malice so far as -you are concerned is as well known as his envy of your success?” - -Goldsmith stared at him for some moments and then at the hand which -he was holding out. He seemed to be making an effort to speak, but the -words never came. Suddenly he caught Captain Horneck's hand in both of -his own, and held it for a moment; but then, quite overcome, he dropped -it, and burying his face in his hands he burst into tears. - -Horneck watched him for some time, and was himself almost equally -affected. - -“Come, come, old friend,” he said at last, placing his hand -affectionately on Goldsmith's shoulder. “Come, come; this will not do. -There is nothing to be so concerned about. What, man! are you so little -aware of your own position in the world as to fancy that the Horneck -family regard your friendship for them otherwise than an honour? Good -heavens, Dr. Goldsmith, don't you perceive that we are making a bold bid -for immortality through our names being associated with yours? Who in a -hundred years--in fifty years--would know anything of the Horneck -family if it were not for their association with you? The name of Oliver -Goldsmith will live so long as there is life in English letters, and -when your name is spoken the name of your friends the Hornecks will not -be forgotten.” - -He tried to comfort his unhappy friend, but though he remained at his -chambers for half an hour, he got no word from Oliver Goldsmith. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -The next day the news of the prompt and vigorous action taken by -Goldsmith in respect of the scurrility of Kenrick had spread round the -literary circle of which Johnson was the centre, and the general feeling -was one of regret that Kenrick had not received the beating instead of -Evans. Of course, Johnson, who had threatened two writers with an oak -stick, shook his head--and his body as well--in grave disapproval of -Goldsmith's use of his cane; but Reynolds, Garrick and the two Burkes -were of the opinion that a cane had never been more appropriately used. - -What Colman's attitude was in regard to the man who had put thousands -of pounds into his pocket may be gathered from the fact that, shortly -afterwards, he accepted and produced a play of Kenrick's at his theatre, -which was more decisively damned than any play ever produced under -Colman's management. - -Of course, the act of an author in resenting the scurrility of a man who -had delivered his stab under the cloak of criticism, called for a howl -of indignation from the scores of hacks who existed at that period--some -in the pay of the government others of the opposition--solely by -stabbing men of reputation; for the literary cut-throat, in the person -of the professional libeller-critic, and the literary cut-purse, in -the form of the professional blackmailer, followed as well as preceded -Junius. - -The howl went up that the liberty of the press was in danger, and the -public, who took then, as they do now, but the most languid interest -in the quarrels of literature, were forced to become the unwilling -audience. When, however, Goldsmith published his letter in the _Daily -Advertiser_--surely the manliest manifesto ever printed--the howls -became attenuated, and shortly afterwards died away. It was admitted, -even by Dr. Johnson--and so emphatically, too, that his biographer -could not avoid recording his judgment--that Goldsmith had increased his -reputation by the incident. - -(Boswell paid Goldsmith the highest compliment in his power on account -of this letter, for he fancied that it had been written by Johnson, and -received another rebuke from the latter to gloat over.) - -For some days Goldsmith had many visitors at his chambers, including -Baretti, who remarked that he took it for granted that he need not now -search for the fencingmaster, as his quarrel was over. Goldsmith allowed -him to go away under the impression that he had foreseen the quarrel -when he had consulted him regarding the fencingmaster. - -But at the end of a week, when Evans had been conciliated by the friends -of his assailant, Goldsmith, on returning to his chambers one afternoon, -found Johnson gravely awaiting his arrival. His hearty welcome was not -responded to quite so heartily by his visitor. - -“Dr. Goldsmith,” said Johnson, after he had made some of those -grotesque movements with which his judicial utterances were invariably -accompanied--“Dr. Goldsmith, we have been friends for a good many years, -sir.” - -“That fact constitutes one of my pleasantest reflections, sir,” said -Goldsmith. He spoke with some measure of hesitancy, for he had a feeling -that his friend had come to him with a reproof. He had expected him to -come rather sooner. - -“If our friendship was not such as it is, I would not have come to you -to-day, sir, to tell you that you have been a fool,” said Johnson. - -“Yes, sir,” said Goldsmith, “you were right in assuming that you could -say nothing to me that would offend me; I know that I have been a -fool--at many times--in many ways.” - -“I suspected that you were a fool before I set out to come hither, sir, -and since I entered this room I have convinced myself of the accuracy of -my suspicion.” - -“If a man suspects that I am a fool before seeing me, sir, what will he -do after having seen me?” said Goldsmith. - -“Dr. Goldsmith,” resumed Johnson, “it was, believe me, sir, a great pain -to me to find, as I did in this room--on that desk--such evidence of -your folly as left no doubt on my mind in this matter.” - -“What do you mean, sir? My folly--evidence--on that desk? Ah, I know now -what you mean. Yes, poor Filby's bill for my last coats and I suppose -for a few others that have long ago been worn threadbare. Alas, sir, who -could resist Filby's flatteries?” - -“Sir,” said Johnson, “you gave me permission several years ago to read -any manuscript of yours in prose or verse at which you were engaged.” - -“And the result of your so honouring me, Dr. Johnson, has invariably -been advantageous to my work. What, sir, have I ever failed in respect -for your criticisms? Have I ever failed to make a change that you -suggested?” - -“It was in consideration of that permission, Dr. Goldsmith, that while -waiting for you here to-day, I read several pages in your handwriting,” - said Johnson sternly. - -Goldsmith glanced at his desk. - -“I forget now what work was last under my hand,” said he; “but whatever -it was, sir----” - -“I have it here, sir,” said Johnson, and Goldsmith for the first time -noticed that he held in one of his hands a roll of manuscript. Johnson -laid it solemnly on the table, and in a moment Goldsmith perceived -that it consisted of a number of the poems which he had written to the -Jessamy Bride, but which he had not dared to send to her. He had had -them before him on the desk that day while he asked himself what would -be the result of sending them to her. - -He was considerably disturbed when he discovered what it was that his -friend had been reading in his absence, and his attempt to treat the -matter lightly only made his confusion appear the greater. - -“Oh, those verses, sir,” he stammered; “they are poor things. You will, -I fear, find them too obviously defective to merit criticism; they -resemble my oldest coat, sir, which I designed to have repaired for my -man, but Filby returned it with the remark that it was not worth the -cost of repairing. If you were to become a critic of those trifles----” - -“They are trifles, Goldsmith, for they represent the trifling of a man -of determination with his own future--with his own happiness and the -happiness of others.” - -“I protest, sir, I scarcely understand----” - -“Your confusion, sir, shows that you do understand.” - -“Nay, sir, you do not suppose that the lines which a poet writes in the -character of a lover should be accepted as damning evidence that his own -heart speaks.” - -“Goldsmith, I am not the man to be deceived by any literary work that -may come under my notice. I have read those verses of yours; sir, your -heart throbs in every line.” - -“Nay, sir, you would make me believe that my poor attempts to realise -the feelings of one who has experienced the tender passion are more -happy than I fancied.” - -“Sir, this dissimulation is unworthy of you.” - -“Sir, I protest that I--that is--no, I shall protest nothing. You have -spoken the truth, sir; any dissimulation is unworthy of me. I wrote -those verses out of my own heart--God knows if they are the first that -came from my heart--I own it, sir. Why should I be ashamed to own it?” - -“My poor friend, you have been Fortune's plaything all your life; but I -did not think that she was reserving such a blow as this for you.” - -“A blow, sir? Nay, I cannot regard as a blow that which has been -the sweetest--the only consolation of a life that has known but few -consolations.” - -“Sir, this will not do. A man has the right to make himself as miserable -as he pleases, but he has no right to make others miserable. Dr. -Goldsmith, you have ill-repaid the friendship which Miss Horneck and her -family have extended to you.” - -“I have done nothing for which my conscience reproaches me, Dr. Johnson. -What, sir, if I have ventured to love that lady whose name had better -remain unspoken by either of us--what if I do love her? Where is the -indignity that I do either to her or to the sentiment of friendship? -Does one offer an indignity to friendship by loving?” - -“My poor friend, you are laying up a future of misery for yourself--yes, -and for her too; for she has a kind heart, and if she should come to -know--and, indeed, I think she must--that she has been the cause, even -though the unwilling cause, of suffering on the part of another, she -will not be free from unhappiness.” - -“She need not know, she need not know. I have been a bearer of burdens -all my life. I will assume without repining this new burden.” - -“Nay, sir, if I know your character--and I believe I have known it -for some years--you will cast that burden away from you. Life, my dear -friend, you and I have found to be not a meadow wherein to sport, but a -battle field. We have been in the struggle, you and I, and we have not -come out of it unscathed. Come, sir, face boldly this new enemy, and put -it to flight before it prove your ruin.” - -“Enemy, you call it, sir? You call that which gives everything there -is of beauty--everything there is of sweetness--in the life of man--you -call it our enemy?” - -“I call it _your_ enemy, Goldsmith.” - -“Why mine only? What is there about me that makes me different from -other men? Why should a poet be looked upon as one who is shut out for -evermore from all the tenderness, all the grace of life, when he -has proved to the world that he is most capable of all mankind of -appreciating tenderness and grace? What trick of nature is this? What -paradox for men to vex their souls over? Is the poet to stand aloof from -men, evermore looking on happiness through another man's eyes? If you -answer 'yes,' then I say that men who are not poets should go down on -their knees and thank Heaven that they are not poets. Happy it is for -mankind that Heaven has laid on few men the curse of being poets. For -myself, I feel that I would rather be a man for an hour than a poet for -all time.” - -“Come, sir, let us not waste our time railing against Heaven. Let us -look at this matter as it stands at present. You have been unfortunate -enough to conceive a passion for a lady whose family could never be -brought to think of you seriously as a lover. You have been foolish -enough to regard their kindness to you--their acceptance of you as a -friend--as encouragement in your mad aspirations.” - -“You have no right to speak so authoritatively, sir.” - -“I have the right as your oldest friend, Goldsmith; and you know I speak -only what is true. Does your own conscience, your own intelligence, sir, -not tell you that the lady's family would regard her acceptance of you -as a lover in the light of the greatest misfortune possible to happen to -her? Answer me that question, sir.” - -But Goldsmith made no attempt to speak. He only buried his face in his -hands, resting his elbows on the table at which he sat. - -“You cannot deny what you know to be a fact, sir,” resumed Johnson. “I -will not humiliate you by suggesting that the young lady herself would -only be moved to laughter were you to make serious advances to her; but -I ask you if you think her family would not regard such an attitude on -your side as ridiculous--nay, worse--a gross affront.” - -Still Goldsmith remained silent, and after a short pause his visitor -resumed his discourse. - -“The question that remains for you to answer is this, sir: Are you -desirous of humiliating yourself in the eyes of your best friends, -and of forfeiting their friendship for you, by persisting in your -infatuation?” - -Goldsmith started up. - -“Say no more, sir; for God's sake, say no more,” he cried almost -piteously. “Am I, do you fancy, as great a fool as Pope, who did not -hesitate to declare himself to Lady Mary? Sir, I have done nothing that -the most honourable of men would shrink from doing. There are the verses -which I wrote--I could not help writing them--but she does not know that -they were ever written. Dr. Johnson, she shall never hear it from me. My -history, sir, shall be that of the hopeless lover--a blank--a blank.” - -“My poor friend,” said Johnson after a pause--he had laid his hand -upon the shoulder of his friend as he seated himself once more at the -table--“My poor friend, Providence puts into our hands many cups which -are bitter to the taste, but cannot be turned away from. You and I have -drank of bitter cups before now, and perhaps we may have to drink of -others before we die. To be a man is to suffer; to be a poet means -to have double the capacity of men to suffer. You have shown yourself -before now worthy of the admiration of all good men by the way you have -faced life, by your independence of the patronage of the great. You -dedicated 'The Traveller' to your brother, and your last comedy to me. -You did not hesitate to turn away from your door the man who came to -offer you money for the prostitution of the talents which God has given -you. Dr. Goldsmith, you have my respect--you have the respect of every -good man. I came to you to-day that you may disappoint those of your -detractors who are waiting for you to be guilty of an act that would -give them an opportunity of pointing a finger of malice at you. You will -not do anything but that which will reflect honour upon yourself, and -show all those who are your friends that their friendship for you is -well founded. I am assured that I can trust you, sir.” - -Goldsmith took the hand that he offered, but said no word. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -When his visitor had gone Goldsmith seated himself in his chair and -gave way to the bitter reflections of the hour. - -He knew that the end of his dream had come. The straightforward words -which Johnson had spoken had put an end to his self-deception--to his -hoping against his better judgment that by some miracle his devotion -might be rewarded. If any man was calculated to be a disperser of -vain dreams that man was Johnson. In the very brutality of his -straightforwardness there was, however, a suspicion of kindliness that -made any appeal from his judgment hopeless. There was no timidity in -the utterances of his phrases when forcing his contentions upon any -audience; but Goldsmith knew that he only spoke strongly because he felt -strongly. - -Times without number he had said to himself precisely what Dr. Johnson -had said to him. If Mary Horneck herself ever went so far as to mistake -the sympathy which she had for him for that affection which alone would -content him, how could he approach her family? Her sister had married -Bunbury, a man of position and wealth, with a country house and a town -house--a man of her own age, and with the possibility of inheriting his -father's baronetcy. Her brother was about to marry a daughter of Lord -Albemarle's. What would these people say if he, Oliver Goldsmith, were -to present himself as a suitor for the hand of Mary Horneck? - -It did not require Dr. Johnson to speak such forcible words in his -hearing to enable him to perceive how ridiculous were his pretensions. -The tragedy of the poet's life among men and women eager to better their -prospects in the world was fully appreciated by him. It was surely, he -felt, the most cruel of all the cruelties of destiny, that the men who -make music of the passions of men--who have surrounded the passion -of love with a glorifying halo--should be doomed to spend their lives -looking on at the success of ordinary men in their loves by the aid of -the music which the poets have created. That is the poet's tragedy -of life, and Goldsmith had often found himself face to face with it, -feeling himself to be one of those with whom destiny is only on jesting -terms. - -Because he was a poet he could not love any less beautiful creature than -Mary Hor-neck, any less gracious, less sweet, less pure, and yet he knew -that if he were to go to her with those poems in his hand which he only -of all living men could write, telling her that they might plead his -cause, he would be regarded--and rightly, too--as both presumptuous and -ridiculous. - -He thought of the loneliness of his life. Was it the lot of the man of -letters to remain in loneliness while the people around him were taking -to themselves wives and begetting sons and daughters? Had he nothing to -look forward to but the laurel wreath? Was it taken for granted that a -contemplation of its shrivelling leaves would more than compensate the -poet for the loss of home--the grateful companionship of a wife--the -babble of children--all that his fellow-men associated with the gladness -and glory of life? - -He knew that he had reached a position in the world of letters that was -surpassed by no living man in England. He had often dreamed of reaching -such a place, and to reach it he had undergone privation--he had -sacrificed the best years of his life. And what did his consciousness -of having attained his end bring with it? It brought to him the snarl of -envy, the howl of hatred, the mock of malice. The air was full of these -sounds; they dinned in his ears and overcame the sounds of the approval -of his friends. - -And it was for this he had sacrificed so much? So much? Everything. He -had sacrificed his life. The one joy that had consoled him for all his -ills during the past few years had departed from him. He would never -see Mary Horneck again. To see her again would only be to increase the -burden of his humiliation. His resolution was formed and he would abide -by it. - -He rose to his feet and picked up the roll of poems. In sign of his -resolution he would burn them. He would, with them, reduce to ashes the -one consolation of his life. - -In the small grate the remains of a fire were still glowing. He knelt -down and blew the spark into a blaze. He was about to thrust the -manuscript into it between the bars when the light that it made fell -upon one of the lines. He had not the heart to burn the leaf until he -had read the remaining lines of the couplet; and when at last, with a -sigh, he hastily thrust the roll of papers between the bars, the little -blaze had fallen again to a mere smouldering spark. Before he could -raise it by a breath or two, his servant entered the room. He started to -his feet. - -“A letter for you, sir,” said John Eyles. “It came by a messenger lad.” - -“Fetch a candle, John,” said Goldsmith, taking the letter. It was too -dark for him to see the handwriting, but he put the tip of his finger on -the seal and became aware that it was Mary Horneck's. - -By the light of the candle he broke the seal, and read the few lines -that the letter contained-- - -_Come to me, my dear friend, without delay, for heaven's sake. Your ear -only can hear what I have to tell. You may be able to help me, but if -not, then. . . . Oh, come to me to-night. Your unhappy Jessamy Bride._ - -He did not delay an instant. He caught up his hat and left his chambers. -He did not even think of the resolution to which he had just come, never -to see Mary Horneck again. All his thoughts were lost in the one thought -that he was about to stand face to face with her. - -He stood face to face with her in less than half an hour. She was in the -small drawing-room where he had seen her on the day after the production -of “She Stoops to Conquer.” Only a few wax candles were lighted in the -cut-glass sconces that were placed in the centre of the panels of the -walls. Their light was, however, sufficient to make visible the contrast -between the laughing face of the girl in Reynolds's picture of her and -her sister which hung on the wall, and the sad face of the girl who put -her hand into his as he was shown in by the servant. - -“I knew you would come,” she said. “I knew that I could trust you.” - -“You may trust me, indeed,” he said. He held her hand in his own, -looking into her pale face and sunken eyes. “I knew the time would come -when you would tell me all that there is to be told,” he continued. -“Whether I can help you or not, you will find yourself better for having -told me.” - -She seated herself on the sofa, and he took his place beside her. There -was a silence of a minute or two, before she suddenly started up, -and, after walking up and down the room nervously, stopped at the -mantelpiece, leaning her head against the high slab, and looking into -the smouldering fire in the grate. - -He watched her, but did not attempt to express the pity that filled his -heart. - -“What am I to tell you--what am I to tell you?” she cried at last, -resuming her pacing of the floor. - -He made no reply, but sat there following her movements with his eyes. -She went beside him, and stood, with nervously clasped hands, looking -with vacant eyes at the group of wax candles that burned in one of the -sconces. Once again she turned away with a little cry, but then with a -great effort she controlled herself, and her voice was almost tranquil -when she spoke, seating herself. - -“You were with me at the Pantheon, and saw me when I caught sight of -that man,” she said. “You alone were observant. Did you also see him -call me to his side in the green room at the playhouse?” - -“I saw you in the act of speaking to him there--he calls himself -Jackson--Captain Jackson,” said Goldsmith. - -“You saved me from him once!” she cried. “You saved me from becoming -his--body and soul.” - -“No,” he said; “I have not yet saved you, but God is good; He may enable -me to do so.” - -“I tell you if it had not been for you--for the book which you wrote, I -should be to-day a miserable castaway.” - -He looked puzzled. - -“I cannot quite understand,” said he. “I gave you a copy of 'The Vicar -of Wakefield' when you were going to Devonshire a year ago. You were -complaining that your sister had taken away with her the copy which -I had presented to your mother, so that you had not an opportunity of -reading it.” - -“It was that which saved me,” she cried. “Oh, what fools girls are! They -are carried away by such devices as should not impose upon the merest -child! Why are we not taught from our childhood of the baseness of -men--some men--so that we can be on our guard when we are on the verge -of womanhood? If we are to live in the world why should we not be told -all that we should guard against?” - -She laid her head down on the arm of the sofa, sobbing. - -He put his hand gently upon her hair, saying-- - -“I cannot believe anything but what is good regarding you, my sweet -Jessamy Bride.” - -She raised her head quickly and looked at him through her tears. - -“Then you will err,” she said. “You will have to think ill of me. Thank -God you saved me from the worst, but it was not in your power to save me -from all--to save me from myself. Listen to me, my best friend. When -I was in Devonshire last year I met that man. He was staying in the -village, pretending that he was recovering from a wound which he had -received in our colonies in America. He was looked on as a hero and -feted in all directions. Every girl for miles around was in love -with him, and I--innocent fool that I was--considered myself the most -favoured creature in the world because he made love to me. Any day we -failed to meet I wrote him a letter--a foolish letter such as a -school miss might write--full of protestations of undying affection. -I sometimes wrote two of these letters in the day. More than a month -passed in this foolishness, and then it came to my uncle's ears that we -had meetings. He forbade my continuing to see a man of whom no one knew -anything definite, but about whom he was having strict inquiries made. I -wrote to the man to this effect, and I received a reply persuading me -to have one more meeting with him. I was so infatuated that I met him -secretly, and then in impassioned strains he implored me to make -a runaway match with him. He said he had enemies. When he had been -fighting the King's battles against the rebels these enemies had been -active, and he feared that their malice would come between us, and he -should lose me. I was so carried away by his pleading that I consented -to leave my uncle's house by his side.” - -“But you cannot have done so.” - -“You saved me,” she cried. “I had been reading your book, and, by God's -mercy, on the very day before that on which I had promised to go to him -I came to the story of poor Olivia's flight and its consequences. With -the suddenness of a revelation from heaven I perceived the truth. The -scales fell from my eyes as they fell from St. Paul's on the way to -Damascus, only where he perceived the heaven I saw the hell that awaited -me. I knew that that man was endeavouring to encompass my ruin, and in a -single hour--thanks to the genius that wrote that book--my love for that -man, or what I fancied was love, was turned to loathing. I did not meet -him. I returned to him, without a word of comment, a letter he wrote -to me reproaching me for disappointing him; and the very next day my -uncle's suspicions regarding him were confirmed. His inquiries resulted -in proof positive of the ruffianism of the fellow who called himself -Captain Jackson, He had left the army in America with a stain on his -character, and it was known that since his return to England at least -two young women had been led into the trap which he laid for me.” - -“Thank God you were saved, my child,” said Goldsmith, as she paused, -overcome with emotion. “But being saved, my dear, you have no further -reason to fear that man.” - -“That was my belief, too,” said she. “But alas! it was a delusion. So -soon as he found out that I had escaped from him, he showed himself in -his true colours. He wrote threatening to send the letters which I -had been foolish enough to write to him, to my friends--he was even -scoundrel enough to point out that I had in my innocence written certain -passages which were susceptible of being interpreted as evidence of -guilt--nay, his letter in which he did so took it for granted that I had -been guilty, so that I could not show it as evidence of his falsehood. -What was left for me to do? I wrote to him imploring him to return to -me those letters. I asked him how he could think it consistent with his -honour to retain them and to hold such an infamous threat over my head. -Alas! he soon gave me to understand that I had but placed myself more -deeply in his power.” - -“The scoundrel!” - -“Oh! scoundrel! I made an excuse for coming back to London, though I had -meant to stay in Devonshire until the end of the year.” - -“And 'twas then you thanked me for the book.” - -“I had good reason to do so. For some months I was happy, believing -that I had escaped from my persecutor. How happy we were when in France -together! But then--ah! you know the rest. My distress is killing me--I -cannot sleep at night. I start a dozen times a day; every time the bell -rings I am in trepidation.” - -“Great Heaven! Is 't possible that you are miserable solely on this -account?” cried Goldsmith. - -“Is there not sufficient reason for my misery?” she asked. “What did he -say to me that night in the green room? He told me that he would give me -a fortnight to accede to his demands; if I failed he swore to print my -letters in full, introducing my name so that every one should know who -had written them.” - -“And his terms?” asked Goldsmith in a whisper. - -“His terms? I cannot tell you--I cannot tell you. The very thought that -I placed myself in such a position as made it possible for me to have -such an insult offered to me makes me long for death.” - -“By God! 'tis he who need to prepare for death!” cried Goldsmith, “for I -shall kill him, even though the act be called murder.” - -“No--no!” she said, laying a hand upon his arm. “No friend of mine must -suffer for my folly. I dare not speak a word of this to my brother for -fear of the consequences. That wretch boasted to me of having laid his -plans so carefully that, if any harm were to come to him, the letters -would still be printed. He said he had heard of my friends, and declared -that if he were approached by any of them nothing should save me from -being made the talk of the town. I was terrified by the threat, but I -determined to-day to tell you my pitiful story in the hope--the forlorn -hope--that you might be able to help me. Tell me--tell me, my dear -friend, if you can see any chance of escape for me except that of which -poor Olivia sang: 'The only way her guilt to cover.'” - -“Guilt? Who talks of guilt?” said he. “Oh, my poor innocent child, I -knew that whatever your grief might be there was nothing to be thought -of you except what was good. I am not one to say even that you acted -foolishly; you only acted innocently. You, in the guilelessness of your -own pure heart could not believe that a man could be worse than any -monster. Dear child, I pray of you to bear up for a short time against -this stroke of fate, and I promise you that I shall discover a way of -escape for you.” - -“Ah, it is easy to say those words 'bear up.' I have said them to -myself a score of times within the week. You cannot now perceive in what -direction lies my hope of escape?” - -He shook his head, but not without a smile on his face, as he said-- - -“'Tis easy enough for one who has composed so much fiction as I have to -invent a plan for the rescue of a tortured heroine; but, unhappily, it -is the case that in real life one cannot control circumstances as one -can in a work of the imagination. That is one of the weaknesses of real -life, my dear; things will go on happening in defiance of all the arts -of fiction. But of this I feel certain: Providence does not do things by -halves. He will not make me the means of averting a great disaster from -you and then permit me to stand idly by while you suffer such a calamity -as that which you apprehend just now. Nay, my dear, I feel that as -Heaven directed my pen to write that book in order that you might be -saved from the fate of my poor Livy, I shall be permitted to help you -out of your present difficulty.” - -“You give me hope,” she said. “Yes--a little hope. But you must promise -me that you will not be tempted to do anything that is rash. I know how -brave you are--my brother told me what prompt action you took yesterday -when that vile slander appeared. But were you not foolish to place -yourself in jeopardy? To strike at a serpent that hisses may only cause -it to spring.” - -“I feel now that I was foolish,” said he humbly; “I ran the chance of -forfeiting your friendship.” - -“Oh, no, it was not so bad as that,” she said. “But in this matter of -mine I perceive clearly that craft and not bravery will prevail to save -me, if I am to be saved. I saw that you provoked a quarrel with that man -on the night when we were leaving the Pantheon; think of it, think what -my feelings would have been if he had killed you! And think also that -if you had killed him I should certainly be lost, for he had made his -arrangements to print the letters by which I should be judged.” - -“You have spoken truly,” said he. “You are wiser than I have ever been. -But for your sake, my sweet Jessamy Bride, I promise to do nothing -that shall jeopardise your safety. Have no fear, dear one, you shall be -saved, whatever may happen.” - -He took her hand and kissed it fondly. “You shall be saved,” he -repeated. - -“If not----” said she in a low tone, looking beyond him. - -“No--no,” he whispered. “I have given you my promise. You must give me -yours. You will do nothing impious.” - -She gave a wan smile. - -“I am a girl,” she said. “My courage is as water. I promise you I will -trust you, with all my heart--all my heart.” - -“I shall not fail you--Heaven shall not fail you,” said he, going to the -door. - -He looked back at her. What a lovely picture she made, standing in her -white loose gown with its lace collar that seemed to make her face the -more pallid! - -He bowed at the door. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -He went for supper to a tavern which he knew would be visited by none -of his friends. He had no wish to share in the drolleries of Garrick as -the latter turned Boswell into ridicule to make sport for the company. -He knew that Garrick would be at the club in Gerrard street, to which he -had been elected only a few days before the production of “She Stoops to -Conquer,” and it was not at all unlikely that on this account the club -would be a good deal livelier than it usually was even when Richard -Burke was wittiest. - -While awaiting the modest fare which he had ordered he picked up one of -the papers published that evening, and found that it contained a fierce -assault upon him for having dared to take the law into his own hands in -attempting to punish the scoundrel who had introduced the name of Miss -Horneck into his libel upon the author of the comedy about which all the -town were talking. - -The scurrility of his new assailant produced no impression upon him. He -smiled as he read the ungrammatical expression of the indignation which -the writer purported to feel at so gross an infringement of the liberty -of the press as that of which--according to the writer--the ingenious -Dr. Goldsmith was guilty. He did not even fling the paper across the -room. He was not dwelling upon his own grievances. In his mind, the -worst that could happen to him was not worth a moment's thought compared -with the position of the girl whose presence he had just left. - -He knew perfectly well--had he not good reason to know?--that the man -who had threatened her would keep his threat. He knew of the gross -nature of the libels which were published daily upon not merely the most -notable persons in society, but also upon ordinary private individuals; -and he had a sufficient knowledge of men and women to be aware of the -fact that the grossest scandal upon the most innocent person was more -eagerly read than any of the other contents of the prints of the day. -That was one of the results of the publication of the scurrilities of -Junius: the appetite of the people for such piquant fare was whetted, -and there was no lack of literary cooks to prepare it. Slander was all -that the public demanded. They did not make the brilliancy of Junius -one of the conditions of their acceptance of such compositions--all they -required was that the libel should have a certain amount of piquancy. - -No one was better aware of this fact than Oliver Goldsmith. He knew that -Kenrick, who had so frequently libelled him, would pay all the money -that he could raise to obtain the letters which the man who called -himself Captain Jackson had in his possession; he also knew that there -would be no difficulty in finding a publisher for them; and as people -were always much more ready to believe evil than good regarding any -one--especially a young girl against whom no suspicion had ever been -breathed--the result of the publication of the letters would mean -practically ruin to the girl who had been innocent enough to write them. - -Of course, a man of the world, with money at his hand, would have smiled -at the possibility of a question arising as to the attitude to assume in -regard to such a scoundrel as Jackson. He would merely inquire what sum -the fellow required in exchange for the letters. But Goldsmith was in -such matters as innocent as the girl herself. He believed, as she did, -that because the man did not make any monetary claim upon her, he was -not sordid. He was the more inclined to disregard the question of the -possibility of buying the man off, knowing as he did that he should -find it impossible to raise a sufficient sum for the purpose; and -he believed, with Mary Horneck, that to tell her friends how she was -situated would be to forfeit their respect forever. - -She had told him that only cunning could prevail against her enemy, and -he felt certain that she was right. He would try and be cunning for her -sake. - -He found great difficulty in making a beginning. He remembered how often -in his life, and how easily, he had been imposed upon--how often his -friends had entreated him to acquire this talent, since he had certainly -not been endowed with it by nature. He remembered how upon some -occasions he had endeavoured to take their advice; and he also -remembered how, when he thought he had been extremely shrewd, it turned -out that he had never been more clearly imposed upon. - -He wondered if it was too late to begin again on a more approved system. - -He brought his skill as a writer of fiction to bear upon the question -(which maybe taken as evidence that he had not yet begun his career of -shrewdness). - -How, for instance, would he, if the exigencies of his story required -it, cause Moses Primrose to develop into a man of resources in worldly -wisdom? By what means would he turn Honeywood into a cynical man of the -world? - -He considered these questions at considerable length, and only when he -reached the Temple, returning to his chambers, did he find out that the -waiter at the tavern had given him change for a guinea two shillings -short, and that half-a-crown of the change was made of pewter. He could -not help being amused at his first step towards cunning. He certainly -felt no vexation at being made so easy a victim of--he was accustomed to -that position. - -When he found that the roll of manuscript which he had thrust between -the bars of the grate remained as he had left it, only slightly charred -at the end which had been the nearer to the hot, though not burning, -coals, all thoughts of guile--all his prospects of shrewdness were cast -aside. He unfolded the pages and read the verses once more. After all, -he had no right to burn them. He felt that they were no longer his -property. They either belonged to the world of literature or to Mary -Horneck, as--as what? As a token of affection which he bore her? But he -had promised Johnson to root out of his heart whatever might remain of -that which he had admitted to be foolishness. - -Alas! alas! He sat up for hours in his cold rooms thinking, hoping, -dreaming his old dream that a day was coming when he might without -reproach put those verses into the girl's hand--when, learning the -truth, she would understand. - -And that time did come. - -In the morning he found himself ready to face the question of how to -get possession of the letters. No man of his imagination could give his -attention to such a matter without having suggested to him many schemes -for the attainment of his object. But in the end he was painfully -aware that he had contrived nothing that did not involve the risk of -a criminal prosecution against himself, and, as a consequence, the -discovery of all that Mary Horneck was anxious to hide. - -It was not until the afternoon that he came to the conclusion that it -would be unwise for him to trust to his own resources in this particular -affair. After all, he was but a man; it required the craft of a woman to -defeat the wiles of such a demon as he had to deal with. - -That he knew to be a wise conclusion to come to. But where was the -woman to whom he could go for help? He wanted to find a woman who was -accustomed to the wiles of the devil, and he believed that he should -have considerable difficulty in finding her. - -He was, of course, wrong. He had not been considering this aspect of the -question for long before he thought of Mrs. Abington, and in a moment he -knew that he had found a woman who could help him if she had a mind to -do so. Her acquaintance with wiles he knew to be large and varied, and -he liked her. - -He liked her so well that he felt sure she would help him--if he made -it worth her while; and he thought he saw his way to make it worth her -while. - -He was so convinced he was on the way to success that he became -impatient at the reflection that he could not possibly see Mrs. Abington -until the evening. But while he was in this state his servant announced -a visitor--one with whom he was not familiar, but who gave his name as -Colonel Gwyn. - -Full of surprise, he ordered Colonel Gwyn to be shown into the room. He -recollected having met him at a dinner at the Reynolds's, and once at -the Hornecks' house in Westminster; but why he should pay a visit -to Brick Court Goldsmith was at a loss to know. He, however, greeted -Colonel Gwyn as if he considered it to be one of the most natural -occurrences in the world for him to appear at that particular moment. - -“Dr. Goldsmith,” said the visitor when he had seated himself, “you -have no doubt every reason to be surprised at my taking the liberty of -calling upon you without first communicating with you.” - -“Not at all, sir,” said Goldsmith. “'Tis a great compliment you offer to -me. Bear in mind that I am sensible of it, sir.” - -“You are very kind, sir. Those who have a right to speak on the subject -have frequently referred to you as the most generous of men.” - -“Oh, sir, I perceive that you have been talking with some persons whose -generosity was more noteworthy than their judgment.” - -And once again he gave an example of the Goldsmith bow which Garrick had -so successfully caricatured. - -“Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, if I thought so I would not be here to-day. The -fact is, sir, that I--I--i' faith, sir, I scarce know how to tell you -how it is I appear before you in this fashion.” - -“You do not need to have an excuse, I do assure you, Colonel Gwyn. You -are a friend of my best friend--Sir Joshua Reynolds.” - -“Yes, sir, and of other friends, too, I would fain hope. In short, Dr. -Goldsmith, I am here because I know how highly you stand in the esteem -of--of--well, of all the members of the Horneck family.” - -It was now Goldsmith's turn to stammer. He was so surprised by the way -his visitor introduced the name of the Hor-necks he scarcely knew what -reply to make to him. - -“I perceive that you are surprised, sir.” said Gwyn. - -“No, no--not at all--that is--no, not greatly surprised--only--well, -sir, why should you not be a friend of Mrs. Horneck? Her son is like -yourself, a soldier,” stammered Goldsmith. - -“I have taken the liberty of calling more than once during the past -week or two upon the Hornecks, Dr. Goldsmith,” said Gwyn; “but upon no -occasion have I been fortunate enough to see Miss Horneck. They told me -she was by no means well.” - -“And they told you the truth, sir,” said Goldsmith somewhat brusquely. - -“You know it then? Miss Horneck is really indisposed? Ah! I feared that -they were merely excusing her presence on the ground of illness. I must -confess a headache was not specified.” - -“Nay, sir, Miss Horneck's relations are not destitute of imagination. -But why should you fancy that you were being deceived by them, Colonel -Gwyn?” - -Colonel Gwyn laughed slightly, not freely. - -“I thought that the lady herself might think, perhaps, that I was taking -a liberty,” he said somewhat awkwardly. - -“Why should she think that, Colonel Gwyn?” asked Goldsmith. - -“Well, Dr. Goldsmith, you see--sir, you are, I know, a favoured friend -of the lady's--I perceived long ago--nay, it is well known that she -regards you with great affection as a--no, not as a father--no, as--as -an elder brother, that is it--yes, as an elder brother; and therefore -I thought that I would venture to intrude upon you to-day. Sir, to be -quite frank with you, I love Miss Horneck, but I hesitate--as I am sure -you could understand that any man must--before declaring myself to her. -Now, it occurred to me, Dr. Goldsmith, that you might not conceive it to -be a gross impertinence on my part if I were to ask you if you knew of -the lady's affections being already engaged. I hope you will be frank -with me, sir.” - -Goldsmith looked with curious eyes at the man before him. Colonel -Gwyn was a well built man of perhaps a year or two over thirty. He sat -upright on his chair--a trifle stiffly, it might be thought by some -people, but that was pardonable in a military man. He was also somewhat -inclined to be pompous in his manners; but any one could perceive that -they were the manners of a gentleman. - -Goldsmith looked earnestly at him. Was that the man who was to take Mary -Horneck away from him? he asked himself. - -He could not speak for some time after his visitor had spoken. At last -he gave a little start. - -“You should not have come to me, sir,” he said slowly. - -“I felt that I was taking a great liberty, sir,” said Gwyn. - -“On the contrary, sir, I feel that you have honoured me with your -confidence. But--ah, sir, do you fancy that I am the sort of man a lady -would seek for a confidant in any matter concerning her heart?” - -“I thought it possible that she--Miss Horneck--might have let you know. -You are not as other men, Dr. Goldsmith; you are a poet, and so she -might naturally feel that you would be interested in a love affair. -Poets, all the world knows, sir, have a sort of--well, a sort of vested -interest in the love affairs of humanity, so to speak.” - -“Yes, sir, that is the decree of Heaven, I suppose, to compensate -them for the emptiness in their own hearts to which they must become -accustomed. I have heard of childless women becoming the nurses to the -children of their happier sisters, and growing as fond of them as if -they were their own offspring. It is on the same principle, I suppose, -that poets become sympathetically interested in the world of lovers, -which is quite apart from the world of letters.” - -Goldsmith spoke slowly, looking his visitor in the face. He had no -difficulty in perceiving that Colonel Gwyn failed to understand the -exact appropriateness of what he had said. Colonel Gwyn himself admitted -as much. - -“I protest, sir, I scarcely take your meaning,” he said. “But for that -matter, I fear that I was scarcely fortunate enough to make myself quite -plain to you.” - -“Oh, yes,” said Goldsmith, “I think I gathered from your words all that -you came hither to learn. Briefly, Colonel Gwyn, you are reluctant to -subject yourself to the humiliation of having your suit rejected by the -lady, and so you have come hither to try and learn from me what are your -chances of success.” - -“How admirably you put the matter!” said Gwyn. “And I fancied you did -not apprehend the purport of my visit. Well, sir, what chance have I?” - -“I cannot tell,” said Goldsmith. “Miss Horneck has never told me that -she loved any man.” - -“Then I have still a chance?” - -“Nay, sir; girls do not usually confide the story of their attachments -to their fathers--no, nor to their elder brothers. But if you wish to -consider your chances with any lady, Colonel Gwyn, I would venture to -advise you to go and stand in front of a looking-glass and ask yourself -if you are the manner of man to whom a young lady would be likely to -become attached. Add to the effect of your personality--which I think is -great, sir--the glamour that surrounds the profession in which you have -won distinction, and you will be able to judge for yourself whether your -suit would be likely to be refused by the majority of young ladies.” - -“You flatter me, Dr. Goldsmith. But, assuming for a moment that there is -some force in your words, I protest that they do not reassure me. Miss -Horneck, sir, is not the lady to be carried away by the considerations -that would prevail in the eyes of others of her sex.” - -“You have learned something of Miss Horneck, at any rate, Colonel Gwyn.” - -“I think I have, sir. When I think of her, I feel despondent. Does the -man exist who would be worthy of her love?” - -“He does not, Colonel Gwyn. But that is no reason why she may not love -some man. Does a woman only give her love to one who is worthy of it? It -is fortunate for men that that is not the way with women. - -“It is fortunate; and in that reflection, sir, I find my greatest -consolation at the present moment. I am not a bad man, Dr. -Goldsmith--not as men go--there is in my lifetime nothing that I have -cause to be ashamed of; but, I repeat, when I think of her sweetness, -her purity, her tenderness, I am overcome with a sense of my own -presumption in aspiring to win her. You think me presumptuous in this -matter, I am convinced, sir.” - -“I do--I do. I know Mary Horneck.” - -“I give you my word that I am better satisfied with your agreement with -me in this respect than I should be if you were to flatter me. Allow me -to thank you for your great courtesy to me, sir. You have not sent me -away without hope, and I trust that I may assume, Dr. Goldsmith, that -I have your good wishes in this matter, which I hold to be vital to my -happiness.” - -“Colonel Gwyn, my wishes--my prayers to Heaven are that Mary Horneck may -be happy.” - -“And I ask for nothing more, sir. There is my hand on it.” - -Oliver Goldsmith took the hand that he but dimly saw stretched out to -him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -Never for a moment had Goldsmith felt jealous of the younger men -who were understood to be admirers of the Jessamy Bride. He had made -humourous verses on some of them, Henry Bunbury had supplied comic -illustrations, and Mary and her sister had had their laugh. He could not -even now feel jealous of Colonel Gwyn, though he knew that he was a more -eligible suitor than the majority whom he had met from time to time at -the Hornecks' house. He knew that since Colonel Gwyn had appeared the -girl had no thoughts to give to love and suitors. If Gwyn were to go -to her immediately and offer himself as a suitor he would meet with a -disappointment. - -Yes; at the moment he had no reason to feel jealous of the man who -had just left him. On the contrary, he felt that he had a right to be -exultant at the thought that it was he--he--Oliver Goldsmith--who had -been entrusted by Mary Horneck with her secret--with the duty of saving -her from the scoundrel who was persecuting her. - -Colonel Gwyn was a soldier, and yet it was to him that this knight's -enterprise had fallen. - -He felt that he had every reason to be proud. He had been placed in a -position which was certainly quite new to him. He was to compass the -rescue of the maiden in distress; and had he not heard of innumerable -instances in which the reward of success in such, an undertaking was the -hand of the maiden? - -For half an hour he felt exultant. He had boldly faced an adverse fate -all his life; he had grappled with a cruel destiny; and, though the -struggle had lasted all his life, he had come out the conqueror. He had -become the most distinguished man of letters in England. As Professor -at the Royal Academy his superiority had been acknowledged by the most -eminent men of the period. And then, although he was plain of face and -awkward in manner--nearly as awkward, if far from being so offensive, as -Johnson--he had been appointed her own knight by the loveliest girl in -England. He felt that he had reason to exult. - -But then the reaction came. He thought of himself as compared with -Colonel Gwyn--he thought of himself as a suitor by the side of Colonel -Gwyn. What would the world say of a girl who would choose him in -preference to Colonel Gwyn? He had told Gwyn to survey himself in a -mirror in order to learn what chance he would have of being accepted -as the lover of a lovely girl. Was he willing to apply the same test to -himself? - -He had not the courage to glance toward even the small glass which he -had--a glass which could reflect only a small portion of his plainness. - -He remained seated in his chair for a long time, being saved from -complete despair only by the reflection that it was he who was entrusted -with the task of freeing Mary Horneck from the enemy who had planned her -destruction. This was his one agreeable reflection, and after a time it, -too, became tempered by the thought that all his task was still before -him: he had taken no step toward saving her. - -He started up, called for a lamp, and proceeded to dress himself for the -evening. He would dine at a coffee house in the neighbourhood of Covent -Garden Theatre, and visit Mrs. Abington in the green room while his -play--in which she did not appear--was being acted on the stage. - -He was unfortunate enough to meet Boswell in the coffee house, so that -his design of thinking out, while at dinner, the course which he should -pursue in regard to the actress--how far he would be safe in confiding -in her--was frustrated. - -The little Scotchman was in great grief: Johnson had actually quarrelled -with him--well, not exactly quarrelled, for it required two to make -a quarel, and Boswell had steadily refused to contribute to such -a disaster. Johnson, however, was so overwhelming a personality in -Boswell's eyes he could almost make a quarrel without the assistance of -a second person. - -“Psha! Sir,” said Goldsmith, “you know as little of Dr. Johnson as you -do of the Irish nation and their characteristics.” - -“Perhaps that is so, but I felt that I was getting to know him,” said -Boswell. “But now all is over; he will never see me again.” - -“Nay, man, cannot you perceive that he is only assuming this attitude in -order to give you a chance of knowing him better?” said Goldsmith. - -“For the life of me I cannot see how that could be,” cried Boswell after -a contemplative pause. - -“Why, sir, you must perceive that he wishes to impress you with a -consciousness of his generosity.” - -“What, by quarrelling with me and declaring that he would never see me -again?” - -“No, not in that way, though I believe there are some people who would -feel that it was an act of generosity on Dr. Johnson's part to remain -secluded for a space in order to give the rest of the world a chance of -talking together.” - -“What does it matter about the rest of the world, sir?” - -“Not much, I suppose I should say, since he means me to be his -biographer.” - -Boswell, of course, utterly failed to appreciate the sly tone in which -the Irishman spoke, and took him up quite seriously. - -“Is it possible that he has been in communication with you, Dr. -Goldsmith?” he cried anxiously. - -“I will not divulge Dr. Johnson's secrets, sir,” replied Goldsmith, with -an affectation of the manner of the man who a short time before had said -that Shakespeare was pompous. - -“Now you are imitating him,” said Boswell. “But I perceive that he has -told you of our quarrel--our misunderstanding. It arose through you, -sir.” - -“Through me, sir?” - -“Through the visit of your relative, the Dean, after we had dined at the -Crown and Anchor. You see, he bound me down to promise him to tell no -one of that unhappy occurrence, sir; and yet he heard that Garrick has -lately been mimicking the Dean--yes, down to his very words, at the -Reynolds's, and so he came to the conclusion that Garrick was made -acquainted with the whole story by me. He sent for me yesterday, and -upbraided me for half an hour.” - -“To whom did you give an account of the affair, sir?” - -“To no human being, sir.” - -“Oh, come now, you must have given it to some one.” - -“To no one, sir--that is, no one from whom Garrick could possibly have -had the story.” - -“Ah, I knew, and so did Johnson, that it would be out of the question to -expect that you would hold your tongue on so interesting a secret. Well, -perhaps this will be a lesson to you in the future. I must not fail -to make an entire chapter of this in my biography of our great friend. -Perhaps you would do me the favour to write down a clear and as nearly -accurate an account as your pride will allow of your quarrel with the -Doctor, sir. Such an account would be an amazing assistance to posterity -in forming an estimate of the character of Johnson.” - -“Ah, sir, am I not sufficiently humiliated by the reflection that my -friendly relations with the man whom I revere more than any living human -being are irretrievably ruptured? You will not add to the poignancy of -that reflection by asking me to write down an account of our quarrel in -order to perpetuate so deplorable an incident?” - -“Sir, I perceive that you are as yet ignorant of the duties of the true -biographer. You seem to think that a biographer has a right to pick -and choose the incidents with which he has to deal--that he may, if he -please, omit the mention of any occurrence that may tend to show his -hero or his hero's friends in an unfavourable light. Sir, I tell you -frankly that your notions of biography are as erroneous as they are -mischievous. Mr. Boswell, I am a more conscientious man, and so, sir, I -insist on your writing down while they are still fresh in your mind the -very words that passed between you and Dr. Johnson on this matter, and -you will also furnish me with a list of the persons--if you have not -sufficient paper at your lodgings for the purpose, you can order a ream -at the stationer's at the corner--to whom you gave an account of the -humiliation of Dr. Johnson by the clergyman who claimed relationship -with me, but who was an impostor. Come, Mr. Boswell, be a man, sir; do -not seek to avoid so obvious a duty.” - -Boswell looked at him, but, as usual, failed to detect the least gleam -of a smile on his face. - -He rose from the table and walked out of the coffee house without a -word. - -“Thank heaven I have got rid of that Peeping Tom,” muttered Goldsmith. -“If I had acted otherwise in regard to him I should not have been out of -hearing of his rasping tongue until midnight.” - -(The very next morning a letter from Boswell was brought to him. It told -him that he had sought Johnson the previous evening, and had obtained -his forgiveness. “You were right, sir,” the letter concluded. “Dr. -Johnson has still further impressed me with a sense of his generosity.”) - -But as soon as Boswell had been got rid of Goldsmith hastened to -the playhouse in order to consult with the lady who--through long -practice--was, he believed, the most ably qualified of her sex to give -him advice as to the best way of getting the better of a scoundrel. It -was only when he was entering the green room that he recollected he had -not yet made up his mind as to the exact limitations he should put upon -his confidence with Mrs. Abington. - -The beautiful actress was standing in one of those picturesque attitudes -which she loved to assume, at one end of the long room. The second act -only of “She Stoops to Conquer” had been reached, and as she did not -appear in the comedy, she had no need to begin dressing for the next -piece. She wore a favourite dress of hers--one which had taken the town -by storm a few months before, and which had been imitated by every lady -of quality who had more respect for fashion than for herself. It was -a negligently flowing gown of some soft but heavy fabric, very low and -loose about the neck and shoulders. - -“Ha, my little hero,” cried the lady when Goldsmith approached and made -his bow, first to a group of players who stood near the door, and then -to Mrs. Abington. “Ha, my little hero, whom have you been drubbing last? -Oh, lud! to think of your beating a critic! Your courage sets us all -a-dying of envy. How we should love to pommel some of our critics! There -was a rumour last night that the man had died, Dr. Goldsmith.” - -“The fellow would not pay such a tribute to my powers, depend on't, -madam,” said Goldsmith. - -“Not if he could avoid it, I am certain,” said she. “Faith, sir, -you gave him a pretty fair drubbing, anyhow.' Twas the talk of the -playhouse, I give you my word. Some vastly pretty things were said about -you, Dr. Goldsmith. It would turn your head if I were to repeat them -all. For instance, a gentleman in this very room last night said that it -was the first case that had come under his notice of a doctor's making -an attempt upon a man's life, except through the legitimate professional -channel.” - -“If all the pretty things that were spoken were no prettier than that, -Mrs. Abington, you will not turn my head,” said Goldsmith. “Though, for -that matter, I vow that to effect such a purpose you only need to stand -before me in that dress--ay, or any other.” - -“Oh, sir, I protest that I cannot stand before such a fusillade of -compliment--I sink under it, sir--thus,” and she made an exquisite -courtesy. “Talk of turning heads! do you fancy that actresses' heads are -as immovable as their hearts, Dr. Goldsmith?” - -“I trust that their hearts are less so, madam, for just now I am -extremely anxious that the heart of the most beautiful and most -accomplished should be moved,” said Goldsmith. - -“You have only to give me your word that you have written as good a -comedy as 'She Stoops to Conquer,' with a better part for me in it than -that of Miss Hardcastle.” - -“I have the design of one in my head, madam.” - -“Then, faith, sir, 'tis lucky that I did not say anything to turn your -head. Dr. Goldsmith, my heart is moved already. See how easy it is for a -great author to effect his object where a poor actress is concerned. And -you have begun the comedy, sir?” - -“I cannot begin it until I get rid of a certain tragedy that is in the -air. I want your assistance in that direction.” - -“What! Do you mistake the farce of drubbing a critic for a tragedy, Dr. -Goldsmith?” - -“Psha, madam! What do you take me for? Even if I were as poor a critic -as Kenrick I could still discriminate between one and t' other. Can you -give me half an hour of your time, Mrs. Abington?” - -“With all pleasure, sir. We shall sit down. You wear a tragedy face, Dr. -Goldsmith.” - -“I need to do so, madam, as I think you will allow when you hear all I -have to tell you.” - -“Oh, lud! You frighten me. Pray begin, sir.” - -“How shall I begin? Have you ever had to encounter the devil, madam?” - -“Frequently, sir. Alas! I fear that I have not always prevailed against -him as successfully as you did in your encounter with one of his -family--a critic. Your story promises to be more interesting than your -face suggested.” - -“I have to encounter a devil, Mrs. Abington, and I come to you for -help.” - -“Then you must tell me if your devil is male or female. If the former I -think I can promise you my help; if the latter, do not count on me. When -the foul fiend assumes the form of an angel of light--which I take to be -the way St. Paul meant to convey the idea of a woman--he is too powerful -for me, I frankly confess.” - -“Mine is a male fiend.” - -“Not the manager of a theatre--another form of the same hue?” - -“Nay, dear madam, there are degrees of blackness.” - -“Ah, yes; positive bad, comparative Baddeley, superlative Colman.” - -“If I could compose a phrase like that, Mrs. Abington, I should be the -greatest wit in London, and ruin my life going from coffee house to -coffee house repeating it.” - -“Pray do not tell Mrs. Baddeley that I made it, sir.” - -“How could I, madam, when you have just told me that a she-devil was -more than you could cope with?” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -And now, sir, to face the particulars--to proceed from the fancy -embroidery of wit to the solid fabric of fact--who or what is the -aggressive demon that you want exorcised?” - -“His name is Jackson--he calls himself Captain Jackson,” replied Oliver. -He had not made up his mind how much he should tell of Mary Horneck's -story. He blamed Boswell for interrupting his consideration of this -point after he had dined; though it is doubtful if he would have made -any substantial advance in that direction even if the unhappy Scotchman -had not thrust himself and his grievance upon him. - -“Jackson--Captain Jackson!” cried the actress. “Why, Dr. Goldsmith, this -is a very little fiend that you ask me to help you to destroy. Surely, -sir, he can be crushed without my assistance. One does not ask for a -battering-ram to overturn a house of cards--one does not requisition a -park of artillery to demolish a sparrow.” - -“Nay, but if a blunderbuss be not handy, one should avail oneself of -the power of a piece of ordnance,” said Goldsmith. “The truth is, madam, -that in this matter I represent only the blunder of the blunderbuss.” - -“If you drift into wit, sir, we shall never get on. I know 'tis hard for -you to avoid it; but time is flying. What has this Captain Jackson been -doing that he must be sacrificed? You must be straight with me.” - -“I'm afraid it has actually come to that. Well, Mrs. Abington, in brief, -there is a lady in the question.” - -“Oh! you need scarce dwell on so inevitable an incident as that; I was -waiting for the lady.” - -“She is the most charming of her sex, madam.” - -“I never knew one that wasn't. Don't waste time over anything that may -be taken for granted.” - -“Unhappily she was all unacquainted with the wickedness of men.” - -“I wonder in what part of the world she lived--certainly not in London.” - -“Staying with a relation in the country this fellow Jackson appeared -upon the scene----” - -“Ah! the most ancient story that the world knows: Innocence, the garden, -the serpent. Alas! sir, there is no return to the Garden of Innocence, -even though the serpent be slaughtered.” - -“Pardon me, Mrs. Abington”--Goldsmith spoke slowly and gravely--“pardon -me. This real story is not so commonplace as that of my Olivia. Destiny -has more resources than the most imaginative composer of fiction.” - -In as direct a fashion as possible he told the actress the pitiful story -of how Mary Horneck was imposed upon by the glamour of the man who let -it be understood that he was a hero, only incapacitated by a wound from -taking any further part in the campaign against the rebels in America; -and how he refused to return her the letters which she had written to -him, but had threatened to print them in such a way as would give them -the appearance of having been written by a guilty woman. - -“The lady is prostrated with grief,” he said, concluding his story. “The -very contemplation of the possibility of her letters being printed is -killing her, and I am convinced that she would not survive the shame of -knowing that the scoundrel had carried out his infamous threat.” - -“'Tis a sad story indeed,” said Mrs. Abington. “The man is as bad as -bad can be. He claimed acquaintance with me on that famous night at the -Pantheon, though I must confess that I had only a vague recollection of -meeting him before his regiment was ordered across the Atlantic to quell -the rebellion in the plantations. Only two days ago I heard that he had -been drummed out of the army, and that he had sunk to the lowest point -possible for a man to fall to in this world. But surely you know -that all the fellow wants is to levy what was termed on the border of -Scotland 'blackmail' upon the unhappy girl. 'Tis merely a question of -guineas, Dr. Goldsmith. You perceive that? You are a man?” - -“That was indeed my first belief; but, on consideration, I have come to -think that he is fiend enough to aim only at the ruin of the girl,” said -Goldsmith. - -“Psha! sir, I believe not in this high standard of crime. I believe not -in the self-sacrifice of such fellows for the sake of their principles,” - cried the lady. “Go to the fellow with your guineas and shake them in -a bag under his nose, and you shall quickly see how soon he will forego -the dramatic elements in his attitude, and make an ignoble grab at the -coins.” - -“You may be right,” said he. “But whence are the guineas to come, pray?” - -“Surely the lady's friends will not see her lost for the sake of a -couple of hundred pounds.” - -“Nay; but her aim is to keep the matter from the ears of her friends! -She would be overcome with shame were it to reach their ears that she -had written letters of affection to such a man.” - -“She must be a singularly unpractical young lady, Dr. Goldsmith.” - -“If she had not been more than innocent would she, think you, have -allowed herself to be imposed on by a stranger?” - -“Alas, sir, if there were no ladies like her in the world, you gentlemen -who delight us with your works of fiction would have to rely solely on -your imagination; and that means going to another world. But to return -to the matter before us; you wish to obtain possession of the letters? -How do you suggest that I can help you to accomplish that purpose?” - -“Why, madam, it is you to whom I come for suggestions. I saw the man in -conversation with you first at the Pantheon, and then in this very room. -It occurred to me that perhaps--it might be possible--in short, Mrs. -Abington, that you might know of some way by which the scoundrel could -be entrapped.” - -“You compliment me, sir. You think that the entrapping of unwary -men--and of wary--is what nature and art have fitted me for--nature and -practice?” - -“I cannot conceive a higher compliment being paid to a woman, dear -madam. But, in truth, I came to you because you are the only lady -with whom I am acquainted who with a kind heart combines the highest -intelligence. That is why you are our greatest actress. The highest -intelligence is valueless on the stage unless it is associated with a -heart that beats in sympathy with the sorrow and becomes exultant with -the joy of others. That is why I regard myself as more than fortunate in -having your promise to accept a part in my next comedy.” - -Mrs. Abington smiled as she saw through the very transparent art of the -author, reminding her that she would have her reward if she helped him -out of his difficulty. - -“I can understand how ladies look on you with great favour, sir,” said -the actress. “Yes, in spite of your being--being--ah--innocent--a poet, -and of possessing other disqualifications, you are a delightful man, Dr. -Goldsmith; and by heaven, sir, I shall do what I can to--to--well, shall -we say to put you in a position of earning the lady's gratitude?” - -“That is the position I long for, dear madam.” - -“Yes, but only to have the privilege of foregoing your claim. I know -you, Dr. Goldsmith. Well, supposing you come to see me here in a day or -two--that will give both of us a chance of still further considering the -possibility of successfully entrapping our friend the Captain. I believe -it was the lady who suggested the trap to you; you, being a man, were -doubtless for running your enemy through the vitals or for cutting his -throat without the delay of a moment.” - -“Your judgment is unerring, Mrs. Abington.” - -“Ah, you see, it is the birds that have been in the trap who know most -about it. Besides, does not our dear dead friend Will Shakespeare say, -'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps'?” - -“Those are his words, madam, though at this moment I cannot quite -perceive their bearing.” - -“Oh, lud! Why, dear sir, Cupid's mother's daughters resemble their -little step-brother in being fond of a change of weapons, and you, sir, -I perceive, have been the victim of a dart. Now, I must hasten to dress -for my part or there will be what Mr. Daly of Smock Alley, Dublin, used -to term 'ructions.'” - -She gave him her hand with a delightful smile and hurried off, but not -before he had bowed over her hand, imprinting on it a clumsy but very -effective kiss. - -He remained in the theatre until the close of the performance; for -he was not so utterly devoid of guile as not to know that if he had -departed without witnessing Mrs. Abington in the second piece she would -have regarded him as far from civil. Seeing him in a side box, however, -that clever lady perceived that he had taste as well as tact. She felt -that it was a pleasure to do anything for such a man--especially as he -was a writer of plays. It would be an additional pleasure to her if she -could so interpret a character in a play of his that the play should be -the most notable success of the season. - -As Goldsmith strolled back to his chambers he felt that he had made some -progress in the enterprise with which he had been entrusted. He did not -feel elated, but only tranquilly confident that his judgment had not -been at fault when it suer-gested to him the propriety of consulting -with Mrs. Abington. This was the first time that propriety and Mrs. -Abington were associated. - -The next day he got a message that the success of his play was -consolidated by a “command” performance at which the whole of his -Majesty's Court would attend. This news elated him, not only because -it meant the complete success of the play and the overthrow of the -sentimentalists who were still harping upon the “low” elements of -certain scenes, but also because he accepted it as an incident of good -augury. He felt certain that Mrs. Abington would have discovered a plan -by which he should be able to get possession of the letters. - -When he went to her after the lapse of a few days, he found that she had -not been unmindful of his interests. - -“The fellow had the effrontery to stand beside my chair in the Mall -yesterday,” said she, “but I tolerated him--nay, I encouraged him--not -for your sake, mind; I do not want you to fancy that you interest me, -but for the sake of the unhappy girl who was so nearly making a shocking -fool of herself. Only one girl interests me more than she who nearly -makes a fool of herself, and that is she who actually makes the fool of -herself.” - -“Alas! alas! the latter is more widely represented in this evil world, -Mrs. Abing ton,” said Oliver, so gravely that the actress roared with -laughter. - -“You have too fine a comedy face to be sentimental, Dr. Goldsmith,” she -said. “But to business. I tell you I even smiled upon the gentleman, for -I have found that the traps which are netted with silk are invariably -the most effective.” - -“You have found that by your experience of traps?” said Goldsmith. “The -smile is the silken net?” - -“Even so,” said she, giving an excellent example of the fatal mesh. “Ah, -Dr. Goldsmith, you would do well to avoid the woman who smiles on you.” - -“Alas! madam, the caution is thrown away upon me; she smiles not on me, -but at me.” - -“Thank heaven for that, sir. No harm will come to you through being -smiled at. How I stray from my text! Well, sir, the wretch, in response -to the encouragement of my smile, had the effrontery to ask me for my -private address, upon which I smiled again. Ah, sir, 'tis diverting when -the fly begins to lure on the spider.” - -“'Tis vastly diverting, madam, I doubt not--to the fly.” - -“Ay, and to the friends of the spider. But we shall let that pass. -Sir, to be brief, I did not let the gentleman know that I had a private -address, but I invited him to partake of supper with me on the next -Thursday night.” - -“Heavens! madam, you do not mean to tell me that your interest on my -behalf----” - -“Is sufficiently great to lead me to sup with a spider? Sir, I say that -I am only interested in my sister-fly--would she be angry if she were to -hear that such a woman as I even thought of her as a sister?” - -There was a note of pathos in the question, which did not fall unnoticed -upon Goldsmith's ear. - -“Madam,” said he, “she is a Christian woman.” - -“Ah, Dr. Goldsmith,” said the actress, “a very small amount of Christian -charity is thought sufficient for the equipment of a Christian woman. -Let that pass, however; what I want of you is to join us at supper on -Thursday night. It is to take place in the Shakespeare tavern round -the corner, and, of course, in a private room; but I do not want you -to appear boldly, as if I had invited you beforehand to partake of my -hospitality. You must come into the room when we have begun, carrying -with you a roll of manuscript, which you must tell me contains a scene -of your new comedy, upon which we are daily in consultation, mind you.” - -“I shall not fail to recollect,” said Goldsmith. “Why, 'tis like the -argument of a comedy, Mrs. Abingdon; I protest I never invented one more -elaborate. I rather fear to enter upon it.” - -“Nay, you must be in no trepidation, sir,” said the lady. “I think I -know the powers of the various members of the cast of this little drama -of mine, so you need not think that you will be put into a part which -you will not be able to play to perfection.” - -“You are giving me a lesson in playwriting. Pray continue the argument. -When I enter with the imaginary scene of my new piece, you will, I -trust, ask me to remain to supper; you see I grudge the gentleman the -pleasure of your society for even an hour.” - -“I will ask you to join us at the table, and then--well, then I have -a notion that between us we should have no great difficulty making our -friend drink a sufficient quantity of wine to cause him to make known -all his secrets to us, even as to where he keeps those precious letters -of his.” - -Oliver's face did not exhibit any expression that the actress could -possibly interpret as a flattering tribute to her ingenuity--the fact -being that he was greatly disappointed at the result of her contriving. -Her design was on a level of ingenuity with that which might occur to a -romantic school miss. Of course the idea upon which it was founded had -formed the basis of more than one comedy--he had a notion that if these -comedies had not been written Mrs. Abing ton's scheme would not have -been so clearly defined. - -She perceived the expression on his face and rightly interpreted it. - -“What, sir!” she cried. “Do you fail to perceive the singular ingenuity -of my scheme? Nay, you must remember that 'tis my first attempt--not at -scheming, to be sure, but at inventing a design for a play.” - -“I would not shrink from making use of your design if I were writing a -play, dear lady,” said he. “But then, you see, it would be in my power -to make my villain speak at the right moments and hold his peace at the -right moments. It would also be in my power to make him confess all that -was necessary for the situation. But alas! madam, it makes me sometimes -quite hopeless of Nature to find how frequently she disregards the most -ordinary precepts of art.” - -“Psha! sir,” said the actress. “Nothing in this world is certain. I am -a poor moralist, but I recognise the fact, and make it the guide of my -life. At the same time I have noticed that, although one's carefully -arranged plans are daily thrown into terrible disorder by the -slovenliness of the actors to whom we assign certain parts and certain -dialogue, yet in the end nature makes even a more satisfactory drama -out of the ruins of our schemes than we originally designed. So, in this -case, sir, I am not without hope that even though our gentleman's lips -remain sealed--nay, even though our gentleman remain sober--a great -calamity--we may still be able to accomplish our purpose. You will keep -your ears open and I shall keep my eyes open, and it will be strange if -between us we cannot get the better of so commonplace a scoundrel.” - -“I place myself unreservedly in your hands, madam,” said Oliver; “and I -can only repeat what you have said so well--namely, that even the most -clumsy of our schemes--which this one of yours certainly is not--may -become the basis of a most ingenious drama, designed and carried out by -that singularly adroit playwright, Destiny. And so I shall not fail you -on Thursday evening.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -Goldsmith for the next few days felt very ill at ease. He had a -consciousness of having wasted a good deal of valuable time waiting upon -Mrs. Abington and discussing with her the possibility of accomplishing -the purpose which he had at heart; for he could not but perceive how -shallow was the scheme which she had devised for the undoing of Mary -Horneck's enemy. He felt that it would, after all, have been better for -him to place himself in the hands of the fencing-master whom Baretti had -promised to find out for him, and to do his best to run the scoundrel -through the body, than to waste his time listening to the crude scheme -concocted by Mrs. Abington, in close imitation of some third-class -playwright. - -He felt, however, that he had committed himself to the actress and her -scheme. It would be impossible for him to draw back after agreeing to -join her at supper on the Thursday night. But this fact did not prevent -his exercising his imagination with a view to find out some new plan -for obtaining possession of the letters. Thursday came, however, without -seeing him any further advanced in this direction than he had been when -he had first gone to the actress, and he began to feel that hopelessness -which takes the form of hoping for the intervention of some accident -to effect what ingenuity has failed to accomplish-Mrs. Abington had -suggested the possibility of such an accident taking place--in fact, she -seemed to rely rather upon the possibility of such an occurrence than -upon the ingenuity of her own scheme; and Oliver could not but think -that she was right in this respect. He had a considerable experience -of life and its vicissitudes, and he knew that when destiny was in a -jesting mood the most judicious and cunningly devised scheme may be -overturned by an accident apparently no less trivial than the raising of -a hand, the fluttering of a piece of lace, or the cry of a baby. - -He had known of a horse's casting a shoe preventing a runaway match and -a vast amount of consequent misery, and he had heard of a shower of rain -causing a confirmed woman hater to take shelter in a doorway, where he -met a young woman who changed--for a time--all his ideas of the sex. As -he recalled these and other freaks of fate, he could not but feel that -Mrs. Abington was fully justified in her confidence in accident as a -factor in all human problems. But he was quite aware that hoping for an -accident is only another form of despair. - -In the course of the day appointed by Mrs. Abington for her supper he -met Baretti, and reminded him of the promise he had made to find an -Italian fencing master and send him to Brick Court. - -“What!” cried Baretti. “Have you another affair on your hands in -addition to that in which you have already been engaged? Psha! sir. You -do not need to be a swordsman in order to flog a bookseller.” - -“I do not look forward to fighting booksellers,” said Goldsmith. “They -have stepped between me and starvation more than once.” - -“Would any one of them have taken that step unless he was pretty certain -to make money by his philanthropy?” asked Baretti in his usual cynical -way. - -“I cannot say,” replied Goldsmith. “I don't think that I can lay claim -to the mortifying reflection that I have enriched any bookseller. At any -rate, I do not mean ever to beat another.” - -“'Tis, then, a critic whom you mean to attack? If you have made up your -mind to kill a critic, I shall make it a point to find you the best -swordsman in Europe,” said Baretti. - -“Do so, my friend,” said Goldsmith; “and when I succeed in killing a -critic, you shall have the first and second fingers of his right hand as -a memento.” - -“I shall look for them--yes, in five years, for it will certainly take -that time to make you expert with a sword,” said the Italian. “And, -meantime, you may yourself be cut to pieces by even so indifferent a -fighter as Kenrick.” - -“In such a case I promise to bequeath to you whatever bones of mine you -may take a fancy to have.” - -“And I shall regard them with great veneration, being the relics of a -martyr--a man who did not fear to fight with dragons and other unclean -beasts. You may look for a visit from a skilful countryman of mine -within a week; only let me pray of you to be guided by his advice. If he -should say that it is wiser for you to beware the entrance to a quarrel, -as your poet has it, you will do well to accept his advice. I do not -want a poet's bones for my reliquary, though from all that I can hear -one of our friends would have no objection to a limb or two.” - -“And who may that friend be?” - -“You should be able to guess, sir. What! have you not been negotiating -with the booksellers for a life of Dr. Johnson?” - -“Not I, sir. But, if I have been doing so, what then?” - -“What then? Why, then you may count upon the eternal enmity of the -little Scotchman whom you once described not as a cur but only a bur. -Sir, Boswell robbed of his Johnson would be worse than--than----” - -“A lioness robbed of her whelps?” - -“Well, better say a she-bear robbed of her cubs, only that Johnson is -the bear and Boswell the cub. Boswell has been going about saying that -you had boasted to him of your intention to become Johnson's biographer; -and the best of the matter is that Johnson has entered with great spirit -into the jest and has kept his poor Bossy on thistles--reminiscent of -his native land--ever since.” - -Goldsmith laughed, and told Baretti how he had occasion to get rid of -Boswell, and had done so by pretending that he meant to write a life of -Johnson. Baretti laughed and went on to describe how, on the previous -evening, Garrick had drawn on Boswell until the latter had imitated all -the animals in the farmyard, while narrating, for the thousandth time, -his first appearance in the pit of Drury Lane. Boswell had felt quite -flattered, Baretti said, when Garrick, making a judicial speech, which -every one present except Boswell perceived to be a fine piece of comedy, -said he felt constrained to reverse the judgment of the man in the pit -who had shouted: “Stick to the coo, mon!” On the whole, Garrick said, he -thought that, while Boswell's imitation of the cow was most admirable in -many respects, yet for naturalness it was his opinion--whatever it might -be worth--that the voice of the ass was that which Boswell was most -successful in attempting. - -Goldsmith knew that even Garrick's broadest buffoonery was on occasions -accepted by Boswell with all seriousness, and he had no hesitation in -believing Baretti's account of the party on the previous evening. - -He went to Mrs. Abington's room at the theatre early in the night to -inquire if she had made any change in her plans respecting the supper, -and he found that the lady had come to think as poorly of the scheme -which she had invented as he did. She had even abandoned her idea of -inducing the man to confess, when in a state of intoxication, where he -was in the habit of keeping the letters. - -“These fellows are sometimes desperately suspicious when in their cups,” - said she; “and I fear that at the first hint of our purpose he may -become dumb, no matter how boldly he may have been talking previously. -If he suspects that you have a desire to obtain the letters, you may say -farewell to the chance of worming anything out of him regarding them.” - -“What then is to be gained by our supping with him?” said Goldsmith. - -“Why, you are brought into contact with him,” she replied. “You will -then be in a position, if you cultivate a friendship with him, to take -him unawares upon some occasion, and so effect your purpose. Great? -heavens, sir! one cannot expect to take a man by storm, so to speak--one -cannot hope to meet a clever scoundrel for half an hour-in the evening, -and then walk away with all his secrets. You may have to be with this -fellow every day for a month or two before you get a chance of putting -the letters into your pocket.” - -“I'll hope for better luck than that,” said Oliver. - -“Oh, with good luck one can accomplish anything,” said she. “But good -luck is just one of the things that cannot be arranged for even by the -cleverest people.” - -“That is where men are at a disadvantage in striving with destiny,” - said Goldsmith. “But I think that any man who succeeds in having Mrs. -Abington as his ally must be regarded as the most fortunate of his sex.” - -“Ah, sir, wait for another month before you compliment me,” said she. - -“Madam,” said he, “I am not complimenting you, but myself. I will take -your advice and reserve my compliments to you for--well, no, not a -month; if I can put them off for a week I shall feel that I have done -very well.” - -As he made his bow and left her, he could not help feeling more strongly -that he had greatly overrated the advantages to be derived from an -alliance with Mrs. Abington when his object was to get the better of -an adroit scoundrel. He had heard--nay, he had written--of the wiles of -women, and yet the first time that he had an opportunity of testing a -woman's wiles he found that he had been far too generous in his estimate -of their value. - -It was with no little trepidation that he went to the Shakespeare -tavern at supper time and inquired for Mrs. Abington. He had a roll -of manuscript in his hand, according to agreement, and he desired the -waiter to inform the lady that he would not keep her for long. He was -very fluent up to this point; but he was uncertain how he would behave -when he found himself face to face with the man who had made the life of -Mary Horneck miserable. He wondered if he would be able to restrain his -impulse to fly at the scoundrel's throat. - -When, however, the waiter returned with a message from Mrs. Abington -that she would see Dr. Goldsmith in the supper room, and he ascended -the stairs to that apartment, he felt quite at his ease. He had nerved -himself to play a part, and he was convinced that the rôle was not -beyond his powers. - -Mrs. Abington, at the moment of his entrance, was lying back in her -chair laughing, apparently at a story which was being told to her by her -_vis-à-vis_, for he was leaning across the table, with his elbow resting -upon it and one expressive finger upraised to give emphasis to the -points of his narrative. - -When Goldsmith appeared, the actress nodded to him familiarly, -pleasantly, but did not allow her attention to be diverted from the -story which Captain Jackson was telling to her. Goldsmith paused with -his fingers still on the handle of the door. He knew that the most -inopportune entrance that a man can make upon another is when the other -is in the act of telling a story to an appreciative audience--say, a -beautiful actress in a gown that allows her neck and shoulders to be -seen to the greatest advantage and does not interfere with the ebb -and flow of that roseate tide, with its gracious ripples and delicate -wimplings, rising and falling between the porcelain of her throat and -the curve of the ivory of her shoulders. - -The man did not think it worth his while to turn around in recognition -of Goldsmith's entrance; he finished his story and received Mrs. -Abington's tribute of a laugh as a matter of course. Then he turned -his head round as the visitor ventured to take a step or two toward -the table, bowing profusely--rather too profusely for the part he was -playing, the artistic perception of the actress told her. - -“Ha, my little author!” cried the man at the table with the swagger of a -patron. - -“You are true to the tradition of the craft of scribblers--the best time -for putting in an appearance is when supper has just been served.” - -“Ah, sir,” said Goldsmith, “we poor devils are forced to wait upon the -convenience of our betters.” - -“Strike me dumb, sir, if 'tis not a pity you do not await their -convenience in an ante-room--ay, or the kitchen. I have heard that the -scribe and the cook usually become the best of friends. You poets write -best of broken hearts when you are sustained by broken victuals.” - -“For shame, Captain!” cried Mrs Abington. “Dr. Goldsmith is a man as -well as a poet. He has broken heads before now.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -Captain Jackson laughed heartily at so quaint an idea, throwing himself -back in his chair and pointing a contemptuous thumb at Oliver, who had -advanced to the side of the actress, assuming the deprecatory smile of -the bookseller's hack. He played the part very indifferently, the lady -perceived. - -“Faith, my dear,” laughed the Captain, “I would fain believe that he is -a terrible person for a poet, for, by the Lord, he nearly had his head -broke by me on the first night that you went to the Pantheon; and I -swear that I never crack a skull unless it be that of a person who is -accustomed to spread terror around.” - -“Some poets' skulls, sir, are not so easily cracked,” said Mrs. -Abington. - -“Nay, my dear madam,” cried her _vis-à-vis_, “you must pardon me for -saying that I do not think you express your meaning with any great -exactness. I take it that you mean, madam, that on the well known -kitchen principle that cracked objects last longer than others, a -poet's pate, being cracked originally, survives the assaults that would -overcome a sound head.” - -“I meant nothing like that, Captain,” said Mrs. Abington. Then she -turned to Goldsmith, who stood by, fingering his roll of manuscript. -“Come, Dr. Goldsmith,” she cried, “seat yourself by me, and partake of -supper. I vow that I will not even glance at that act of your new play -which I perceive you have brought to me, until we have supped.” - -“Nay, madam,” stuttered Goldsmith; “I have already had my humble meal; -still----” - -He glanced from the dishes on the table to Captain Jackson, who gave a -hoarse laugh, crying-- - -“Ha, I wondered if the traditions of the trade were about to be violated -by our most admirable Doctor. I thought it likely that he would allow -himself to be persuaded. But I swear that he has no regard for the -romance which he preaches, or else he would not form the third at a -party. Has he never heard that the third in a party is the inevitable -kill-joy?” - -“You wrong my friend Dr. Goldsmith, Captain,” said the actress in -smiling remonstrance that seemed to beg of him to take an indulgent view -of the poet's weakness. “You wrong him, sir. Dr. Goldsmith is a man of -parts. He is a wit as well as a poet, and he will not stay very long; -will you, Dr. Goldsmith?” - -She acted the part so well that but for the side glance which she cast -at him, Goldsmith might have believed her to be in earnest. For his own -part he was acting to perfection the rôle of the hack author who was -patronised till he found himself in the gutter. He could only smile in -a sickly way as he laid down his hat beside a chair over which Jackson's -cloak was flung, and placed in it the roll of manuscript, preparatory to -seating himself. - -“Madam, I am your servant,” he murmured; “Sir, I am your most obedient -to command. I feel the honour of being permitted to sup in such -distinguished company.” - -“And so you should, sir,” cried Captain Jackson as the waiter bustled -about, laying a fresh plate and glass, “so you should. Your grand -patrons, my little friend, though they may make a pretence of saving you -from slaughter by taking your quarrel on their shoulders, are not likely -to feed you at their own table. Lord, how that piece of antiquity, -General Oglethorpe, swag gered across the porch at the Pantheon when I -had half a mind to chastise you for your clumsiness in almost knocking -me over! May I die, sir, if I wasn't at the brink of teaching the -General a lesson which he would have remembered to his dying hour--his -dying hour--that is to say, for exactly four minutes after I had drawn -upon him.” - -“Ah, Dr. Goldsmith is fortunate in his friends,” said Mrs. Abington. -“But I hope that in future, Captain, he may reckon on your sword being -drawn on his behalf, and not turned against him and his friends.” - -“If you are his friend, my dear Mrs. Abington, he may count upon me, I -swear,” cried the Captain bowing over the table. - -“Good,” she said. “And so I call upon you to drink to his health--a -bumper, sir, a bumper!” - -The Captain showed no reluctance to pay the suggested compliment. With -an air of joviality he filled his large glass up to the brim and drained -it with a good-humoured, half-patronising motion in the direction of -Goldsmith. - -“Hang him!” he cried, when he had wiped his lips, “I bear Goldsmith no -malice for his clumsiness in the porch of the Pantheon. 'Sdeath, madam, -shall the man who led a company of his Majesty's regulars in charge -after charge upon the American rebels, refuse to drink to the health -of a little man who tinkles out his rhymes as the man at the raree show -does his bells? Strike me blind, deaf and dumb, if I am not magnanimous -to my heart's core. I'll drink his health again if you challenge me.” - -“Nay, Captain,” said the lady, “I'll be magnanimous, too, and refrain -from challenging you. I sadly fear that you have been drinking too many -healths during the day, sir.” - -“What mean you by that, madam?” he cried. “Do you suggest that I cannot -carry my liquor with the best men at White's? If you were a man, and you -gave a hint in that direction, by the Lord, it would be the last that -you would have a chance of offering.” - -“Nay, nay, sir! I meant not that,” said the actress hastily. “I will -prove to you that I meant it not by challenging you to drink to Dr. -Goldsmith's new comedy.” - -“Now you are very much my dear,” said Jackson, half-emptying the brandy -decanter into his glass and adding only a thimbleful of water. “Yes, -your confidence in me wipes out the previous affront. 'Sblood, madam, -shall it be said that Dick Jackson, whose name made the American -rebels--curse 'em!--turn as green as their own coats--shall it be -said that Dick Jackson, of whom the rebel Colonel--Washington his -name is--George Washington”--he had considerable difficulty over the -name--“is accustomed to say to this day, 'Give me a hundred men--not -men, but lions, like that devil Dick Jackson, and I'll sweep his -Majesty's forces into the Potomac'--shall it be said that--that--what -the devil was I about to say--shall it be said?--never mind--here's to -the health of Colonel Washington!” - -“Nay, sir, we cannot drink to one of the King's enemies,” said Mrs. -Abington, rising. “'Twere scandalous, indeed, to do so in this place; -and, sir, you still wear the King's uniform.” - -“The devil take the King's uniform!” shouted the man. “The devils of -rebels are taking a good many coats of that uniform, and let me tell -you, madam, that--nay, you must not leave the table until the toast is -drank----” Mrs. Abington having risen, had walked across the room and -seated herself on the chair over which Captain Jackson had flung his -cloak. - -“Hold, sir,” cried Goldsmith, dropping his knife and fork with a clatter -upon his plate that made the other man give a little jump. “Hold, sir, I -perceive that you are on the side of freedom, and I would feel honoured -by your permission to drink the toast that you propose. Here's success -to the cause that will triumph in America.” Jackson, who was standing at -the table with his glass in his hand, stared at him with the smile of a -half-intoxicated man. He had just enough intelligence remaining to make -him aware that there was something ambiguous in Goldsmith's toast. - -“It sounds all right,” he muttered as if he were trying to convince -himself that his suspicions of ambiguity were groundless. “It sounds all -right, and yet, strike me dizzy! if it wouldn't work both ways! Ha, my -little poet,” he continued. “I'm glad to see that you are a man. Drink, -sir--drink to the success of the cause in America.” Goldsmith got upon -his feet and raised his glass--it contained only a light wine. - -“Success to it!” he cried, and he watched Captain Jackson drain his -third tumbler of brandy. - -“Hark ye, my little poet!” whispered the latter very huskily, lurching -across the table, and failing to notice that his hostess had not -returned to her place. “Hark ye, sir! Cornwallis thought himself a -general of generals. He thought when he courtmartialled me and turned -me out of the regiment, sending me back to England in a foul hulk from -Boston port, that he had got rid of me. He'll find out that he was -mistaken, sir, and that one of these days----Mum's the word, mind you! -If you open your lips to any human being about this, I'll cut you to -pieces. I'll flay you alive! Washington is no better than Cornwallis, -let me tell you. What message did he send me when he heard that I was -ready to blow Cornwallis's brains out and march my company across the -Potomac? I ask you, sir, man to man--though a poet isn't quite a -man--but that's my generosity. Said Washy--Washy--Wishy--Washy---- -Washington: 'Cornwallis's brains have been such valuable allies to the -colonists, Colonel Washington would regard as his enemy any man who -would make the attempt to curtail their capacity for blundering.' That's -the message I got from Washington, curse him! But the Colonel isn't -everybody. Mark me, my friend--whatever your name is--I've got -letters--letters----” - -“Yes, yes, you have letters--where?” cried Goldsmith, in the -confidential whisper that the other had assumed. - -The man who was leaning across the table stared at him hazily, and -then across his face there came the cunning look of the more than -half-intoxicated. He straightened himself as well as he could in his -chair, and then swayed limply backward and forward, laughing. - -“Letters--oh, yes--plenty of letters--but where?--where?--that's my own -matter--a secret,” he murmured in vague tones. “The government would -give a guinea or two for my letters--one of them came from Mount Vernon -itself, Mr.--whatever your name maybe--and if you went to Mr. Secretary -and said to him, 'Mr. Secretary'”--he pronounced the word “Secrary”--“'I -know that Dick Jackson is a rebel,' and Mr. Secretary says, 'Where are -the letters to prove it?' where would you be, my clever friend? No, sir, -my brains are not like Cornwallis's, drunk or sober. Hallo, where's the -lady?” - -He seemed suddenly to recollect where he was. He straightened himself as -well as he could, and looked sleepily across the room. - -“I'm here,” cried Mrs. Abington, leaving the chair, across the back of -which Jackson's coat was thrown. “I am here, sir; but I protest I shall -not take my place at the table again while treason is in the air.” - -“Treason, madam? Who talks of treason?” cried the man with a lurch -forward and a wave of the hand. “Madam, I'm shocked--quite shocked! I -wear the King's coat, though that cloak is my own--my own, and all that -it contains--all that----” - -His voice died away in a drunken fashion as he stared across the room at -his cloak. Goldsmith saw an expression of suspicion come over his face; -he saw him straighten himself and walk with an affectation of steadiness -that only emphasised his intoxicated lurches, to the chair where the -cloak lay. He saw him lift up the cloak and run his hand down the lining -until he came to a pocket. With eager eyes he saw him extract from the -pocket a leathern wallet, and with a sigh of relief slip it furtively -into the bosom of his long waistcoat, where, apparently, there was -another packet. - -Goldsmith glanced toward Mrs. Abington. She was sitting leaning over -her chair with a finger on her lips, and the same look of mischief that -Sir Joshua Reynolds transferred to his picture of her as “Miss Prue.” - She gave a glance of smiling intelligence at Oliver, as Jackson laughed -coarsely, saying huskily-- - -“A handkerchief--I thought I had left my handkerchief in the pocket of -my cloak, and 'tis as well to make sure--that's my motto. And now, my -charmer, you will see that I'm not a man to dally with treason, for I'll -challenge you in a bumper to the King's most excellent Majesty. Fill up -your glass, madam; fill up yours, too, Mr.--Mr. Killjoy, we'll call -you, for what the devil made you show your ugly face here the fiend only -knows. Mrs. Baddeley and I are the best of good friends. Isn't that the -truth, sweet Mrs. Baddeley? Come, drink to my toast--whatever it may -be--or, by the Lord, I'll run you through the vitals!” - -Goldsmith hastened to pass the man the decanter with whatever brandy -remained in it, and in another instant the decanter was empty and the -man's glass was full. Goldsmith was on his feet with uplifted glass -before Jackson had managed to raise himself, by the aid of a heavy hand -on the table, into a standing attitude, murmuring-- - -“Drink, sir! drink to my lovely friend there, the voluptuous Mrs. -Baddeley. My dear Mrs. Baddeley, I have the honour to welcome you to my -table, and to drink to your health, dear madam.” - -He swallowed the contents of the tumbler--his fourth since he had -entered the room--and the next instant he had fallen in a heap into his -chair, drenched by the contents of Mrs. Abington's glass. - -[Illustration: 0315] - -“That is how I accept your toast of Mrs. Baddeley, sir,” she cried, -standing at the head of the table with the dripping glass still in her -hand. “You drunken sot! not to be able to distinguish between me and -Sophia Baddeley! I can stand the insult no longer. Take yourself out of -my room, sir!” - -She gave the broad ribbon of the bell such a pull as nearly brought -it down. Goldsmith having started up, stood with amazement on his face -watching her, while the other man also stared at her through his drunken -stupour, his jaw fallen. - -Not a word was spoken until the waiter entered the room. - -“Call a hackney coach immediately for that gentleman,” said the actress, -pointing to the man who alone remained--for the best of reasons--seated. - -“A coach? Certainly, madam,” said the waiter, withdrawing with a bow. - -“Dr. Goldsmith,” resumed Mrs. Abington, “may I beg of you to have the -goodness to see that person to his lodgings and to pay the cost of the -hackney-coach? He is not entitled to that consideration, but I have -a wish to treat him more generously than he deserves. His address is -Whetstone Park, I think we may assume; and so I leave you, sir.” - -* She walked from the room with her chin in the air, both of the men -watching her with such surprise as prevented either of them from -uttering a word. It was only when she had gone that it occurred to -Goldsmith that she was acting her part admirably--that she had set -herself to give him an opportunity of obtaining possession of the wallet -which she, as well as he, had seen Jackson transfer from the pocket -of his cloak to that of his waistcoat. Surely he should have no great -difficulty in extracting the bundle from the man's pocket when in the -coach. - -“They're full of their whimsies, these wenches,” were the first words -spoken, with a free wave of an arm, by the man who had failed in -his repeated attempts to lift himself out of his chair. “What did I -say?--what did I do to cause that spitfire to behave like that? I feel -hurt, sir, more deeply hurt than I can express, at her behaviour. -What's her name--I'm not sure if she was Mrs. Abington or Mrs. Baddeley? -Anyhow, she insulted me grossly--me, sir--me, an officer who has charged -his Majesty's rebels in the plantations of Virginia, where the Potomac -flows down to the sea. But they're all alike. I could tell you a few -stories about them, sir, that would open your eyes, for I have been -their darling always.” Here he began to sing a tavern song in a loud but -husky tone, for the brandy had done its work very effectively, and -he had now reached what might be called--somewhat paradoxically--the -high-water mark of intoxication. He was still singing when the waiter -re-entered the room to announce that a hackney carriage was waiting at -the door of the tavern. - -At the announcement the drunken man made a grab for a decanter and flung -it at the waiter's head. It missed that mark, however, and crashed among -the plates which were still on the table, and in a moment the landlord -and a couple of his barmen were in the room and on each side of Jackson. -He made a poor show of resistance when they pinioned his arms and pushed -him down the stairs and lifted him into the hackney-coach. The landlord -and his assistants were accustomed to deal with promptitude with such -persons, and they had shut the door of the coach before Goldsmith -reached the street. - -“Hold on, sir,” he cried, “I am accompanying that gentleman to his -lodging.” - -“Nay, Doctor,” whispered the landlord, who was a friend of his, “the -fellow is a brawler--he will involve you in a quarrel before you reach -the Strand.” - -“Nevertheless, I will go, my friend,” said Oliver. “The lady has laid it -upon me as a duty, and I must obey her at all hazards.” - -He got into the coach, and shouted out the address to the driver. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -The instant he had seated himself he found to his amazement that the -man beside him was fast asleep. To look at him lying in a heap on the -cushions one might have fancied that he had been sleeping for hours -rather than minutes, so composed was he. Even the jolting of the -starting coach made no impression upon him. - -Goldsmith perceived that the moment for which he had been longing had -arrived. He felt that if he meant to get the letters into his possession -he must act at once. - -He passed his hand over the man's waistcoat, and had no difficulty in -detecting the exact whereabouts of the packet which he coveted. All -he had to do was to unbutton the waistcoat, thrust his hand into the -pocket, and then leave the coach while it was still in motion. - -The moment that he touched the first button, however, the man shifted -his position, and awoke, putting his hand, as if mechanically, to his -breast to feel that the wallet was still there. Then he straightened -himself in some measure and began to mumble, apparently being quite -unaware of the fact that some one was seated beside him. - -“Dear madam, you do me great honour,” he said, and then gave a little -hiccupping laugh. “Great honour, I swear; but if you were to offer me -all the guineas in the treasure chest of the regiment I would not give -you the plan of the fort. No, madam, I am a man of honour, and I hold -the documents for Colonel Washington. Oh, the fools that girls are to -put pen to paper! But if she was a fool she did not write the letters to -a fool. Oh, no, no! I would accept no price for them--no price whatever -except your own fair self. Come to me, my charmer, at sunset, and they -shall be yours; yes, with a hundred guineas, or I print them. Oh, Ned, -my lad, there's no honester way of living than by selling a wench her -own letters. No, no; Ned, I'll not leave 'em behind me in the drawer, -in case of accidents. I'll carry 'em about with me in case of accidents, -for I know how sharp you are, dear Ned; and so when I had 'em in the -pocket of my cloak I thought it as well to transfer 'em--in case of -accidents, Ned--to my waistcoat, sir. Ay, they're here! here, my friend! -and here they'll stay till Colonel Washington hands me over his dollars -for them.” - -Then he slapped his breast, and laughed the horrible laugh of a drunken -man whose hallucination is that he is the shrewdest fellow alive. - -Goldsmith caught every word of his mumblings, and from the way he -referred to the letters, came to the conclusion that the scoundrel -had not only tried to levy blackmail on Mary Horneck, but had been -endeavouring to sell the secrets of the King's forces to the American -rebels. Goldsmith had, however, no doubt that the letters which he was -desirous of getting into his hands were those which the man had within -his waistcoat. His belief in this direction did not, however, assist him -to devise a plan for transferring the letters from the place where they -reposed to his own pocket. - -The coach jolted over the uneven roads on its way to the notorious -Whetstone Park, but all the jolting failed to prevent the operation of -the brandy which the man had drank, for once again he fell asleep, his -fingers remaining between the buttons of his waistcoat, so that it would -be quite impossible for even the most adroit pickpocket, which Goldsmith -could not claim to be, to open the garment. - -He felt the vexation of the moment very keenly. The thought that the -packet which he coveted was only a few inches from his hand, and yet -that it was as unattainable as though it were at the summit of Mont -Blanc, was maddening; but he felt that he would be foolish to make any -more attempts to effect his purpose. The man would be certain to awake, -and Goldsmith knew that, intoxicated though he was, he was strong enough -to cope with three men of his (Goldsmith's) physique. - -Gregory's Court, which led into Whetstone Park, was too narrow to admit -so broad a vehicle as a hackney-coach, so the driver pulled up at the -entrance in Holborn near the New Turnstile, just under an alehouse lamp. -Goldsmith was wondering if his obligation to Mrs. Abington's guest -did not end here, when the light of the lamp showed the man to be wide -awake, and he really seemed comparatively sober. It was only when he -spoke that he showed himself, by the huskiness of his voice, to be very -far from sober. - -“Good Lord!” he cried, “how do I come to be here? Who the devil may you -be, sirrah? Oh, I remember! You're the poet. She insulted me--grossly -insulted me--turned me out of the tavern. And you insulted me, too, you -rascal, coming with me in my coach, as if I was drunk, and needed you to -look after me. Get out, you scoundrel, or I'll crack your skull for you. -Can't you see that this is Gregory's Court?” - -Goldsmith eyed the ruffian for a moment. He was debating if it might -not be better to spring upon him, and make at least a straightforward -attempt to obtain the wallet. The result of his moment's consideration -of the question was to cause him to turn away from the fellow and open -the door. He was in the act of telling the driver that he would take the -coach on to the Temple, when Jackson stepped out, shaking the vehicle on -its leathern straps, and staggered a few yards in the direction of the -turnstile. At the same instant a man hastily emerged from the entrance -to the court, almost coming in collision with Jackson. - -“You cursed, clumsy lout!” shouted the latter, swinging, half-way round -as the man passed. In a second the stranger stopped, and faced the -other. - -“You low ruffian!” he said. “You cheated me last night, and left me -to sleep in the fields; but my money came to me to-day, and I've been -waiting for you. Take that, you scoundrel--and that--and that----” - -He struck Jackson a blow to right and left, and then one straight on the -forehead, which felled him to the ground. He gave the man a kick when he -fell, and then turned about and ran, for the watchman was coming up the -street, and half a dozen of the passers-by gave an alarm. - -Goldsmith shouted out, “Follow him--follow the murderer!” pointing -wildly in the direction taken by the stranger. - -In another instant he was leaning over the prostrate man, and making a -pretence to feel his heart. He tore open his waistcoat. Putting in his -hand, he quickly abstracted the wallet, and bending right over the -body in order to put his hand to the man's chest, he, with much more -adroitness than was necessary--for outside the sickly gleam of the lamp -all the street was in darkness--slipped the wallet into his other hand -and then under his coat. - -A few people had by this time been drawn to the spot by the alarm which -had been given, and some inquired if the man were dead, and if he had -been run through with a sword. - -“It was a knock-down blow,” said Goldsmith, still leaning over the -prostrate man; “and being a doctor, I can honestly say that no great -harm has been done. The fellow is as drunk as if he had been soused in a -beer barrel. A dash of water in his face will go far to bring about his -recovery. Ah, he is recovering already.” - -He had scarcely spoken before he felt himself thrown violently back, -almost knocking down two of the bystanders, for the man had risen to a -sitting posture, asking him, with an oath, as he flung him back, what he -meant by choking him. - -A roar of laughter came from the people in the street as Goldsmith -picked up his hat and straightened his sword, saying-- - -“Gentlemen, I think that a man who is strong enough to treat his -physician in that way has small need of his services. I thought the -fellow might be seriously hurt, but I have changed my mind on that point -recently; and so good-night. Souse him copiously with water should he -relapse. By a casual savour of him I should say that he is not used to -water.” - -He re-entered the coach and told the driver to proceed to the Temple, -and as rapidly as possible, for he was afraid that the man, on -completely recovering from the effects of the blow that had stunned -him, would miss his wallet and endeavour to overtake the coach. He was -greatly relieved when he reached the lodge of his friend Ginger, the -head porter, and he paid the driver with a liberality that called down -upon him a torrent of thanks. - -As he went up the stairs to his chambers he could scarcely refrain from -cheering. In his hand he carried the leathern wallet, and he had no -doubt that it contained the letters which he hoped to place in the hands -of his dear Jessamy Bride, who, he felt, had alone understood him--had -alone trusted him with the discharge of a knightly task. - -He closed his oaken outer door and forced up the wick of the lamp in his -room. With trembling fingers by the light of its rays he unclasped the -wallet and extracted its contents. He devoured the pages with his eyes, -and then both wallet and papers fell from his hands. He dropped into a -chair with an exclamation of wonder and dismay. The papers which he had -taken from the wallet were those which, following the instructions of -Mrs. Abington, he had brought with him to the tavern, pretending that -they were the act of the comedy which he had to read to the actress! - -He remained for a long time in the chair into which he had fallen. He -was utterly stupefied. Apart from the shock of his disappointment, the -occurrence was so mysterious as to deprive him of the power of thought. -He could only gaze blankly down at the empty wallet and the papers, -covered with his own handwriting, which he had picked up from his own -desk before starting for the tavern. - -What did it all mean? How on earth had those papers found their way into -the wallet? - -Those were the questions which he had to face, but for which, after an -hour's consideration, he failed to find an answer. - -He recollected distinctly having seen the expression of suspicion come -over the man's face when he saw Mrs. Abington sitting on the chair over -which his cloak was hanging; and when she had returned to the table, -Jackson had staggered to the cloak, and running his hand down the lining -until he had found the pocket, furtively took from it the wallet, which -he transferred to the pocket on the inner side of his waistcoat. He had -had no time--at least, so Goldsmith thought--to put the sham act of the -play into the wallet; and yet he felt that the man must have done so -unseen by the others in the room, or how could the papers ever have been -in the wallet? - -Great heavens! The man must only have been shamming intoxication the -greater part of the night! He must have had so wide an experience of the -craft of men and the wiles of women as caused him to live in a condition -of constant suspicion of both men and women. He had clearly suspected -Mrs. Abington's invitation to supper, and had amused himself at the -expense of the actress and her other guest. He had led them both on, -and had fooled them to the top of his bent, just when they were fancying -that they were entrapping him. - -Goldsmith felt that, indeed, he at least had been a fool, and, as usual, -he had attained the summit of his foolishness just when he fancied he -was showing himself to be especially astute. He had chuckled over his -shrewdness in placing himself in the hands of a woman to the intent that -he might defeat the ends of the scoundrel who threatened Mary Horneck's -happiness, but now it was Jackson who was chuckling-Jackson, who had -doubtless been watching with amused interest the childish attempts made -by Mrs. Abington to entrap him. - -How glibly she had talked of entrapping him! She had even gone the -length of quoting Shakespeare; she was one of those people who fancy -that when they have quoted Shakespeare they have said the last word on -any subject. But when the time came for her to cease talking and begin -to act, she had failed. She had proved to him that he had been a fool to -place himself in her hands, hoping she would be able to help him. - -He laughed bitterly at his own folly. The consciousness of having failed -would have been bitter enough by itself, but now to it was added the -consciousness of having been laughed at by the man of whom he was trying -to get the better. - -What was there now left for him to do? Nothing except to go to Mary, -and tell her that she had been wrong in entrusting her cause to him. -She should have entrusted it to Colonel Gwyn, or some man who would -have been ready to help her and capable of helping her--some man with a -knowledge of men--some man of resource, not one who was a mere weaver of -fictions, who was incapable of dealing with men except on paper. Nothing -was left for him but to tell her this, and to see Colonel Gwyn achieve -success where he had achieved only the most miserable of failures. - -He felt that he was as foolish as a man who had built for himself a -house of cards, and had hoped to dwell in it happily for the rest of his -life, whereas the fabric had not survived the breath of the first breeze -that had swept down upon it. - -He felt that, after the example which he had just had of the diabolical -cunning of the man with whom he had been contesting, it would be worse -than useless for him to hope to be of any help to Mary Horneck. He had -already wasted more than a week of valuable time. He could, at least, -prevent any more being wasted by going to Mary and telling her how great -a mistake she had made in being over-generous to him. She should never -have made such a friend of him. Dr. Johnson had been right when he -said that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had taken advantage of the gracious -generosity of the girl and her family. He felt that it was his vanity -that had led him to undertake on Mary's behalf a task for which he was -utterly unsuited; and only the smallest consolation was allowed to him -in the reflection that his awakening had come before it was too late. He -had not been led away to confess to Mary all that was in his heart. She -had been saved the unhappiness which that confession would bring to -a nature so full of feeling as hers. And he had been saved the -mortification of the thought that he had caused her pain. - -The dawn was embroidering with its floss the early foliage of the trees -of the Temple before he went to his bed-room, and another hour had -passed before he fell asleep. - -He did not awake until the clock had chimed the hour of ten, and he -found that his man had already brought to the table at his bedside the -letters which had come for him in the morning. He turned them over with -but a languid amount of interest. There was a letter from Griffiths, the -bookseller; another from Garrick, relative to the play which Goldsmith -had promised him; a third, a fourth and a fifth were from men who begged -the loan of varying sums for varying periods. The sixth was apparently, -from its shape and bulk, a manuscript--one of the many which were -submitted to him by men who called him their brother-poet. He turned -it over, and perceived that it had not come through the post. That fact -convinced him that it was a manuscript, most probably an epic poem, or -perhaps a tragedy in verse, which the writer might think he could get -accepted at Drury Lane by reason of his friendship with Garrick. - -He let this parcel lie on the table until he had dressed, and only when -at the point of sitting down to breakfast did he break the seals. The -instant he had done so he gave a cry of surprise, for he found that -the parcel contained a number of letters addressed in Mary Horneck's -handwriting to a certain Captain Jackson at a house in the Devonshire -village where she had been staying the previous summer. - -On the topmost letter there was a scrap of paper, bearing a scrawl from -Mrs. Abing ton--the spelling as well as the writing was hers-- - -“'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.' These are a few -feathers pluckt from our hawke, hoping that they will be a feather in -the capp of dear Dr. Goldsmith.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -He was so greatly amazed he could only sit looking mutely at the -scattered letters on the table in front of him. He was even more amazed -at finding them there than he had been the night before at not finding -them in the wallet which he had taken from Jackson's waistcoat. He -thought he had arrived at a satisfactory explanation as to how he had -come to find within the wallet the sheets of manuscript which he had had -in his hand on entering the supper room; but how was he to account for -the appearance of the letters in this parcel which he had received from -Mrs. Abington? - -So perplexed was he that he failed for sometime to grasp the truth--to -appreciate what was meant by the appearance of those letters on his -table. But so soon as it dawned upon him that they meant safety and -happiness to Mary, he sprang from his seat and almost shouted for joy. -She was saved. He had checkmated the villain who had sought her ruin and -who had the means to accomplish it, too. It was his astuteness that had -caused him to go to Mrs. Abington and ask for her help in accomplishing -the task with which he had been entrusted. He had, after all, not been -mistaken in applying to a woman to help him to defeat the devilish -scheme of a pitiless ruffian, and Mary Horneck had not been mistaken -when she had singled him out to be her champion, though all men and most -women would have ridiculed the idea of his assuming the rôle of a -knight-errant. - -His elation at that moment was in proportion to his depression, his -despair, his humiliation when he had last been in his room. His nature -knew nothing but extremes. Before retiring to his chamber in the early -morning, he had felt that life contained nothing but misery for him; -but now he felt that a future of happiness was in store for him--his -imagination failed to set any limits to the possibility of his future -happiness. He laughed at the thought of how he had resolved to go to -Mary and advise her to intrust her cause to Colonel Gwyn. The thought of -Colonel Gwyn convulsed him just now. With all his means, could Colonel -Gwyn have accomplished all that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had accomplished? - -He doubted it. Colonel Gwyn might be a good sort of fellow in spite of -his formal manner, his army training, and his incapacity to see a jest, -but it was doubtful if he could have brought to a successful conclusion -so delicate an enterprise as that which he--Goldsmith--had accomplished. -Gwyn would most likely have scorned to apply to Mrs. Abington to help -him, and that was just where he would have made a huge mistake. Any man -who thought to get the better of the devil without the aid of a woman -was a fool. He felt more strongly convinced of the truth of this as he -stood with his back to the fire in his grate than he had been when he -had found the wallet containing only his own manuscript. The previous -half-hour had naturally changed his views of man and woman and -Providence and the world. - -When he had picked up the letters and locked them in his desk, he ate -some breakfast, wondering all the while by what means Mrs. Abington had -obtained those precious writings; and after giving the matter an hour's -thought, he came to the conclusion that she must have felt the wallet in -the pocket of the man's cloak when she had left the table pretending to -be shocked at the disloyal expressions of her guest--she must have -felt the wallet and have contrived to extract the letters from it, -substituting for them the sham act of the play which excused his -entrance to the supper-room. - -The more he thought over the matter, the more convinced he became that -the wily lady had effected her purpose in the way, he conjectured. He -recollected that she had been for a considerable time on the chair -with the cloak--much longer than was necessary for Jackson to drink the -treasonable toast; and when she returned to the table, it was only to -turn him out of the room upon a very shallow pretext. What a fool he had -been to fancy that she was in a genuine passion when she had flung her -glass of wine in the face of her guest because he had addressed her as -Mrs. Baddeley! - -He had been amazed at the anger displayed by her in regard to that -particular incident, but later he had thought it possible that she had -acted the part of a jealous woman to give him a better chance of getting -the wallet out of the man's waistcoat pocket. Now, however, he clearly -perceived that her anxiety was to get out of the room in order to place -the letters beyond the man's hands. - -Once again he laughed, saying out loud-- - -“Ah, I was right--a woman's wiles only are superior to the strategy of a -devil!” - -Then he became more contemplative. The most joyful hour of his life was -at hand. He asked himself how his dear Jessamy Bride would receive the -letters which he was about to take to her. He did not think of himself -in connection with her gratitude. He left himself altogether out of -consideration in this matter. He only thought of how the girl's face -would lighten--how the white roses which he had last seen on her cheeks -would change to red when he put the letters into her hand, and she felt -that she was safe. - -That was the reward for which he looked. He knew that he would feel -bitterly disappointed if he failed to see the change of the roses on -her face--if he failed to hear her fill the air with the music of her -laughter. And then--then she would be happy for evermore, and he would -be happy through witnessing her happiness. - -He finished dressing, and was in the act of going to his desk for -the letters, which he hoped she would soon hold in her hand, when his -servant announced two visitors. - -Signor Baretti, accompanied by a tall and very thin man, entered. -The former greeted Goldsmith, and introduced his friend, who was a -compatriot of his own, named Nicolo. - -“I have not forgotten the matter which you honoured me by placing in -my hands,” said Baretti. “My friend Nicolo is a master of the art -of fencing as practised in Italy in the present day. He is under the -impression, singular though it may seem, that he spoke to you more than -once during your wanderings in Tuscany.” - -“And now I am sure of it,” said Nicolo in French. He explained that he -spoke French rather better than English. “Yes, I was a student at -Pisa when Dr. Goldsmith visited that city. I have no difficulty in -recognising him.” - -“And I, for my part, have a conviction that I have seen your face, sir,” - said Goldsmith, also speaking in French; “I cannot, however, recall the -circumstances of our first meeting. Can you supply the deficiency in my -memory, sir?” - -“There was a students' society that met at the Boccaleone,” said Signor -Nicolo. - -“I recollect it distinctly; Figli della Torre, you called yourselves,” - said Goldsmith quickly. “You were one of the orators--quite reckless, if -you will permit me to say so much.” - -The man smiled somewhat grimly. - -“If he had not been utterly reckless he would not be in England to-day,” - said Baretti. “Like myself, he is compelled to face your detestable -climate on account of some indiscreet references to the Italian -government, which he would certainly repeat to-morrow were he back -again.” - -“It brings me back to Tuscany once more, to see your face, Signor -Nicolo,” said Goldsmith. “Yes, though your Excellency had not so much of -a beard and mustacio when I saw you some years ago.” - -“Nay, sir, nor was your Lordship's coat quite so admirable then as it is -now, if I am not too bold to make so free a comment, sir,” said the man -with another grim smile. - -“You are not quite right, my friend,” laughed Goldsmith; “for if my -memory serves me--and it does so usually on the matter of dress--I had -no coat whatsoever to my back--that was of no importance in Pisa, where -the air was full of patriotism.” - -“The most dangerous epidemic that could occur in any country,” said -Baretti. “There is no Black Death that has claimed so many victims. We -are examples--Nicolo and I. I am compelled to teach Italian to a -brewer's daughter, and Nicolo is willing to transform the most clumsy -Englishman--and there are a good number of them, too--into an expert -swordsman in twelve lessons--yes, if the pupil will but practise -sufficiently afterwards.” - -“We need not talk of business just now,” said Goldsmith. “I insist on -my old friends sharing a bottle of wine with me. I shall drink to -'patriotism,' since it is the means of sending to my poor room two such -excellent friends as the Signori Baretti and Nicolo.” - -He rang the bell, and gave his servant directions to fetch a couple -of bottles of the old Madeira which Lord Clare had recently sent to -him--very recently, otherwise three bottles out of the dozen would not -have remained. - -The wine had scarcely been uncorked when the sound of a man's step was -heard upon the stairs, and in a moment Captain Jackson burst into the -room. - -“I have found you, you rascal!” he shouted, swaggering across the room -to where Goldsmith was seated. “Now, my good fellow, I give you just -one minute to restore to me those letters which you abstracted from my -pocket last night.” - -“And I give you just one minute to leave my room, you drunken -blackguard,” said Goldsmith, laying a hand on the arm of Signor Nicolo, -who was in the act of rising. “Come, sir,” he continued, “I submitted -to your insults last night because I had a purpose to carry out; but I -promise you that I give you no such license in my own house. Take your -carcase away, sir; my friends have fastidious nostrils.” - -Jackson's face became purple and then white. His lips receded from his -gums until his teeth were seen as the teeth of a wolf when it is too -cowardly to attack. - -“You cur!” he said through his set teeth. “I don't know what prevents me -from running you through the body.” - -“Do you not? I do,” said Goldsmith. He had taken the second bottle of -wine off the table, and was toying with it in his hands. - -“Come, sir,” said the bully after a pause; “I don't wish to go to Sir -John Fielding for a warrant for your arrest for stealing my property, -but, by the Lord, if you don't hand over those letters to me now I will -not spare you. I shall have you taken into custody as a thief before an -hour has passed.” - -“Go to Sir John, my friend, and tell him that Dick Jackson, American -spy, is anxious to hang himself, and mention that one Oliver Goldsmith -has at hand the rope that will rid the world of one of its greatest -scoundrels,” said Goldsmith. - -Jackson took a step or two back, and put his hand to his sword. In a -second both Baretti and Nicolo had touched the hilts of their weapons. -The bully looked from the one to the other, and then laughed harshly. - -“My little poet,” he said in a mocking voice, “you fancy that because -you have got a letter or two you have drawn my teeth. Let me tell you -for your information that I have something in my possession that I can -use as I meant to use the letters.” - -“And I tell you that if you use it, whatever it is, by God I shall -kill you, were you thrice the scoundrel that you are!” cried Goldsmith, -leaping up. - -There was scarcely a pause before the whistle of the man's sword through -the air was heard; but Baretti gave Goldsmith a push that sent him -behind a chair, and then quietly interposed between him and Jackson. - -“Pardon me, sir,” said he, bowing to Jackson, “but we cannot permit you -to stick an unarmed man. Your attempt to do so in our presence my friend -and I regard as a grave affront to us.” - -“Then let one of you draw!” shouted the man. “I see that you are -Frenchmen, and I have cut the throat of a good many of your race. Draw, -sir, and I shall add you to the Frenchies that I have sent to hell.” - -“Nay, sir, I wear spectacles, as you doubtless perceive,” said Baretti. -“I do not wish my glasses to be smashed; but my friend here, though a -weaker man, may possibly not decline to fight with so contemptible a -ruffian as you undoubtedly are.” - -He spoke a few words to Nicolo in Italian, and in a second the latter -had whisked out his sword and had stepped between Jackson and Baretti, -putting quietly aside the fierce lunge which the former made when -Baretti had turned partly round. - -“Briccone! assassin!” hissed Baretti. “You saw that he meant to kill me, -Nicolo,” he said addressing his friend in their own tongue. - -“He shall pay for it,” whispered Nicolo, pushing back a chair with his -foot until Goldsmith lifted it and several other pieces of furniture out -of the way, so as to make a clear space in the room. - -“Don't kill him, friend Nicolo,” he cried. “We used to enjoy a sausage -or two in the old days at Pisa. You can make sausage-meat of a carcase -without absolutely killing the beast.” - -The fencing-master smiled grimly, but spoke no word. - -Jackson seemed puzzled for a few moments, and Baretti roared with -laughter, watching him hang back. The laugh of the Italian--it was not -melodious--acted as a goad upon him. He rushed upon Nicolo, trying to -beat down his guard, but his antagonist did not yield a single inch. -He did not even cease to smile as he parried the attack. His expression -resembled that of an indulgent chess player when a lad who has airily -offered to play with him opens the game. - -After a few minutes' fencing, during which the Italian declined to -attack, Jackson drew back and lowered the point of his sword. - -“Take a chair, sir,” said Baretti, grinning. “You will have need of one -before my friend has finished with you.” - -Goldsmith said nothing. The man had grossly insulted him the evening -before, and he had made Mary Horneck wretched; but he could not taunt -him now that he was at the mercy of a master-swordsman. He watched the -man breathing hard, and then nerving himself for another attack upon the -Italian. - -Jackson's second attempt to get Nicolo within the range of his sword was -no more successful than his first. He was no despicable fencer, but -his antagonist could afford to play with him. The sound of his hard -breathing was a contrast to the only other sound in the room--the -grating of steel against steel. - -Then the smile upon the sallow face of the fencing-master seemed -gradually to vanish. He became more than serious--surely his expression -was one of apprehension. - -Goldsmith became somewhat excited. He grasped Baretti by the arm, as -one of Jackson's thrusts passed within half an inch of his antagonist's -shoulder, and for the first time Nicolo took a hasty step back, and in -doing so barely succeeded in protecting himself against a fierce lunge -of the other man. - -It was now Jackson's turn to laugh. He gave a contemptuous chuckle as -he pressed forward to follow up his advantage. He did not succeed in -touching Nicolo, though he went very close to him more than once, -and now it was plain that the Italian was greatly exhausted. He was -breathing hard, and the look of apprehension on his face had increased -until it had actually become one of terror. Jackson did not fail to -perceive this, and malignant triumph was in every feature of his face. -Any one could see that he felt confident of tiring out the visibly -fatigued Italian, and Goldsmith, with staring eyes, once again clutched -Baretti. - -Baretti's yellow skin became wrinkled up to the meeting place of his wig -and forehead in smiles. - -“I should like the third button of his coat for a memento, Sandrino,” - said he. - -In an instant there was a quivering flash through the air, and the third -paste button off Jackson's coat indented the wall just above Baretti's -head and fell at his feet, a scrap of the satin of the coat flying -behind it like the little pennon on a lance. - -“Heavens!” whispered Goldsmith. - -“Ah, friend Nicolo was always a great humourist,” said Baretti. “For -God's sake, Sandrino, throw them high into the air. The rush of that -last was like a bullet.” - -Up to the ceiling flashed another button, and fell back upon the coat -from which it was torn. - -And still Nicolo fenced away with that look of apprehension still on his -face. - -“That is his fun,” said Baretti. “Oh, body of Bacchus! A great -humourist!” - -The next button that Nicolo cutoff with the point of his sword he caught -in his left hand and threw to Goldsmith, who also caught it. - -The look of triumph vanished from Jackson's face. He drew back, but -his antagonist would not allow him to lower his sword, but followed -him round the room untiringly. He had ceased his pretence of breathing -heavily, but apparently his right arm was tired, for he had thrown his -sword into his left hand, and was now fencing from that side. - -Suddenly the air became filled with floating scraps of silk and satin. -They quivered to right and left, like butterflies settling down upon a -meadow; they fluttered about by the hundred, making a pretty spectacle. -Jackson's coat and waistcoat were in tatters, yet with such consummate -dexterity did the fencingmaster cut the pieces out of both garments that -Goldsmith utterly failed to see the swordplay that produced so amazing a -result. Nicolo seemed to be fencing pretty much as usual. - -And then a curious incident occurred, for the front part of one of the -man's pocket fell on the floor. - -With an oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap on the floor. -The pocked being cut away, a packet of letters, held against the lining -by a few threads of silk, became visible, and in another moment Nicolo -had spitted them on his sword, and laid them on the table in a single -flash. Goldsmith knew by the look that Jackson cast at them that they -were the batch of letters which he had received in the course of his -traffic with the American rebels. - -“Come, Sandrino,” said Baretti, affecting to yawn. “Finish the rascal -off, and let us go to that excellent bottle of Madeira which awaits us. -Come, sir, the carrion is not worth more than you have given him; he has -kept us from our wine too long already.” - -With a curiously tricky turn of the wrist, the master cut off the right -sleeve of the man's coat close to his shoulder, and drew it in a flash -over his sword. The disclosing of the man's naked arm and the hiding of -the greater part of his weapon were comical in the extreme; and with -an oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap upon the floor, -thoroughly exhausted. - -[Illustration: 0349] - -Baretti picked up the sword, broke the blade across his knee, and flung -the pieces into a corner, the tattered sleeve still entangled in the -guard. - -“John,” shouted Goldsmith to his servant, who was not far off. (He had -witnessed the duel through the keyhole of the door until it became too -exciting, and then he had put his head into the room.) “John, give that -man your oldest coat. It shall never be said that I turned a man naked -out of my house.” When John Eyles had left the room, Oliver turned to -the half-naked panting man. “You are possibly the most contemptible -bully and coward alive,” said he. “You did not hesitate to try and -accomplish the ruin of the sweetest girl in the world, and you came here -with intent to murder me because I succeeded in saving her from your -clutches. If I let you go now, it is because I know that in these -letters, which I mean to keep, I have such evidence against you as will -hang you whenever I see fit to use it, and I promise you to use it if -you are in this country at the end of two days. Now, leave this house, -and thank my servant for giving you his coat, and this gentleman”--he -pointed to Nicolo--“for such a lesson in fencing as, I suppose, you -never before received.” - -The man rose, painfully and laboriously, and took the coat with which -John Eyles returned. He looked at Goldsmith from head to foot. - -“You contemptible cur!” he said, “I have not yet done with you. You have -now stolen the second packet of letters; but, by the Lord, if one of -them passes out of your hands it will be avenged. I have friends in -pretty high places, let me tell you.” - -“I do not doubt it,” said Baretti. “The gallows is a high enough place -for you and your friends.” - -The ruffian turned upon him in a fury. - -“Look to yourself, you foreign hound!” he said, his face becoming livid, -and his lips receding from his mouth so as to leave his wolf-fangs bare -as before. “Look to yourself. You broke my sword after luring me on to -be made a fool of for your sport. Look to yourself!” - -“Turn that rascal into the street, John,” cried Goldsmith, and John -bustled forward. There was fighting in the air. If it came to blows he -flattered himself that he could give an interesting exhibition of his -powers--not quite so showy, perhaps, as that given by the Italian, but -one which he was certain was more English in its style. - -“No one shall lay a hand on me,” said Jackson. “Do you fancy that I am -anxious to remain in such a company?” - -“Come, sir; you are in my charge, now,” said John, hustling him to the -door. “Come--out with you--sharp!” - -In the room they heard the sound of the man descending the stairs slowly -and painfully. They became aware of his pause in the lobby below to put -on the coat which John had given to him, and a moment later they saw him -walk in the direction of the Temple lodge. - -Then Goldsmith turned to Signor Nicolo, who was examining one of the -prints that Hogarth had presented to his early friend, who had hung them -on his wall. - -“You came at an opportune moment, my friend,” said he. “You have not -only saved my life, you have afforded me such entertainment as I never -have known before. Sir, you are certainly the greatest living master of -your art.” - -“The best swordsman is the best patriot,” said Baretti. - -“That is why so many of your countrymen live in England,” said -Goldsmith. - -“Alas! yes,” said Nicolo. “Happily you Englishmen are not good patriots, -or you would not be able to live in England.” - -“I am not an Englishman,” said Goldsmith. “I am an Irish patriot, and -therefore I find it more convenient to live out of Ireland. Perhaps it -is not good patriotism to say, as I do, 'Better to live in England than -to starve in Ireland.' And talking of starving, sirs, reminds me that my -dinner hour is nigh. What say you, Signor Nicolo? What say you, Baretti? -Will you honour me with your company to dinner at the Crown and Anchor -an hour hence? We shall chat over the old days at Pisa and the prospects -of the Figli della Torre, Signor Nicolo. We cannot stay here, for it -will take my servant and Mrs. Ginger a good two hours to sweep up the -fragments of that rascal's garments. Lord! what a patchwork quilt Dr. -Johnson's friend Mrs. Williams could make if she were nigh.” - -“Patchwork should not only be made, it should be used by the blind,” - said Baretti. “Touching the dinner you so hospitably propose, I have no -engagement for to-day, and I dare swear that Nicolo has none either.” - -“He has taken part in one engagement, at least,” said Goldsmith, - -“And I am now at your service,” said the fencing-master. - -They went out together, Goldsmith with the precious letters in his -pocket--the second batch he put in the place of Mary Hor-neck's in his -desk--and, parting at Fleet street, they agreed to meet at the Crown and -Anchor in an hour. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -It was with a feeling of deep satisfaction, such as he had never before -known, that Goldsmith walked westward to Mrs. Horneck's house. All -the exhilaration that he had experienced by watching the extraordinary -exhibition of adroitness on the part of the fencingmaster remained with -him. The exhibition had, of course, been a trifle bizarre. It had more -than a suspicion of the art of the mountebank about it. For instance, -Nicolo's pretence of being overmatched early in the contest--breathing -hard and assuming a terrified expression--yielding his ground and -allowing his opponent almost to run him through--could only be regarded -as theatrical; while his tricks with the buttons and the letters, though -amazing, were akin to the devices of a rope-dancer. But this fact did -not prevent the whole scene from having an exhilarating effect upon -Goldsmith, more especially as it represented his repayment of the debt -which he owed to Jackson. - -And now to this feeling was added that of the greatest joy of his life -in having it in his power to remove from the sweetest girl in the world -the terror which she believed to be hanging over her head. He felt that -every step which he was taking westward was bringing him nearer to the -realisation of his longing-his longing to see the white roses on Mary's -cheeks change to red once more. - -It was a disappointment to him to learn that Mary had gone down to -Barton with the Bunburys. Her mother, who met him in the hall, told him -this with a grave face as she brought him into a parlour. - -“I think she expected you to call during the past ten days, Dr. -Goldsmith,” said the lady. “I believe that she was more than a little -disappointed that you could not find time to come to her.” - -“Was she, indeed? Did she really expect me to call?” he asked. This -fresh proof of the confidence which the Jessamy Bride reposed in him was -very dear to him. She had not merely entrusted him with her enterprise -on the chance of his being able to save her; she had had confidence in -his ability to save her, and had looked for his coming to tell her of -his success. - -“She seemed very anxious to see you,” said Mrs. Horneck. “I fear, dear -Dr. Goldsmith, that my poor child has something on her mind. That is her -sister's idea also. And yet it is impossible that she should have any -secret trouble; she has not been out of our sight since her visit to -Devonshire last year. At that time she had, I believe, some silly, -girlish fancy--my brother wrote to me that there had been in his -neighbourhood a certain attractive man, an officer who had returned home -with a wound received in the war with the American rebels. But surely -she has got over that foolishness!” - -“Ah, yes. You may take my word for it, madam, she has got over that -foolishness,” said Goldsmith. “You may take my word for it that when she -sees me the roses will return to her cheeks.” - -“I do hope so,” said Mrs. Horneck. “Yes, you could always contrive to -make her merry, Dr. Goldsmith. We have all missed you lately; we feared -that that disgraceful letter in the _Packet_ had affected you. That was -why my son called upon you at your rooms. I hope he assured you that -nothing it contained would interfere with our friendship.” - -“That was very kind of you, my dear madam,” said he; “but I have seen -Mary since that thing appeared.” - -“To be sure you have. Did you not think that she looked very ill?” - -“Very ill indeed, madam; but I am ready to give you my assurance -that when I have been half an hour with her she will be on the way to -recovery. You have not, I fear, much confidence in my skill as a doctor -of medicine, and, to tell you the truth, whatever your confidence in -this direction may amount to, it is a great deal more than what I myself -have. Still, I think you will say something in my favour when you see -Mary's condition begin to improve from the moment we have a little chat -together.” - -“That is wherein I have the amplest confidence in you, dear Dr. -Goldsmith. Your chat with her will do more for her than all the -medicine the most skilful of physicians could prescribe. It was a very -inopportune time for her to fall sick.” - -“I think that all sicknesses are inopportune. But why Mary's?” - -“Well, I have good reason to believe, Dr. Goldsmith, that had she not -steadfastly refused to see a certain gentleman who has been greatly -attracted by her, I might now have some happy news to convey to you.” - -“The gentleman's name is Colonel Gwyn, I think.” - -He spoke in a low voice and after a long pause. - -“Ah, you have guessed it, then? You have perceived that the gentleman -was drawn toward her?” said the lady smiling. - -“I have every reason to believe in his sincerity,” said Goldsmith. “And -you think that if Mary had been as well as she usually has been, she -would have listened to his proposals, madam?” - -“Why should she not have done so, sir?” said Mrs. Horneck. - -“Why not, indeed?” - -“Colonel Gwyn would be a very suitable match for her,” said she. “He is, -to be sure, several years her senior; that, however, is nothing.” - -“You think so--you think that a disparity in age should mean nothing in -such a case?” said Oliver, rather eagerly. - -“How could any one be so narrowminded as to think otherwise?” cried Mrs. -Horneck. “Whoever may think otherwise, sir, I certainly do not. I hope I -am too good a mother, Dr. Goldsmith. Nay, sir, I could not stand between -my daughter and happiness on such a pretext as a difference in years. -After all, Colonel Gwyn is but a year or two over thirty--thirty-seven, -I believe--but he does not look more than thirty-five.” - -“No one more cordially agrees with you than myself on the point to which -you give emphasis, madam,” said Goldsmith. “And you think that Mary will -see Colonel Gwyn when she returns?” - -“I hope so; and therefore I hope, dear sir, that you will exert yourself -so that the bloom will be brought back to her cheeks,” said the lady. -“That is your duty, Doctor; remember that, I pray. You are to bring -back the bloom to her cheeks in order that Colonel Gwyn may be doubly -attracted to her.” - -“I understand--I understand.” - -He spoke slowly, gravely. - -“I knew you would help us,” said Mrs. Horneck, “and so I hope that you -will lose no time in coming to us after Mary's return to-morrow. Your -Jessamy Bride will, I trust, be a real bride before many days have -passed.” - -Yes, that was his duty: to help Mary to happiness. Not for him, not for -him was the bloom to be brought again to her cheeks--not for him, but -for another man. For him were the sleepless nights, the anxious days, -the hours of thought--all the anxiety and all the danger resulting from -facing an unscrupulous scoundrel. For another man was the joy of putting -his lips upon the delicate bloom of her cheeks, the joy of taking her -sweet form into his arms, of dwelling daily in her smiles, of being -for evermore beside her, of feeling hourly the pride of so priceless a -possession as her love. - -That was his thought as he walked along the Strand with bent head; and -yet, before he had reached the Crown and Anchor, he said-- - -“Even so; I am satisfied--I am satisfied.” - -It chanced that Dr. Johnson was in the tavern with Steevens, and -Goldsmith persuaded both to join his party. He was glad that he -succeeded in doing so, for he had felt it was quite possible that -Baretti might inquire of him respecting the object of Jackson's visit to -Brick Court, and he could not well explain to the Italian the nature of -the enterprise which he had so successfully carried out by the aid -of Mrs. Abington. It was one thing to take Mrs. Abington into -his confidence, and quite another to confide in Baretti. He was -discriminating enough to be well aware of the fact that, while the -secret was perfectly safe in the keeping of the actress, it would be by -no means equally so if confided to Baretti, although some people might -laugh at him for entertaining an opinion so contrary to that which was -generally accepted by the world, Mrs. Abington being a woman and Baretti -a man. - -He had perceived long ago that Baretti was extremely anxious to learn -all about Jackson--that he was wondering how he, Goldsmith, should have -become mixed up in a matter which was apparently of imperial importance, -for at the mention of the American rebels Baretti had opened his eyes. -He was, therefore, glad that the talk at the table was so general as to -prevent any allusion being made to the incidents of the day. - -Dr. Johnson made Signor Nicolo acquainted with a few important facts -regarding the use of the sword and the limitations of that weapon, which -the Italian accepted with wonderful gravity; and when Goldsmith, on the -conversation drifting into the question of patriotism and its trials, -declared that a successful patriot was susceptible of being defined as a -man who loved his country for the benefit of himself, Dr. Johnson roared -out-- - -“Sir, that is very good. If Mr. Boswell were here--and indeed, sir, I am -glad that he is not--he would say that your definition was so good as to -make him certain you had stolen it from me.” - -“Nay, sir, 'tis not so good as to have been stolen from you,” said -Goldsmith. - -“Sir,” said Dr. Johnson, “I did not say that it was good enough to have -been stolen from me. I only said that it was good enough to make a very -foolish person suppose that it was stolen from me. No sensible person, -Dr. Goldsmith, would believe, first, that you would steal; secondly, -that you would steal from me; thirdly, that I would give you a chance of -stealing from me; and fourthly, that I would compose an apophthegm which -when it comes to be closely examined is not so good after all. Now, sir, -are you satisfied with the extent of my agreement with you?” - -“Sir, I am more than satisfied,” said Goldsmith, while Nicolo, the -cunning master of fence, sat by with a puzzled look on his saffron face. -This was a kind of fencing of which he had had no previous experience. - -After dining Goldsmith made the excuse of being required at the theatre, -to leave his friends. He was anxious to return thanks to Mrs. Abington -for managing so adroitly to accomplish in a moment all that he had hoped -to do. - -He found the lady not in the green room, but in her dressing room; her -costume was not, however, the less fascinating, nor was her smile the -less subtle as she gave him her hand to kiss. He knelt on one knee, -holding her hand to his lips; he was too much overcome to be able to -speak, and she knew it. She did not mind how long he held her hand; she -was quite accustomed to such demonstrations, though few, she well knew, -were of equal sincerity to those of Oliver Goldsmith's. - -“Well, my poet,” she said at last, “have you need of my services to -banish any more demons from the neighbourhood of your friends?” - -“I was right,” he managed to say after another pause, “yes, I knew I was -not mistaken in you, my dear lady.” - -“Yes; you knew that I was equal to combat the wiles of the craftiest -demon that ever undertook the slandering of a fair damsel,” said -she. “Well, sir, you paid me a doubtful compliment--a more doubtful -compliment than the fair damsel paid to you in asking you to be her -champion. But you have not told me of your adventurous journey with our -friend in the hackney coach.” - -“Nay,” he cried, “it is you who have not yet told me by what means -you became possessed of the letters which I wanted--by what magic you -substituted for them the mock act of the comedy which I carried with me -into the supper room.” - -“Psha, sir!” said she, “'twas a simple matter, after all. I gathered -from a remark the fellow made when laying his cloak across the chair, -that he had the letters in one of the pockets of that same cloak. He -gave me a hint that a certain Ned Cripps, who shares his lodging, is -not to be trusted, so that he was obliged to carry about with him every -document on which he places a value. Well, sir, my well known loyalty -naturally received a great shock when he offered to drink to the -American rebels, and you saw that I left the table hastily. A minute or -so sufficed me to discover the wallet with the letters; but then I -was at my wits' end to find something to occupy their place in the -receptacle. Happily my eye caught the roll of your manuscript, which lay -in your hat on the floor beneath the chair, and heigh! presto! the trick -was played. I had a sufficient appreciation of dramatic incident to keep -me hoping all the night that you would be able to get possession of the -wallet, believing it contained the letters for which you were in search. -Lord, sir! I tried to picture your face when you drew out your own -papers.” The actress lay back on her couch and roared with laughter, -Goldsmith joining in quite pleasantly. - -“Ah!” he said; “I can fancy that I see at this moment the expression -which my face wore at the time. But the sequel to the story is the most -humourous. I succeeded last night in picking the fellow's pocket, but -he paid me a visit this afternoon with the intent of recovering what he -termed his property.” - -“Oh, lud! Call you that humourous? How did you rid yourself of him?” - -At the story of the fight which had taken place in Brick Court, Mrs. -Abington laughed heartily after a few breathless moments. - -“By my faith, sir!” she cried; “I would give ten guineas to have been -there. But believe me, Dr. Goldsmith,” she added a moment afterwards, -“you will live in great jeopardy so long as that fellow remains in the -town.” - -“Nay, my dear,” said he. “It was Baretti whom he threatened as he left -my room--not I. He knows that I have now in my possession such documents -as would hang him.” - -“Why, is not that the very reason why he should make an attempt upon -your life?” cried the actress. “He may try to kill Baretti on a point -of sentiment, but assuredly he will do his best to slaughter you as a -matter of business.” - -“Faith, madam, since you put it that way I do believe that there is -something in what you say,” said Goldsmith. “So I will e'en take a -hackney-coach to the Temple and get the stalwart Ginger to escort me to -the very door of my chambers.” - -“Do so, sir. I am awaiting with great interest the part which you have -yet to write for me in a comedy.” - -“I swear to you that it will be the best part ever written by me, my -dear friend. You have earned my everlasting gratitude.” - -“Ah! was the lady so grateful as all that?” cried the actress, looking -at him with one of those arch smiles of hers which even Sir Joshua -Reynolds could not quite translate to show the next century what manner -of woman was the first Lady Teazle, for the part of the capricious young -wife of the elderly Sir Peter was woven around the fascinating country -girl's smile of Mrs. Abington. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -Goldsmith kept his word. He took a hackney-coach to the Temple, and was -alert all the time he was driving lest Jackson and his friends might be -waiting to make an attack upon him. He reached his chambers without any -adventure, however, and on locking his doors, took out the second parcel -of letters and set himself to peruse their contents. - -He had no need to read them all--the first that came to his hand was -sufficient to make him aware of the nature of the correspondence. It was -perfectly plain that the man had been endeavouring to traffic with the -rebels, and it was equally certain that the rebel leaders had shown -themselves to be too honourable to take advantage of the offers which -he had made to them. If this correspondence had come into the hands of -Cornwallis he would have hanged the fellow on the nearest tree instead -of merely turning him out of his regiment and shipping him back to -England as a suspected traitor. - -As he locked the letters once again in his desk he felt that there was -indeed every reason to fear that Jackson would not rest until he had -obtained possession of such damning evidence of his guilt. He would -certainly either make the attempt to get back the letters, or leave the -country, in order to avoid the irretrievable ruin which would fall upon -him if any one of the packet went into the hands of a magistrate; and -Goldsmith was strongly of the belief that the man would adopt the former -course. - -Only for an instant, as he laid down the compromising document, did he -ask himself how it was possible that Mary Horneck should ever have -been so blind as to be attracted to such a man, and to believe in his -honesty. - -He knew enough of the nature of womankind to be aware of the glamour -which attaches to a soldier who has been wounded in fighting the enemies -of his country. If Mary had been less womanly than she showed herself -to be, he would not have loved her so well as he did. Her womanly -weaknesses were dear to him, and the painful evidence that he had of the -tenderness of her heart only made him feel that she was all the more a -woman, and therefore all the more to be loved. - -It was the afternoon of the next day before he set out once more for the -Hornecks. - -He meant to see Mary, and then go on to Sir Joshua Reynolds's to dine. -There was to be that night a meeting of the Royal Academy, which he -would attend with the president, after Sir Joshua's usual five o'clock -dinner. It occurred to him that, as Baretti would also most probably -be at the meeting, he would do well to make him acquainted with -the dangerous character of Jackson, so that Baretti might take due -precautions against any attack that the desperate man might be -induced to make upon him. No doubt Baretti would make a good point -in conversation with his friends of the notion of Oliver Goldsmith's -counselling caution to any one; but the latter was determined to give -the Italian his advice on this matter, whatever the consequences might -be. - -It so happened, however, that he was unable to carry out his intention -in full, for on visiting Mrs. Horneck, he learned that Mary would not -return from Barton until late that night, and at the meeting of the -Academy Baretti failed to put in an appearance. - -He mentioned to Sir Joshua that he had something of importance to -communicate to the Italian, and that he was somewhat uneasy at not -having a chance of carrying out his intention in this respect. - -“You would do well, then, to come to my house for supper,” said -Reynolds. “I think it is very probable that Baretti will look in, if -only to apologise for his absence from the meeting. Miss Kauffman has -promised to come, and I have secured Johnson as well.” - -Goldsmith agreed, and while Johnson and Angelica Kauffman walked in -front, he followed with Reynolds some distance behind--not so far, -however, as to be out of the range of Johnson's voice. Johnson was -engaged in a discourse with his sweet companion--he was particularly -fond of such companionship--on the dignity inseparable from a classic -style in painting, and the enormity of painting men and women in the -habiliments of their period and country. Angelica Kauffman was not a -painter who required any considerable amount of remonstrance from -her preceptors to keep her feet from straying in regard to classical -traditions. The artist who gave the purest Greek features and the Roman -toga alike to the Prodigal Son and King Edward III could not be said to -be capable of greatly erring from Dr. Johnson's precepts. - -All through supper the sage continued his discourse at intervals of -eating, giving his hearty commendation to Sir Joshua's conscientious -adherence to classical traditions, and shouting down Goldsmith's mild -suggestion that it might be possible to adhere to these traditions so -faithfully as to inculcate a certain artificiality of style which might -eventually prove detrimental to the best interests of art. - -“What, sir!” cried Johnson, rolling like a three-decker swinging at -anchor, and pursing out his lips, “would you contend that a member -of Parliament should be painted for posterity in his every-day -clothes--that the King should be depicted as an ordinary gentleman?” - -“Why, yes, sir, if the King were an ordinary gentleman,” replied -Goldsmith. - -Whitefoord, who never could resist the chance of making a pun, whispered -to Oliver that in respect of some Kings there was more of the ordinary -than the gentleman about them, and when Miss Reynolds insisted on his -phrase being repeated to her, Johnson became grave. - -“Sir,” he cried, turning once more to Goldsmith, “there is a very -flagrant example of what you would bring about. When a monarch, even -depicted in his robes and with the awe-inspiring insignia of his exalted -position, is not held to be beyond the violation of a punster, what -would he be if shown in ordinary garb? But you, sir, in your aims after -what you call the natural, would, I believe, consider seriously the -advisability of the epitaphs in Westminster Abbey being written in -English.” - -“And why not, sir?” said Goldsmith; then, with a twinkle, he added, -“For my own part, sir, I hope that I may live to read my own epitaph in -Westminster Abbey written in English.” - -Every one laughed, including--when the bull had been explained to -her--Angelica Kauffman. - -After supper Sir Joshua put his fair guest into her chair, shutting its -door with his own hands, and shortly afterwards Johnson and Whitefoord -went off together. But still Goldsmith, at the suggestion of Reynolds, -lingered in the hope that Baretti would call. He had probably been -detained at the house of a friend, Reynolds said, and if he should pass -Leicester Square on his way home, he would certainly call to explain the -reason of his absence from the meeting. - -When another half-hour had passed, however, Goldsmith rose and said that -as Sir Joshua's bed-time was at hand, it would be outrageous for him to -wait any longer. His host accompanied him to the hall, and Ralph helped -him on with his cloak. He was in the act of receiving his hat from the -hand of the servant when the hall-bell was rung with starling violence. -The ring was repeated before Ralph could take the few steps to the door. - -“If that is Baretti who rings, his business must be indeed urgent,” said -Goldsmith. - -In another moment the door was opened, and the light of the lamp showed -the figure of Steevens in the porch. He hurried past Ralph, crying out -so as to reach the ear of Reynolds. - -“A dreadful thing has happened tonight, sir! Baretti was attacked by two -men in the Haymarket, and he killed one of them with his knife. He has -been arrested, and will be charged with murder before Sir John Fielding -in the morning. I heard of the terrible business just now, and lost no -time coming to you.” - -“Merciful heaven!” cried Goldsmith. “I was waiting for Baretti in order -to warn him.” - -“You could not have any reason for warning him against such an attack -as was made upon him,” said Steevens. “It seems that the fellow whom -Baretti was unfortunate enough to kill was one of a very disreputable -gang well known to the constables. It was a Bow street runner who stated -what his name was.” - -“And what was his name?” asked Reynolds. - -“Richard Jackson,” replied Steevens. “Of course we never heard the name -before. The attack upon Baretti was the worst that could be imagined.” - -“The world is undoubtedly rid of a great rascal,” said Goldsmith. - -“Undoubtedly; but that fact will not save our friend from being hanged, -should a jury find him guilty,” said Steevens. “We must make an effort -to avert so terrible a thing. That is why I came here now; I tried to -speak to Baretti, but the constables would not give me permission. They -carried my name to him, however, and he sent out a message asking me to -go without delay to Sir Joshua and you, as well as Dr. Johnson and Mr. -Garrick. He hopes you may find it convenient to attend before Sir John -Fielding at Bow street in the morning.” - -“That we shall,” said Sir Joshua. “He shall have the best legal advice -available in England; and, meantime, we shall go to him and tell him -that he may depend on our help, such as it is.” - -The coach in which Steevens had come to Leicester Square was still -waiting, and in it they all drove to where Baretti was detained in -custody. The constables would not allow them to see the prisoner, but -they offered to convey to him any message which his friends might have, -and also to carry back to them his reply. - -Goldsmith was extremely anxious to get from Baretti's own lips an -account of the assault which had been made upon him; but he could -not induce the constables to allow him to go into his presence. They, -however, bore in his message to the effect that he might depend on the -help of all his friends in his emergency. - -Sir Joshua sent for the watchmen by whom the arrest had been effected, -and they stated that Baretti had been seized by the crowd--afar from -reputable crowd--so soon as it was known that a man had been stabbed, -and he had been handed over to the constables, while a surgeon examined -the man's wound, but was able to do nothing for him; he had expired in -the surgeon's hands. - -Baretti's statement made to the watch was that he was on his way to the -meeting of the Academy, and being very late, he was hurrying through -the Haymarket when a woman jostled him, and at the same instant two -men rushed out from the entrance to Jermyn street and attacked him with -heavy sticks. One of the men closed with him to prevent his drawing his -sword, but he succeeded in freeing one arm, and in defending himself -with the small fruit knife which he invariably carried about with him, -as was the custom in France and Italy, where fruit is the chief article -of diet, he had undoubtedly stabbed his assailant, and by a great -mischance he must have severed an artery. - -The Bow street runner who had seen the dead body told Reynolds and his -friends that he recognised the man as one Jackson, who had formerly held -a commission in the army, and had been serving in America, when, being -tried by court-martial for some irregularities, he had been sent to -England by Cornwallis. He had been living by his wits for some months, -and had recently joined a very disreputable gang, who occupied a house -in Whetstone Park. - -“So far from our friend having been guilty of a criminal offence, -it seems to me that he has rid the country of a vile rogue,” said -Goldsmith. - -“If the jury take that view of the business they'll acquit the -gentleman,” said the Bow street runner. “But I fancy the judge will tell -them that it's the business of the hangman only to rid the country of -its rogues.” - -Goldsmith could not but perceive that the man had accurately defined the -view which the law was supposed to take of the question of getting rid -of the rogues, and his reflections as he drove to his chambers, having -parted from Sir Joshua Reynolds and Steevens, made him very unhappy. -He could not help feeling that Baretti was the victim of -his--Goldsmith's--want of consideration. What right had he, he asked -himself, to drag Baretti into a matter in which the Italian had no -concern? He felt that a man of the world would certainly have acted -with more discretion, and if anything happened to Baretti he would never -forgive himself. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -After a very restless night he hastened to Johnson, but found that -Johnson had already gone to Garrick's house, and at Garrick's house -Goldsmith learned that Johnson and Garrick had driven to Edmund Burke's; -so it was plain that Baretti's friends were losing no time in setting -about helping him. They all met in the Bow Street Police Court, and -Goldsmith found that Burke had already instructed a lawyer on behalf of -Baretti. His tender heart was greatly moved at the sight of Baretti -when the latter was brought into court, and placed in the dock, with a -constable on each side. But the prisoner himself appeared to be quite -collected, and seemed proud of the group of notable persons who had come -to show their friendship for him. He smiled at Reynolds and Goldsmith, -and, when the witnesses were being examined, polished the glasses of his -spectacles with the greatest composure. He appeared to be confident that -Sir John Fielding would allow him to go free when evidence was given -that Jackson had been a man of notoriously bad character, and he seemed -greatly surprised when the magistrate announced that he was returning -him for trial at the next sessions. - -Goldsmith asked Sir John Fielding for permission to accompany the -prisoner in the coach that was taking him to Newgate, and his request -was granted. - -He clasped Baretti's hand with tears in his eyes when they set out on -this melancholy drive, saying-- - -“My dear friend, I shall never forgive myself for having brought you to -this.” - -“Psha, sir!” said Baretti. “'Tis not you, but the foolish laws of this -country that must be held accountable for the situation of the moment. -In what country except this could a thing so ridiculous occur? A gross -ruffian attacks me, and in the absence of any civil force for the -protection of the people, I am compelled to protect myself from his -violence. It so happens that instead of the fellow killing me, I by -accident kill him, and lo! a pigheaded magistrate sends me to be tried -for my life! Mother of God! that is what is called the course of justice -in this country! The course of idiocy it had much better be called!” - -“Do not be alarmed,” said Goldsmith. “When you appear before a judge and -jury you will most certainly be acquitted. But can you forgive me for -being the cause of this great inconvenience to you?” - -“I can easily forgive you, having no reason to hold you in any way -responsible for this _contretemps_,” said Baretti. “But I cannot forgive -that very foolish person who sat on the Bench at Bow street and failed -to perceive that my act had saved his constables and his hangman a -considerable amount of trouble! Heavens! that such carrion as the fellow -whom I killed should be regarded sacred--as sacred as though he were an -Archbishop! Body of Bacchus! was there ever a contention so ridiculous?” - -“You will only be inconvenienced for a week or two, my dear friend,” - said Goldsmith. “It is quite impossible that you could be convicted--oh, -quite impossible. You shall have the best counsel available, and -Reynolds and Johnson and Beauclerk will speak for you.” - -But Baretti declined to be pacified by such assurances. He continued -railing against England and English laws until the coach arrived at -Newgate. - -It was with a very sad heart that Goldsmith, when he was left alone -in the coach, gave directions to be driven to the Hor-necks' house -in Westminster. On leaving his chambers in the morning, he had been -uncertain whether it was right for him to go at once to Bow street or to -see Mary Horneck. He felt that he should relieve Mary from the distress -of mind from which she had suffered for so long, but he came to the -conclusion that he should let nothing come between him and his duty in -respect of the man who was suffering by reason of his friendship for -him, Goldsmith. Now, however, that he had discharged his duty so far as -he could in regard to Baretti, he lost no time in going to the Jessamy -Bride. - -Mrs. Horneck again met him in the hall. Her face was very grave, and the -signs of recent tears were visible on it. - -“Dear Dr. Goldsmith,” she said, “I am in deep distress about Mary.” - -“How so, madam?” he gasped, for a dreadful thought had suddenly come to -him. Had he arrived at this house only to hear that the girl was at the -point of death? - -“She returned from Barton last night, seeming even more depressed than -when she left town,” said Mrs. Horneck. “But who could fancy that her -condition was so low as to be liable to such complete prostration as -was brought about by my son's announcement of this news about Signor -Baretti?” - -“It prostrated her?” - -“Why, when Charles read out an account of the unhappy affair which is -printed in one of the papers, Mary listened breathlessly, and when he -read out the name of the man who was killed, she sank from her chair -to the floor in a swoon, just as though the man had been one of her -friends, instead of one whom none of us could ever possibly have met.” - -“And now?” - -“Now she is lying on the sofa in the drawingroom awaiting your coming -with strange impatience--I told her that you had been here yesterday and -also the day before. She has been talking very strangely since she awoke -from her faint--accusing herself of bringing her friends into trouble, -but evermore crying out, 'Why does he not come--why does he not come -to tell me all that there is to be told?' She meant you, dear Dr. -Goldsmith. She has somehow come to think of you as able to soothe her -in this curious imaginary distress, from which she is suffering quite as -acutely as if it were a real sorrow. Oh, I was quite overcome when I saw -the poor child lying as if she were dead before my eyes! Her condition -is the more sad, as I have reason to believe that Colonel Gwyn means to -call to-day.” - -“Never mind Colonel Gwyn for the present, madam,” said Goldsmith, “Will -you have the goodness to lead me to her room? Have I not told you that I -am confident that I can restore her to health?” - -“Ah, Dr. Goldsmith, if you could!--ah, if you only could! But alas, -alas!” - -He followed her upstairs to the drawingroom where he had had his last -interview with Mary. Even before the door was opened the sound of -sobbing within the room came to his ears. - -“Now, my dear child,” said her mother with an affectation of -cheerfulness, “you see that Dr. Goldsmith has kept his word. He has come -to his Jessamy Bride.” - -The girl started up, but the struggle she had to do so showed him most -pathetically how weak she was. - -“Ah, he is come he is come!” she cried. “Leave him with me, mother; he -has much to tell me.” - -“Yes.” said he; “I have much.” - -Mrs. Horneck left the room after kissing the girl's forehead. - -She had hardly closed the door before Mary caught Goldsmith's hand -spasmodically in both her own--he felt how they were trembling-as she -cried-- - -“The terrible thing that has happened! He is dead--you know it, of -course? Oh, it is terrible--terrible! But the letters!--they will be -found upon him or at the place where he lived, and it will be impossible -to keep my secret longer. Will his friends--he had evil friends, I -know--will they print them, do you think? Ah, I see by your face that -you believe they will print the letters, and I shall be undone--undone.” - -“My dear,” he said, “you might be able to bear the worst news that I -could bring you; but will you be able to bear the best?” - -“The best! Ah, what is the best?” - -“It is more difficult to prepare for the best than for the worst, my -child. You are very weak, but you must not give way to your weakness.” - -She stared at him with wistful, expectant eyes. Her hands were clasped -more tightly than ever upon his own. He saw that she was trying to -speak, but failing to utter a single word. - -He waited for a few moments and then drew out of his pocket the packet -of her letters, and gave it to her. She looked at it strangely for -certainly a minute. She could not realise the truth. She could only -gaze mutely at the packet. He perceived that that gradual dawning of the -truth upon her meant the saving of her life. He knew that she would not -now be overwhelmed with the joy of being saved. - -Then she gave a sudden cry. The letters dropped from her hand. She flung -her arms around his neck and kissed him again and again on the cheeks. -Quite as suddenly she ceased kissing him and laughed--not hysterically, -but joyously, as she sprang to her feet with scarcely an effort and -walked across the room to the window that looked upon the street. He -followed her with his eyes and saw her gazing out. Then she turned round -with another laugh that rippled through the room. How long was it since -he had heard her laugh in that way? - -She came toward him, and then he knew that he had had his reward, for -her cheeks that had been white were now glowing with the roses of June, -and her eyes that had been dim were sparkling with gladness. - -“Ah,” she cried, putting out both her hands to him. “Ah, I knew that I -was right in telling you my secret, and in asking you to help me. I knew -that you would not fail me in my hour of need, and you shall be dear to -me for evermore for having helped me. There is no one in the world like -you, dear Oliver Goldsmith. I have always felt that--so good, so true, -so full of tenderness and that sweet simplicity which has made the -greatest and best people in the world love you, as I love you, dear, -dear friend! O, you are a friend to be trusted--a friend who would be -ready to die for his friend. Gratitude--you do not want gratitude. It is -well that you do not want gratitude, for what could gratitude say to you -for what you have done? You have saved me from death--from worse than -death--and I know that the thought that you have done so will be your -greatest reward. I will always be near you, that you may see me and feel -that I live only because you stretched out your kind hand and drew me -out of the deep waters--the waters that had well-nigh closed over my -head.” - -He sat before her, looking up to the sweet face that looked down upon -him. His eyes were full of tears. The world had dealt hardly with him; -but he felt that his life had not been wholly barren of gladness, since -he had lived to see--even through the dimness of tears--so sweet a -face looking into his own with eyes full of the light of--was it the -gratitude of a girl? Was it the love of a woman? - -He could not speak. He could not even return the pressure of the -small hands that clasped his own with all the gracious pressure of the -tendrils of a climbing flower. - -“Have you nothing to say to me--no word to give me at this moment?” she -asked in a whisper, and her head was bent closer to his, and her fingers -seemed to him to tighten somewhat around his own. - -“What word?” said he. “Ah, my child, what word should come from such -a man as I to such a woman as you? No, I have no word. Such complete -happiness as is mine at this moment does not seek to find expression in -words. You have given me such happiness as I never hoped for in my -life. You have understood me--you alone, and that to such as I means -happiness.” - -She dropped his hands so suddenly as almost to suggest that she had -flung them away from her. She took an impatient step or two in the -direction of the window. - -“You talk of my understanding you,” she said in a voice that had a sob -in it. “Yes, but have you no thought of understanding me? Is it only a -man's nature that is worth trying to understand? Is a woman's not worthy -of a thought?” - -He started up and seemed about to stretch his arms out to her, but with -a sudden drawing in of his breath he put his hands behind his back and -locked the fingers of both together. - -Thus he stood looking at her while she had her face averted, not knowing -the struggle that was going on between the two powers that are ever in -the throes of conflict within the heart of a man who loves a woman -well enough to have no thought of himself--no thought except for her -happiness. - -“No,” he said at last. “No, my dear, dear child; I have no word to say -to you! I fear to speak a word. The happiness that a man builds up for -himself may be destroyed by the utterance of one word. I wish to remain -happy--watching your happiness--in silence. Perhaps I may understand -you--I may understand something of the thought which gratitude suggests -to you.” - -“Ah, gratitude!” said she in a tone that was sad even in its -scornfulness. She had not turned her head toward him. - -“Yes, I may understand something of your nature--the sweetest, the -tenderest that ever made a woman blessed; but I understand myself -better, and I know in what direction lies my happiness--in what -direction lies your happiness.” - -“Ah! are you sure that they are two--that they are separate?” said she. -And now she moved her head slowly so that she was looking into his face. - -There was a long pause. She could not see the movement of his hands. He -still held them behind him. At last he said slowly-- - -“I am sure, my dear one. Ah, I am but too sure. Would to God there were -a chance of my being mistaken! Ah, dear, dear child, it is my lot to -look on happiness through another man's eyes. And, believe me, there -is more happiness in doing so than the world knows of. No, no! Do not -speak--for God's sake, do not speak to me! Do not say those words which -are trembling on your lips, for they mean unhappiness to both of us.” - -She continued looking at him; then suddenly, with a little cry, she -turned away, and throwing herself down on the sofa, burst into tears, -with her face upon one of the arms, which her hands held tightly. - -After a time he went to her side and laid a hand upon her hair. - -She raised her head and looked up to him with streaming eyes. She put a -hand out to him, saying in a low but clear voice-- - -“You are right. Oh, I know you are right. I will not speak that -word; but I can never--never cease to think of you as the best--the -noblest--the truest of men. You have been my best friend--my only -friend--and there is no dearer name that a man can be called by a -woman.” - -He bent his head and kissed her on the forehead, but spoke no word. - -A moment afterwards Mrs. Horneck entered the room. - -“Oh, mother, mother!” cried the girl, starting up, “I knew that I was -right--I knew that Dr. Goldsmith would be able to help me. Ah, I am a -new girl since he came to see me. I feel that I am well once more--that -I shall never be ill again! Oh, he is the best doctor in the world!” - -“Why, what a transformation there is already!” said her mother. “Ah, Dr. -Goldsmith was always my dear girl's friend!” - -“Friend--friend!” she said slowly, almost gravely. “Yes, he was always -my friend, and he will be so forever--my friend--our friend.” - -“Always, always,” said Mrs. Horneck. “I am doubly glad to find that you -have cast away your fit of melancholy, my dear, because Colonel Gwyn has -just called and expresses the deepest anxiety regarding your condition. -May I not ask him to come up in order that his mind may be relieved by -seeing you?” - -“No, no! I will not see Colonel Gwyn to-day,” cried the girl. “Send him -away--send him away. I do not want to see him. I want to see no one but -our good friend Oliver Goldsmith. Ah, what did Colonel Gwyn ever do for -me that I should wish to see him?” - -“My dear Mary----” - -“Send him away, dear mother. I tell you that indeed I am not yet -sufficiently recovered to be able to have a visitor. Dr. Goldsmith has -not yet given me a good laugh, and till you come and find us laughing -together as we used to laugh in the old days, you cannot say that I am -myself again.” - -“I will not do anything against your inclinations, child,” said Mrs. -Horneck. “I will tell Colonel Gwyn to renew his visit to you next week.” - -“Do, dear mother,” cried the girl, laughing. “Say next week, or next -year, sweetest of mothers, or--best of all--say that he had better come -by and by, and then add, in the true style of Mr. Garrick, that 'by and -by is easily said.'” - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -As he went to his chambers to dress before going to dine with the -Dillys in the Poultry, Goldsmith was happier than he had been for years. -He had seen the light return to the face that he loved more than all -the faces in the world, and he had been strong enough to put aside the -temptation to hear her confess that she returned the love which he bore -her, but which he had never confessed to her. He felt happy to know that -the friendship which had been so great a consolation to him for several -years--the friendship for the family who had been so good and so -considerate to him--was the same now as it had always been. He felt -happy in the reflection that he had spoken no word that would tend to -jeopardise that friendship. He had seen enough of the world to be made -aware of the fact that there is no more potent destroyer of friendship -than love. He had put aside the temptation to speak a word of love; nay, -he had prevented her from speaking what he believed would be a word of -love, although the speaking of that word would have been the sweetest -sound that had ever fallen upon his ears. - -And that was how he came to feel happy. - -And yet, that same night, when he was sitting alone in his room, he -found a delight in adding to that bundle of manuscripts which he had -dedicated to her and which some weeks before he had designed to destroy. -He added poem after poem to the verses which Johnson had rightly -interpreted--verses pulsating with the love that was in his -heart--verses which Mary Horneck could not fail to interpret aright -should they ever come before her eyes. - -“But they shall never come before her eyes,” he said. “Ah, never--never! -It is in my power to avert at least that unhappiness from her life.” - -And yet before he went to sleep he had a thought that perhaps one day -she might read those verses of his--yes, perhaps one day. He wondered if -that day was far off or nigh. - -When he had been by her side, after Colonel Gwyn had left the house, -he had told her the story of the recovery of her letters; he did -not, however, think it necessary to tell her how the man had come to -entertain his animosity to Baretti; and she thus regarded the latter's -killing of Jackson as an accident. - -After the lapse of a day or two he began to think if it might not be -well for him to consult with Edmund Burke as to whether it would be -to the advantage of Baretti or otherwise to submit evidence as to the -threats made use of by Jackson in regard to Baretti. He thought that it -might be possible to do so without introducing the name of Mary Horneck. -But Burke, after hearing the story--no mention of the name of Mary -Horneck being made by Goldsmith--came to the conclusion that it would be -unwise to introduce at the trial any question of animosity on the part -of the man who had been killed, lest the jury might be led to infer--as, -indeed, they might have some sort of reason for doing-that the animosity -on Jackson's part meant animosity on Baretti's part. Burke considered -that a defence founded upon the plea of accident was the one which was -most likely to succeed in obtaining from a jury a verdict of acquittal. -If it could be shown that the man had attacked Baretti as impudently -as some of the witnesses for the Crown were ready to admit that he did, -Burke and his legal advisers thought that the prisoner had a good chance -of obtaining a verdict. - -The fact that neither Burke nor any one else spoke with confidence of -the acquittal had, however, a deep effect upon Goldsmith. His sanguine -nature had caused him from the first to feel certain of Baretti's -safety, and any one who reads nowadays an account of the celebrated -trial would undoubtedly be inclined to think that his feeling in this -matter was fully justified. That there should have been any suggestion -of premeditation in the unfortunate act of self-defence on the part of -Baretti seems amazing to a modern reader of the case as stated by -the Crown. But as Edmund Burke stated about that time in the House of -Commons, England was a gigantic shambles. The barest evidence against -a prisoner was considered sufficient to bring him to the gallows for an -offence which nowadays, if proved against him on unmistakable testimony, -would only entail his incarceration for a week. Women were hanged for -stealing bread to keep their children from that starvation which was the -result of the kidnapping of their husbands to serve in the navy; and -yet Burke's was the only influential voice that was lifted up against -a system in comparison with which slavery was not only tolerable, but -commendable. - -Baretti was indeed the only one of that famous circle of which Johnson -was the centre, who felt confident that he would be acquitted. For -all his railing against the detestable laws of the detestable -country--which, however, he found preferable to his own--he ridiculed -the possibility of his being found guilty. It was Johnson who considered -it within the bounds of his duty to make the Italian understand that, -however absurd was the notion of his being carted to the gallows, the -likelihood was that he would experience the feelings incidental to such -an excursion. - -He went full of this intention with Reynolds to visit the prisoner at -Newgate, and it may be taken for granted that he discharged his duty -with his usual emphasis. It is recorded, however, on the excellent -authority of Boswell, that Baretti was quite unmoved by the admonition -of the sage. - -It is also on authority of Boswell that we learn that Johnson was guilty -of what appears to us nowadays as a very gross breach of good taste -as well as of good feeling, when, on the question of the likelihood of -Baretti's failing to obtain a verdict being discussed, he declared that -if one of his friends were fairly hanged he should not suffer, but eat -his dinner just the same as usual. It is fortunate, however, that we -know something of the systems adopted by Johnson when pestered by the -idiotic insistence of certain trivial matters by Boswell, and the record -of Johnson's pretence to appear a callous man of the world probably -deceived no one in the world except the one man whom it was meant to -silence. - -But, however callous Dr. Johnson may have pretended to be--however -insincere Tom Davis the bookseller may--according to Johnson--have been, -there can be no doubt that poor Goldsmith was in great trepidation -until the trial was over. He gave evidence in favour of Baretti, though -Boswell, true to his detestation of the man against whom he entertained -an envy that showed itself every time he mentioned his name, declined -to mention this fact, taking care, however, that Johnson got full credit -for appearing in the witness-box with Burke, Garrick and Beauclerk. - -Baretti was acquitted, the jury being satisfied that, as the fruit-knife -was a weapon which was constantly carried by Frenchmen and Italians, -they might possibly go so far as to assume that it had not been bought -by the prisoner solely with the intention of murdering the man who had -attacked him in the Haymarket. The carrying of the fruit-knife seems -rather a strange turning-point of a case heard at a period when the law -permitted men to carry swords presumably for their own protection. - -Goldsmith's mind was set at ease by the acquittal of Baretti, and he -joined in the many attempts that were made to show the sympathy which -was felt--or, as Boswell would have us believe Johnson thought, was -simulated--by his friends for Baretti. He gave a dinner in honour of -the acquittal, inviting Johnson, Burke, Garrick, and a few others of the -circle, and he proposed the health of their guest, which, he said, had -not been so robust of late as to give all his friends an assurance -that he would live to a ripe old age. He also toasted the jury and the -counsel, as well as the turnkeys of Newgate and the usher of the Old -Bailey. - -When the trial was over, however, he showed that the strain to which he -had been subjected was too great for him. His health broke down, and he -was compelled to leave his chambers and hurry off to his cottage on the -Edgware Road, hoping to be benefitted by the change to the country, and -trusting also to be able to make some progress with the many works -which he had engaged himself to complete for the booksellers. He had, in -addition, his comedy to write for Garrick, and he was not unmindful of -his promise to give Mrs. Abington a part worthy of her acceptance. - -He returned at rare intervals to town, and never failed at such times -to see his Jessamy Bride, with whom he had resumed his old relations of -friendship. When she visited her sister at Barton she wrote to him in -her usual high spirits. Little Comedy also sent him letters full of the -fun in which she delighted to indulge with him, and he was never too -busy to reply in the same strain. The pleasant circle at Bun-bury's -country house wished to have him once again in their midst, to join in -their pranks, and to submit, as he did with such good will, to their -practical jests. - -He did not go to Barton. He had made up his mind that that was one of -the pleasures of life which he should forego. At Barton he knew that he -would see Mary day by day, and he could not trust himself to be near her -constantly and yet refrain from saying the words which would make both -of them miserable. He had conquered himself once, but he was not sure -that he would be as strong a second time. - -This perpetual struggle in which he was engaged--this constant endeavour -to crush out of his life the passion which alone made life endurable to -him, left him worn and weak, so it was not surprising that, when a coach -drove up to his cottage one day, after many months had passed, and Mrs. -Horneck stepped out, she was greatly shocked at the change which was -apparent in his appearance. - -“Good heaven, Dr. Goldsmith!” she cried when she entered his little -parlour, “you are killing yourself by your hard work. Sir Joshua said he -was extremely apprehensive in regard to your health the last time he saw -you, but were he to see you now, he would be not merely apprehensive but -despairing.” - -“Nay, my dear madam,” he said. “I am only suffering from a slight attack -of an old enemy of mine. I am not so strong as I used to be; but let me -assure you that I feel much better since you have been good enough to -give me an opportunity of seeing you at my humble home. When I caught -sight of you stepping out of the coach I received a great shock for a -moment; I feared that--ah, I cannot tell you all that I feared.” - -“However shocked you were, dear Dr. Goldsmith, you were not so shocked -as I was when you appeared before me,” said the lady. “Why, dear sir, -you are killing yourself. Oh, we must change all this. You have no one -here to give you the attention which your condition requires.” - -“What, madam! Am not I a physician myself?” said the Doctor, making a -pitiful attempt to assume his old manner. - -“Ah, sir! every moment I am more shocked,” said she. “I will take you in -hand. I came here to beg of you to go to Barton in my interests, but now -I will beg of you to go thither in your own.” - -“To Barton? Oh, my dear madam----” - -“Nay, sir, I insist! Ah! I might have known you better than to fancy I -should easier prevail upon you by asking you to go to advance your own -interests rather than mine. You were always more ready to help others -than to help yourself.” - -“How is it possible, dear lady, that you need my poor help?” - -“Ah! I knew the best way to interest you. Dear friend, I know of no one -who could be of the same help to us as you.” - -“There is no one who would be more willing, madam.” - -“You have proved it long ago, Dr. Goldsmith. When Mary had that -mysterious indisposition, was not her recovery due to you? She announced -that it was you, and you only, who had brought her back to life.” - -“Ah! my dear Jessamy Bride was always generous. Surely she is not again -in need of my help.” - -“It is for her sake I come to you to-day, Dr. Goldsmith. I am sure that -you are interested in her future--in the happiness which we all are -anxious to secure for her.” - -“Happiness? What happiness, dear madam?” - -“I will tell you, sir. I look on you as one of our family--nay, I can -talk with you more confidentially than I can with my own son.” - -“You have ever been indulgent to me, Mrs. Horneck.” - -“And you have ever been generous, sir; that is why I am here to-day. -I know that Mary writes to you. I wonder if she has yet told you that -Colonel Gwyn made her an offer with my consent.” - -“No; she has not told me that.” - -He spoke slowly, rising from his chair, but endeavoring to restrain the -emotion which he felt. - -“It is not unlike Mary to treat the matter as if it were finally -settled, and so not worthy of another thought,” said Mrs. Horneck. - -“Finally settled?” repeated Goldsmith. “Then she has accepted Colonel -Gwyn's proposal?” - -“On the contrary, sir, she rejected it,” said the mother. - -He resumed his seat. Was the emotion which he experienced at that moment -one of gladness? - -“Yes, she rejected a suitor whom we all considered most eligible,” said -the lady. “Colonel Gwyn is a man of good family, and his own character -is irreproachable. He is in every respect a most admirable man, and I am -convinced that my dear child's happiness would be assured with him--and -yet she sends him away from her.” - -“That is possibly because she knows her own mind--her own heart, I -should rather say; and that heart the purest in the world.” - -“Alas! she is but a girl.” - -“Nay, to my mind, she is something more than a girl. No man that lives -is worthy of her.” - -“That may be true, dear friend; but no girl would thank you to act too -rigidly on that assumption--an assumption which would condemn her to -live and die an old maid. Now, my dear Dr. Goldsmith, I want you to -take a practical and not a poetical view of a matter which so closely -concerns the future of one who is dear to me, and in whom I am sure you -take a great interest.” - -“I would do anything for her happiness.” - -“I know it. Well you have long been aware, I am sure, that she regards -you with the greatest respect and esteem--nay, if I may say it, with -affection as well.” - -“Ah! affection--affection for me?” - -“You know it. If you were her brother she could not have a warmer regard -for you. And that is why I have come to you to-day to beg of you to -yield to the entreaties of your friends at Barton and pay them a visit. -Mary is there, and I hope you will see your way to use your influence -with her on behalf of Colonel Gwyn.” - -“What! I, madam?” - -“Has my suggestion startled you? It should not have done so. I tell -you, my friend, there is no one to whom I could go in this way, saving -yourself. Indeed, there is no one else who would be worth going to, for -no one possesses the influence over her that you have always had. I am -convinced, Dr. Goldsmith, that she would listen to your persuasion -while turning a deaf ear to that of any one else. You will lend us your -influence, will you not, dear friend?” - -“I must have time to think--to think. How can I answer you at once in -this matter? Ah, you cannot know what my decision means to me.” - -He had left his chair once more and was standing against the fireplace -looking into the empty grate. - -“You are wrong,” she said in a low tone. “You are wrong; I know what is -in your thoughts--in your heart. You fear that if Mary were married she -would stand on a different footing in respect to you.” - -“Ah! a different footing!” - -“I think that you are in error in that respect,” said the lady. -“Marriage is not such a change as some people seem to fancy it is. Is -not Katherine the same to you now as she was before she married Charles -Bunbury?” - -He looked at her with a little smile upon his face. How little she knew -of what was in his heart! - -“Ah, yes, my dear Little Comedy is unchanged,” said he. - -“And your Jessamy Bride would be equally unchanged,” said Mrs. Horneck. - -“But where lies the need for her to marry at once?” he inquired. “If she -were in love with Colonel Gwyn there would be no reason why they should -not marry at once; but if she does not love him----” - -“Who can say that she does not love him?” cried the lady. “Oh, my dear -Dr. Goldsmith, a young woman is herself the worst judge in all the world -of whether or not she loves one particular man. I give you my word, sir, -I was married for five years before I knew that I loved my husband. When -I married him I know that I was under the impression that I actually -disliked him. Marriages are made in heaven, they say, and very properly, -for heaven only knows whether a woman really loves a man, and a man a -woman. Neither of the persons in the contract is capable of pronouncing -a just opinion on the subject.” - -“I think that Mary should know what is in her own heart.” - -“Alas! alas! I fear for her. It is because I fear for her I am desirous -of seeing her married to a good man--a man with whom her future -happiness would be assured. You have talked of her heart, my friend; -alas! that is just why I fear for her. I know how her heart dominates -her life and prevents her from exercising her judgment. A girl who is -ruled by her heart is in a perilous way. I wonder if she told you what -her uncle, with whom she was sojourning in Devonshire, told me about her -meeting a certain man there--my brother did not make me acquainted with -his name--and being so carried away with some plausible story he told -that she actually fancied herself in love with him--actually, until my -brother, learning that the man was a disreputable fellow, put a stop -to an affair that could only have had a disastrous ending. Ah! her -heart----” - -“Yes, she told me all that. Undoubtedly she is dominated by her heart.” - -“That is, I repeat, why I tremble for her future. If she were to meet at -some time, when perhaps I might not be near her, another adventurer like -the fellow whom she met in Devonshire, who can say that she would not -fancy she loved him? What disaster might result! Dear friend, would you -desire to save her from the fate of your Olivia?” - -There was a long pause before he said-- - -“Madam, I will do as you ask me. I will go to Mary and endeavour to -point out to her that it is her duty to marry Colonel Gwyn.” - -“I knew you would grant my request, my dear, dear friend,” cried the -mother, catching his hand and pressing it. “But I would ask of you not -to put the proposal to her quite in that way. To suggest that a girl -with a heart should marry a particular man because her duty lies in that -direction would be foolishness itself. Duty? The word is abhorrent to -the ear of a young woman whose heart is ripe for love.” - -“You are a woman.” - -“I am one indeed; I know what are a woman's thoughts--her longings--her -hopes--and alas! her self-deceptions. A woman's heart--ah, Dr. -Goldsmith, you once put into a few lines the whole tragedy of a woman's -life. What experience was it urged you to write those lines?-- - - 'When lovely woman stoops to folly. - - And finds too late. . .' - -To think that one day, perhaps a child of mine should sing that song of -poor Olivia!” He did not tell her that Mary had already quoted the lines -in his hearing. He bowed his head, saying-- - -“I will go to her.” - -“You will be saving her--ah, sir, will you not be saving yourself,” - cried Mrs. Horneck. - -He started slightly. - -“Saving myself? What can your meaning be, Mrs. Horneck?” - -“I tell you I was shocked beyond measure when I entered this room and -saw you,” she replied. “You are ill, sir; you are very ill, and -the change to the garden at Barton will do you good. You have been -neglecting yourself--yes, and some one who will nurse you back to life. -Oh, Barton is the place for you!” - -“There is no place I should like better to die at,” said he. - -“To die at?” she said. “Nonsense, sir! you are I trust, far from death -still. Nay, you will find life, and not death, there. Life is there for -you.” - -“Your daughter Mary is there,” said he. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -He wrote that very evening, after Mrs. Horneck had taken her departure, -one of his merry letters to Katherine Bunbury, telling her that he had -resolved to yield gracefully to her entreaties to visit her, and meant -to leave for Barton the next day. When that letter was written he gave -himself up to his thoughts. - -All his thoughts were of Mary. He was going to place a barrier between -her and himself. He was going to give himself a chance of life by making -it impossible for him to love her. This writer of books had brought -himself to think that if Mary Horneck were to marry Colonel Gwyn he, -Oliver Goldsmith, would come to think of her as he thought of her -sister--with the affection which exists between good friends. - -While her mother had been talking to him about her and her loving heart, -he had suddenly become possessed of the truth: it was her sympathetic -heart that had led her to make the two mistakes of her life. First, she -had fancied that she loved the impostor whom she had met in Devonshire, -and then she had fancied that she loved him, Oliver Goldsmith. He knew -what she meant by the words which she had spoken in his presence. He -knew that if he had not been strong enough to answer her as he had done -that day, she would have told him that she loved him. - -Her mother was right. She was in great danger through her liability to -follow the promptings of her heart. If already she had made two such -mistakes as he had become aware of, into what disaster might not she be -led in the future? - -Yes; her mother was right. Safety for a girl with so tender a heart was -to be found only in marriage--marriage with such a man as Colonel Gwyn -undoubtedly was. He recollected the details of Colonel Gwyn's visit -to himself, and how favourably impressed he had been with the man. He -undoubtedly possessed every trait of character that goes to constitute a -good man and a good husband. Above all, he was devoted to Mary Horneck, -and there was no man who would be better able to keep her from the -dangers which surrounded her. - -Yes, he would go to Barton and carry out Mrs. Horneck's request. He -would, moreover, be careful to refrain from any mention of the word -duty, which would, the lady had declared, if introduced into his -argument, tend to frustrate his intention. - -He went down to Barton by coach the next day. He felt very ill indeed, -and he was not quite so confident as Mrs. Horneck that the result of his -visit would be to restore him to perfect health. His last thought -before leaving was that if Mary was made happy nothing else was worth a -moment's consideration. - -She met him with a chaise driven by Bunbury, at the cross roads, where -the coach set him down; and he could not fail to perceive that she was -even more shocked than her mother had been at his changed appearance. -While still on the top of the coach he saw her face lighted with -pleasure the instant she caught sight of him. She waved her hand toward -him, and Bunbury waved his whip. But the moment he had swung himself -painfully and laboriously to the ground, he saw the look of amazement -both on her face and on that of her brother-in-law. - -She was speechless, but it was not in the nature of Bunbury to be so. - -“Good Lord! Noll, what have you been doing to yourself?” he cried. “Why, -you're not like the same man. Is he, Mary?” - -Mary only shook her head. - -“I have been ill,” said Oliver. “But I am better already, having seen -you both with your brown country faces. How is my Little Comedy? Is she -ready to give me another lesson in loo?” - -“She will give you what you need most, you may be certain,” said -Bunbury, while the groom was strapping on his carpet-bag. “Oh! yes; we -will take care that you get rid of that student's face of yours,” he -continued. “Yes, and those sunken eyes! Good Lord! what a wreck you are! -But we'll build you up again, never fear! Barton is the place for you -and such as you, my friend.” - -“I tell you I am better already,” cried Goldsmith; and then, as the -chaise drove off, he glanced at the girl sitting opposite to him. Her -face had become pale, her eyes were dim. She had spoken no word to him; -she was not even looking at him. She was gazing over the hedgerows and -the ploughed fields. - -Bunbury rattled away in unison with the rattling of the chaise along the -uneven road. He roared with laughter as he recalled some of the jests -which had been played upon Goldsmith when he had last been at Barton; -but though Oliver tried to smile in response, Mary was silent. When the -chaise arrived at the house, however, and Little Comedy welcomed her -guest at the great door, her high spirits triumphed over even the -depressing effect of her husband's artificial hilarity. She did not -betray the shock which she experienced on observing how greatly changed -was her friend since he had been with her and her sister at Ranelagh. -She met him with a laugh and a cry of “You have never come to us without -your scratch-wig? If you have forgot it, you will e'en have to go back -for it.” - -The allusion to the merriment which had made the house noisy when he had -last been at Barton caused Oliver to brighten up somewhat; and later on, -at dinner, he yielded to the influence of Katherine Bun-bury's splendid -vitality. Other guests were at the table, and the genial chat quickly -became general. After dinner, he sang several of his Irish songs for -his friends in the drawing-room, Mary playing an accompaniment on the -harpsichord. Before he went to his bed-room he was ready to confess that -Mrs. Horneck had judged rightly what would be the effect upon himself of -his visit to the house he loved. He felt better--better than he had been -for months. - -In the morning he was pleased to find that Mary seemed to have recovered -her usual spirits. She walked round the grounds with him and her sister -after breakfast, and laughed without reservation at the latter's amusing -imitation, after the manner of Garrick, of Colonel Gwyn's declaration of -his passion, and of Mary's reply to him. She had caught very happily -the manner of the suitor, though of course she made a burlesque of -the scene, especially in assuming the fluttered demureness which she -declared she had good reason for knowing had frightened the lover so -greatly as to cause him to talk of the evil results of drinking tea, -when he had meant to talk about love. - -She had such a talent for this form of fun, and she put so much -character into her casual travesties of every one whom she sought to -imitate, she never gave offence, as a less adroit or less discriminating -person would be certain to have done. Mary laughed even more heartily -than Goldsmith at the account her sister gave of the imaginary scene. - -Goldsmith soon found that the proposal of Colonel Gwyn had passed into -the already long list of family jests, and he saw that he was expected -to understand the many allusions daily made to the incident of his -rejection. A new nickname had been found by her brother-in-law for Mary, -and of course Katherine quickly discovered one that was extremely -appropriate to Colonel Gwyn; and thus, with sly glances and -good-humoured mirth, the hours passed as they had always done in the -house which humoured mirth, the hours passed as they had always done -in the house which had ever been so delightful to at least one of the -guests. - -He could not help feeling, however, before his visit had reached its -fourth day, that the fact of their treating in this humourous fashion an -incident which Mrs. Horneck had charged him to treat very seriously was -extremely embarrassing to his mission. How was he to ask Mary to treat -as the most serious incident in her life the one which was every day -treated before her eyes with levity by her sister and her husband? - -And yet he felt daily the truth of what Mrs. Horneck had said to -him--that Mary's acceptance of Colonel Gwyn would be an assurance of her -future such as might not be so easily found again. He feared to think -what might be in store for a girl who had shown herself to be ruled only -by her own sympathetic heart. - -He resolved that he would speak to her without delay respecting Colonel -Gwyn; and though he was afraid that at first she might be disposed to -laugh at his attempt to put a more serious complexion upon her rejection -of the suitor whom her mother considered most eligible, he had no -doubt that he could bring her to regard the matter with some degree of -gravity. - -The opportunity for making an attempt in this direction occurred on the -afternoon of the fourth day of his visit. He found himself alone with -Mary in the still-room. She had just put on an apron in order to put new -covers on the jars of preserved walnuts. As she stood in the middle of -the many-scented room, surrounded by bottles of distilled waters and -jars of preserved fruits and great Worcester bowls of potpourri, with -bundles of sweet herbs and drying lavenders suspended from the ceiling, -Charles Bunbury, passing along the corridor with his dogs, glanced in. - -“What a housewife we have become!” he cried. “Quite right, my dear; the -head of the Gwyn household will need to be deft.” - -Mary laughed, throwing a sprig of thyme at him, and Oliver spoke before -the dog's paws sounded on the polished oak of the staircase. - -“I am afraid, my Jessamy Bride,” said he, “that I do not enter into the -spirit of this jest about Colonel Gwyn so heartily as your sister or her -husband.” - -“'Tis foolish on their part,” said she. “But Little Comedy is ever on -the watch for a subject for her jests, and Charles is an active -abettor of her in her folly. This particular jest is, I think, a trifle -threadbare by now.” - -“Colonel Gwyn is a gentleman who deserves the respect of every one,” - said he. - -“Indeed, I agree with you,” she cried. “I agree with you heartily. I do -not know a man whom I respect more highly. Had I not every right to feel -flattered by his attention?” - -“No--no; you have no reason to feel flattered by the attention of any -man from the Prince down--or should I say up?” he replied. - -“'Twould be treason to say so,” she laughed. “Well, let poor Colonel -Gwyn be. What a pity 'tis Sir Isaac Newton did not discover a new way -of treating walnuts for pickling! That discovery would have been more -valuable to us than his theory of gravitation, which, I hold, never -saved a poor woman a day's work.” - -“I do not want to let Colonel Gwyn be,” said he quietly. “On the -contrary, I came down here specially to talk of him.” - -“Ah, I perceive that you have been speaking with my mother,” said she, -continuing her work. - -“Mary, my dear, I have been thinking about you very earnestly of late,” - said he. - -“Only of late!” she cried. “Ah! I flattered myself that I had some of -your thoughts long ago as well.” - -“I have always thought of you with the truest affection, dear child. But -latterly you have never been out of my thoughts.” She ceased her work -and looked towards him gratefully--attentively. He left his seat and -went to her side. - -“My sweet Jessamy Bride,” said he, “I have thought of your future with -great uneasiness of heart. I feel towards you as--as--perhaps a father -might feel, or an elder brother. My happiness in the future is dependent -upon yours, and alas! I fear for you; the world is full of snares.” - -“I know that,” she quietly said. “Ah, you know that I have had some -experience of the snares. If you had not come to my help what shame -would have been mine!” - -“Dear child, there was no blame to be attached to you in that painful -affair,” said he. “It was your tender heart that led you astray at -first, and thank God you have the same good heart in your bosom. But -alas! 'tis just the tenderness of your heart that makes me fear for -you.” - -“Nay; it can become as steel upon occasions,” said she. “Did not I send -Colonel Gwyn away from me?” - -“You were wrong to do so, my Mary,” he said. “Colonel Gwyn is a good -man--he is a man with whom your future would be sure. He would be able -to shelter you from all dangers--from the dangers into which your own -heart may lead you again as it led you before.” - -“You have come here to plead the cause of Colonel Gwyn?” said she. - -“Yes,” he replied. “I believe him to be a good man. I believe that as -his wife you would be safe from all the dangers which surround such a -girl as you in the world.” - -“Ah! my dear friend,” she cried. “I have seen enough of the world to -know that a woman is not sheltered from the dangers of the world from -the day she marries. Nay, is it not often the case that the dangers only -begin to beset her on that day?” - -“Often--often. But it would not be so with you, dear child--at least, -not if you marry Colonel Gwyn.” - -“Even if I do not love him? Ah! I fear that you have become a worldly -man all at once, Dr. Goldsmith. You counsel a poor weak girl from the -standpoint of her matchmaking mother.” - -“Nay, God knows, my sweet Mary, what it costs me to speak to you in this -way. God knows how much sweeter it would be for me to be able to think -of you always as I think of you know--bound to no man--the dearest of -all my friends. I know it would be impossible for me to occupy the same -position as I now do in regard to you if you were married. Ah! I have -seen that there is no more potent divider of friendship than marriage.” - -“And yet you urge upon me to marry Colonel Gwyn?” - -“Yes--yes--I say I do think it would mean the assurance of your--your -happiness--yes, happiness in the future.” - -“Surely no man ever had so good a heart as you!” she cried. “You are -ready to sacrifice yourself--I mean you are ready to forego all the -pleasure which our meeting, as we have been in the habit of meeting for -the past four years, gives you, for the sake of seeing me on the way to -happiness--or what you fancy will be happiness.” - -“I am ready, my dear child; you know what the sacrifice means to me.” - -“I do,” she said after a pause. “I do, because I know what it would mean -to me. But you shall not be called to make that sacrifice. I will not -marry Colonel Gwyn.” - -“Nay--nay--do not speak so definitely,” he said. - -“I will speak definitely,” she cried. “Yes, the time is come for me to -speak definitely. I might agree to marry Colonel Gwyn in the hope of -being happy if I did not love some one else; but loving some one else -with all my heart, I dare not--oh! I dare not even entertain the thought -of marrying Colonel Gwyn.” - -“You love some one else?” he said slowly, wonderingly. For a moment -there went through his mind the thought-- - -“_Her heart has led her astray once again._'” - -“I love some one else with all my heart and all my strength,” she cried; -“I love one who is worthy of all the love of the best that lives in the -world. I love one who is cruel enough to wish to turn me away from his -heart, though that heart of his has known the secret of mine for long.” - -Now he knew what she meant. He put his hands together before her, saying -in a hushed voice-- - -“Ah, child--child--spare me that pain--let me go from you.” - -“Not till you hear me,” she said. “Ah! cannot you perceive that I love -you--only you, Oliver Goldsmith?” - -“Hush--for God's sake!” he cried. - -“I will not hush,” she said. “I will speak for love's sake--for the sake -of that love which I bear you--for the sake of that love which I know -you return.” - -“Alas--alas!” - -“I know it. Is there any shame in such a girl as I am confessing her -love for such a man as you? I think that there is none. The shame before -heaven would be in my keeping silence--in marrying a man I do not love. -Ah! I have known you as no one else has known you. I have understood -your nature--so sweet--so simple--so great--so true. I thought last year -when you saved me from worse than death that the feeling which I had for -you might perhaps be gratitude; but now I have come to know the truth.” - -He laid his hand on her arm, saying in a whisper-- - -“Stop--stop--for God's sake, stop! I--I--do not love you.” - -She looked at him and laughed at first. But as his head fell, her laugh -died away. There was a long silence, during which she kept her eyes -fixed upon him, as he stood before her looking at the floor. - -“You do not love me?” she said in a slow whisper. “Will you say those -words again with your eyes looking into mine?” - -“Do not humiliate me further,” he said. “Have some pity upon me.” - -“No--no; pity is not for me,” she said. “If you spoke the truth when you -said those words, speak it again now. Tell me again that you do not love -me.” - -“You say you know me,” he cried, “and yet you think it possible that -I could take advantage of this second mistake that your kind and -sympathetic heart has made for your own undoing. Look there--there--into -that glass, and see what a terrible mistake your heart has made.” - -He pointed to a long, narrow mirror between the windows. It reflected an -exquisite face and figure by the side of a face on which long suffering -and struggle, long years of hardship and toil, had left their mark--a -figure attenuated by want and ill-health. - -“Look at that ludicrous contrast, my child,” he said, “and you will see -what a mistake your heart has made. Have I not heard the jests which -have been made when we were walking together? Have I not noticed the -pain they gave you? Do you think me capable of increasing that pain in -the future? Do you think me capable of bringing upon your family, who -have been kinder than any living beings to me, the greatest misfortune -that could befall them? Nay, nay, my dear child; you cannot think that I -could be so base.” - -“I will not think of anything except that I love the man who is best -worthy of being loved of all men in the world,” said she. “Ah, sir, -cannot you perceive that your attitude toward me now but strengthens my -affection for you?” - -“Mary--Mary--this is madness!” - -“Listen to me,” she said. “I feel that you return my affection; but I -will put you to the test. If you can look into my face and tell me that -you do not love me I will marry Colonel Gwyn.” - -There was another pause before he said-- - -“Have I not spoken once? Why should you urge me on to so painful an -ordeal? Let me go--let me go.” - -“Not until you answer me--not until I have proved you. Look into my -eyes, Oliver Goldsmith, and speak those words to me that you spoke just -now.” - -“Ah, dear child----” - -“You cannot speak those words.” There was another long silence. The -terrible struggle that was going on in the heart of that man whose words -are now so dear to the hearts of so many million men and women, was -maintained in silence. No one but himself could hear the tempter's voice -whispering to him to put his arms round the beautiful girl who stood -before him, and kiss her on her cheeks, which were now rosy with -expectation. - -He lifted up his head. His lips moved, He put out a hand to her a little -way, but with a moan he drew it back. Then he looked into her eyes, and -said slowly-- - -“It is the truth. I do not love you with the heart of a lover.” - -“That is enough. Leave me! My heart is broken!” - -She fell into a chair, and covered her face with her hands. - -He looked at her for a moment; then, with a cry of agony, he went out of -the room--out of the house. - -In his heart, as he wandered on to the high road, there was not much -of the exaltation of a man who knows that he has overcome an unworthy -impulse. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -When he did not return toward night Charles Bunbury and his wife became -alarmed. He had only taken his hat and cloak from the hall as he went -out; he had left no line to tell them that he did not mean to return. - -Bunbury questioned Mary about him. Had he not been with her in the -still-room, he inquired. - -She told him the truth--as much of the truth as she could tell. - -“I am afraid that his running away was due to me,” she said. “If so, I -shall never forgive myself.” - -“What can be your meaning, my dear?” he inquired. “I thought that you -and he had always been the closest friends.” - -“If we had not been such friends we should never have quarreled,” said -she. “You know that our mother has had her heart set upon my acceptance -of Colonel Gwyn. Well, she went to see Goldsmith at his cottage, and -begged of him to come to me with a view of inducing me to accept the -proposal of Colonel Gwyn.” - -“I heard nothing of that,” said he, with a look of astonishment. “And so -I suppose when he began to be urgent in his pleading you got annoyed and -said something that offended him.” - -She held down her head. - -“You should be ashamed of yourself,” said he “Have you not seen long ago -that that man is no more than a child in simplicity?” - -“I am ashamed of myself,” said she. “I shall never forgive myself for my -harshness.” - -“That will not bring him back,” said her brother-in-law. “Oh! it is -always the best of friends who part in this fashion.” - -Two days afterwards he told his wife that he was going to London. He had -so sincere an attachment for Goldsmith, his wife knew very well that he -felt that sudden departure of his very deeply, and that he would try and -induce him to return. - -But when Bunbury came back after the lapse of a couple of days, he came -back alone. His wife met him in the chaise when the coach came up. His -face was very grave. - -“I saw the poor fellow,” he said. “I found him at his chambers in Brick -Court. He is very ill indeed.” - -“What, too ill to be moved?” she cried. He shook his head. - -“Far too ill to be moved,” he said. “I never saw a man in worse -condition. He declared, however, that he had often had as severe attacks -before now, and that he has no doubt he will recover. He sent his love -to you and to Mary. He hopes you will forgive him for his rudeness, he -says.” - -“His rudeness! his rudeness!” said Katherine, her eyes streaming with -tears. “Oh, my poor friend--my poor friend!” She did not tell her sister -all that her husband had said to her. Mary was, of course, very anxious -to hear how Oliver was, but Katherine only said that Charles had seen -him and found him very ill. The doctor who was in attendance on him had -promised to write if he thought it advisable for him to have a change to -the country. - -The next morning the two sisters were sitting together when the -postboy's horn sounded. They started up simultaneously, awaiting a -letter from the doctor. - -No letter arrived, only a narrow parcel, clumsily sealed, addressed to -Miss Hor-neck in a strange handwriting. - -When she had broken the seals she gave a cry, for the packet contained -sheet after sheet in Goldsmith's hand--poems addressed to her--the -love-songs which his heart had been singing to her through the long -hopeless years. - -She glanced at one, then at another, and another, with beating heart. - -She started up, crying-- - -“Ah! I knew it, I knew it! He loves me--he loves me as I love him--only -his love is deep, while mine was shallow! Oh, my dear love--he loves me, -and now he is dying! Ah! I know that he is dying, or he would not have -sent me these; he would have sacrificed himself--nay, he has sacrificed -himself for me--for me!” - -She threw herself on a sofa and buried her face in her hands. - -“My dear--dear sister,” said Katherine, “is it possible that -you--you----” - -“That I loved him, do you ask?” cried Mary, raising her head. “Yes, I -loved him--I love him still--I shall never love any one else, and I am -going to him to tell him so. Ah! God will be good--God will be good. My -love shall live until I go to him.” - -“My poor child!” said her sister. “I could never have guessed your -secret. Come away. We will go to him together.” - -They left by the coach that day, and early the next morning they went -together to Brick Court. - -A woman weeping met them at the foot of the stairs. They recognised Mrs. -Abington. - -“Do not tell me that I am too late--for God's sake say that he still -lives!” cried Mary. - -The actress took her handkerchief from her eyes. - -She did not speak. She did not even shake her head. She only looked at -the girl, and the girl understood. - -She threw herself into her sister's arms. - -“He is dead!” she cried. “But, thank God, he did not die without knowing -that one woman in the world loved him truly for his own sake.” - -“That surely is the best thought that a man can have, going into the -Presence,” said Mrs. Abington. “Ah, my child, I am a wicked woman, but -I know that while you live your fondest reflection will be that the -thought of your love soothed the last hours of the truest man that ever -lived. Ah, there was none like him--a man of such sweet simplicity -that every word he spoke came from his heart. Let others talk about his -works; you and I love the man, for we know that he was greater and not -less than those works. And now he is in the presence of God, telling the -Son who on earth was born of a woman that he had all a woman's love.” - -Mary put her arm about the neck of the actress, and kissed her. - -She went with her sister among the weeping men and women--he had been a -friend to all--up the stairs and into the darkened room. - -She threw herself on her knees beside the bed. - -THE END. - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JESSAMY BRIDE *** - -***** This file should be named 51951-0.txt or 51951-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/5/51951/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Jessamy Bride - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Illustrator: C. Allan Gilbert - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51951] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JESSAMY BRIDE *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -THE JESSAMY BRIDE - -By Frank Frankfort Moore - -Author Of "The Impudent Comedian," Etc. - -With Pictures in Color by C. Allan Gilbert - -New York - -Duffield & Company - -1906 - -[Illustration: 0001] - -[Illustration: 0008] - -[Illustration: 0009] - -THE JESSAMY BRIDE - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -Sir," said Dr. Johnson, "we have eaten an excellent dinner, we are -a company of intelligent men--although I allow that we should have -difficulty in proving that we are so if it became known that we sat down -with a Scotchman--and now pray do not mar the self-satisfaction which -intelligent men experience after dining, by making assertions based on -ignorance and maintained by sophistry." - -"Why, sir," cried Goldsmith, "I doubt if the self-satisfaction of even -the most intelligent of men--whom I take to be myself--is interfered -with by any demonstration of an inferior intellect on the part of -another." - -Edmund Burke laughed, understanding the meaning of the twinkle in -Goldsmith's eye. Sir Joshua Reynolds, having reproduced--with some -care--that twinkle, turned the bell of his ear-trumpet with a smile in -the direction of Johnson; but Boswell and Garrick sat with solemn -faces. The former showed that he was more impressed than ever with the -conviction that Goldsmith was the most blatantly conceited of mankind, -and the latter--as Burke perceived in a moment--was solemn in mimicry of -Boswell's solemnity. When Johnson had given a roll or two on his chair -and had pursed out his lips in the act of speaking, Boswell turned an -eager face towards him, putting his left hand behind his ear so that he -might not lose a word that might fall from his oracle. Upon Garrick's -face was precisely the same expression, but it was his right hand that -he put behind his ear. - -Goldsmith and Burke laughed together at the marvellous imitation of the -Scotchman by the actor, and at exactly the same instant the conscious -and unconscious comedians on the other side of the table turned their -heads in the direction first of Goldsmith, then of Burke. Both faces -were identical as regards expression. It was the expression of a man who -is greatly grieved. Then, with the exactitude of two automatic figures -worked by the same machinery, they turned their heads again toward -Johnson. - -"Sir," said Johnson, "your endeavour to evade the consequences of -maintaining a silly argument by thrusting forward a question touching -upon mankind in general, suggests an assumption on your part that my -intelligence is of an inferior order to your own, and that, sir, I -cannot permit to pass unrebuked." - -"Nay, sir," cried Boswell, eagerly, "I cannot believe that Dr. -Goldsmith's intention was so monstrous." - -"And the very fact of your believing that, sir, amounts almost to a -positive proof that the contrary is the case," roared Johnson. - -"Pray, sir, do not condemn me on such evidence," said Goldsmith. - -"Men have been hanged on less," remarked Burke. "But, to return to the -original matter, I should like to know upon what facts----" - -"Ah, sir, to introduce facts into any controversy on a point of art -would indeed be a departure," said Goldsmith solemnly. "I cannot -countenance a proceeding which threatens to strangle the imagination." - -"And you require yours to be particularly healthy just now, Doctor. Did -you not tell us that you were about to write a Natural History?" said -Garrick. - -"Well, I remarked that I had got paid for doing so--that's not just the -same thing," laughed Goldsmith. - -"Ah, the money is in hand; the Natural History is left to the -imagination," said Reynolds. "That is the most satisfactory -arrangement." - -"Yes, for the author," said Burke. "Some time ago it was the book which -was in hand, and the payment was left to the imagination." - -"These sallies are all very well in their way," said Garrick, "but their -brilliance tends to blind us to the real issue of the question that -Dr. Goldsmith introduced, which I take it was, Why should not acting be -included among the arts? As a matter of course, the question possesses -no more than a casual interest to any of the gentlemen present, with -the exception of Mr. Burke and myself. I am an actor and Mr. Burke is a -statesman--another branch of the same profession--and therefore we are -vitally concerned in the settlement of the question." - -"The matter never rose to the dignity of being a question, sir," said -Johnson. "It must be apparent to the humblest intelligence--nay, even to -Boswell's--that acting is a trick, not a profession--a diversion, not -an art. I am ashamed of Dr. Goldsmith for having contended to the -contrary." - -"It must only have been in sport, sir," said Boswell mildly. - -"Sir, Dr. Goldsmith may have earned reprobation," cried Johnson, "but -he has been guilty of nothing so heinous as to deserve the punishment of -having you as his advocate." - -"Oh, sir, surely Mr. Boswell is the best one in the world to pronounce -an opinion as to what was said in sport, and what in earnest," said -Goldsmith. "His fine sense of humour----" - -"Sir, have you seen the picture which he got painted of himself on his -return from Corsica?" shouted Johnson. - -"Gentlemen, these diversions may be well enough for you," said Garrick, -"but in my ears they sound as the jests of the crowd must in the ears of -a wretch on his way to Tyburn. Think, sirs, of the position occupied -by Mr. Burke and myself at the present moment. Are we to be branded as -outcasts because we happen to be actors?" - -"Undoubtedly you at least are, Davy," cried Johnson. "And good enough -for you too, you rascal!" - -"And, for my part, I would rather be an outcast with David Garrick than -become chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury," said Goldsmith. - -"Dr. Goldsmith, let me tell you that it is unbecoming in you, who -have relations in the church, to make such an assertion," said Johnson -sternly. "What, sir, does friendship occupy a place before religion, in -your estimation?" - -"The Archbishop could easily get another chaplain, sir, but whither -could the stage look for another Garrick?" said Goldsmith. - -"Psha! Sir, the puppets which we saw last week in Panton street -delighted the town more than ever Mr. Garrick did," cried Johnson; and -when he perceived that Garrick coloured at this sally of his, he lay -back in his chair and roared with laughter. - -Reynolds took snuff. - -"Dr. Goldsmith said he could act as adroitly as the best of the -puppets--I heard him myself," said Boswell. - -"That was only his vain boasting which you have so frequently noted with -that acuteness of observation that makes you the envy of our circle," -said Burke. "You understand the Irish temperament perfectly, Mr. -Boswell. But to resort to the original point raised by Goldsmith; -surely, Dr. Johnson, you will allow that an actor of genius is at least -on a level with a musician of genius." - -"Sir, I will allow that he is on a level with a fiddler, if that will -satisfy you," replied Johnson. - -"Surely, sir, you must allow that Mr. Garrick's art is superior to that -of Signor Piozzi, whom we heard play at Dr. Burney's," said Burke. - -"Yes, sir; David Garrick has the good luck to be an Englishman, and -Piozzi the ill luck to be an Italian," replied Johnson. "Sir, 't is no -use affecting to maintain that you regard acting as on a level with the -arts. I will not put an affront upon your intelligence by supposing that -you actually believe what your words would imply." - -"You can take your choice, Mr. Burke," said Goldsmith: "whether you will -have the affront put upon your intelligence or your sincerity." - -"I am sorry that I am compelled to leave the company for a space, -just as there seems to be some chance of the argument becoming really -interesting to me personally," said Garrick, rising; "but the fact is -that I rashly made an engagement for this hour. I shall be gone for -perhaps twenty minutes, and meantime you may be able to come to some -agreement on a matter which, I repeat, is one of vital importance to Mr. -Burke and myself; and so, sirs, farewell for the present." - -He gave one of those bows of his, to witness which was a liberal -education in the days when grace was an art, and left the room. - -"If Mr. Garrick's bow does not prove my point, no argument that I -can bring forward will produce any impression upon you, sir," said -Goldsmith. - -"The dog is well enough," said Johnson; "but he has need to be kept in -his place, and I believe that there is no one whose attempts to keep him -in his place he will tolerate as he does mine." - -"And what do you suppose is Mr. Garrick's place, sir?" asked Goldsmith. -"Do you believe that if we were all to stand on one another's shoulders, -as certain acrobats do, with Garrick on the shoulder of the topmost man, -we should succeed in keeping him in his proper place?" - -"Sir," said Dr. Johnson, "your question is as ridiculous as anything you -have said to-night, and to say so much, sir, is, let me tell you, to say -a good deal." - -"What a pity it is that honest Goldsmith is so persistent in his -attempts to shine," whispered Boswell to Burke. - -"'Tis a great pity, truly, that a lark should try to make its voice -heard in the neighbourhood of a Niagara," said Burke. - -"Pray, sir, what is a Niagara?" asked Boswell. - -"A Niagara?" said Burke. "Better ask Dr. Goldsmith; he alluded to it -in his latest poem. Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Boswell wishes to know what a -Niagara is." - -"Sir," said Goldsmith, who had caught every word of the conversation in -undertone. "Sir, Niagara is the Dr. Johnson of the New World." - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -The conversation took place in the Crown and Anchor tavern in the -Strand, where the party had just dined. Dr. Johnson had been quite as -good company as usual. There was a general feeling that he had rarely -insulted Boswell so frequently in the course of a single evening--but -then, Boswell had rarely so laid himself open to insult as he had upon -this evening--and when he had finished with the Scotchman, he turned -his attention to Garrick, the opportunity being afforded him by Oliver -Goldsmith, who had been unguarded enough to say a word or two regarding -that which he termed "the art of acting." - -"Dr. Goldsmith, I am ashamed of you, sir," cried the great dictator. -"Who gave you the authority to add to the number of the arts 'the art of -acting'? We shall hear of the art of dancing next, and every tumbler -who kicks up the sawdust will have the right to call himself an artist. -Madame Violante, who gave Peggy Woffington her first lesson on the tight -rope, will rank with Miss Kauffman, the painter--nay, every poodle that -dances on its hind leg's in public will be an artist." - -It was in vain that Goldsmith endeavoured to show that the admission -of acting to the list of arts scarcely entailed such consequences as -Johnson asserted would be inevitable, if that admission were once made; -it was in vain that Garrick asked if the fact that painting was included -among the arts, caused sign painters to claim for themselves the -standing of artists; and, if not, why there was any reason to suppose -that the tumblers to whom Johnson had alluded would advance their -claims to be on a level with the highest interpreters of the emotions of -humanity. Dr. Johnson roared down every suggestion that was offered to -him most courteously by his friends. - -Then, in the exuberance of his spirits, he insulted Boswell and told -Burke he did not know what he was talking about. In short, he was -thoroughly Johnsonian, and considered himself the best of company, and -eminently capable of pronouncing an opinion as to what were the elements -of a clubable man. - -He had succeeded in driving one of his best friends out of the room, and -in reducing the others of the party to silence--all except Boswell, who, -as usual, tried to-start him upon a discussion of some subtle point of -theology. Boswell seemed invariably to have adopted this course after -he had been thoroughly insulted, and to have been, as a rule, very -successful in its practice: it usually led to his attaining to the -distinction of another rebuke for him to gloat over. - -He now thought that the exact moment had come for him to find out what -Dr. Johnson thought on the subject of the immortality of the soul. - -"Pray, sir," said he, shifting his chair so as to get between Reynolds' -ear-trumpet and his oracle--his jealousy of Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet was -as great as his jealousy of Goldsmith. "Pray, sir, is there any evidence -among the ancient Egyptians that they believed that the soul of man was -imperishable?" - -"Sir," said Johnson, after a huge roll or two, "there is evidence that -the ancient Egyptians were in the habit of introducing a _memento mori_ -at a feast, lest the partakers of the banquet should become too merry." - -"Well, sir?" said Boswell eagerly, as Johnson made a pause. - -"Well, sir, we have no need to go to the trouble of introducing such -an object, since Scotchmen are so plentiful in London, and so ready to -accept the offer of a dinner," said Johnson, quite in his pleasantest -manner. - -Boswell was more elated than the others of the company at this sally. -He felt that he, and he only, could succeed in drawing his best from -Johnson. - -"Nay, Dr. Johnson, you are too hard on the Scotch," he murmured, but in -no deprecatory tone. He seemed to be under the impression that every -one present was envying him, and he smiled as if he felt that it was -necessary for him to accept with meekness the distinction of which he -was the recipient. - -"Come, Goldy," cried Johnson, turning his back upon Boswell, "you must -not be silent, or I will think that you feel aggrieved because I got the -better of you in the argument." - -"Argument, sir?" said Goldsmith. "I protest that I was not aware that -any argument was under consideration. You make short work of another's -argument, Doctor." - -"'T is due to the logical faculty which I have in common with Mr. -Boswell, sir," said Johnson, with a twinkle. - -"The logical faculty of the elephant when it lies down on its tormentor, -the wolf," muttered Goldsmith, who had just acquired some curious facts -for his Animated Nature. - -At that moment one of the tavern waiters entered the room with a message -to Goldsmith that his cousin, the Dean, had just arrived and was anxious -to obtain permission to join the party. - -"My cousin, the Dean! What Dean'? What does the man mean?" said -Goldsmith, who appeared to be both surprised and confused. - -"Why, sir," said Boswell, "you have told us more than once that you had -a cousin who was a dignitary of the church." - -"Have I, indeed?" said Goldsmith. "Then I suppose, if I said so, this -must be the very man. A Dean, is he?" - -"Sir, it is ill-mannered to keep even a curate waiting in the common -room of a tavern," said Johnson, who was not the man to shrink from any -sudden addition to his audience of an evening. "If your relation were an -Archbishop, sir, this company would be worthy to receive him. Pray give -the order to show him into this room." Goldsmith seemed lost in thought. -He gave a start when Johnson had spoken, and in no very certain tone -told the waiter to lead the clergyman up to the room. Oliver's face -undoubtedly wore an expression of greater curiosity than that of any -of his friends, before the waiter returned, followed by an elderly and -somewhat undersized clergyman wearing a full bottomed wig and the bands -and apron of a dignitary of the church. He walked stiffly, with an erect -carriage that gave a certain dignity to his short figure. His face was -white, but his eyebrows were extremely bushy. He had a slight squint in -one eye. - -The bow which he gave on entering the room was profuse but awkward. -It contrasted with the farewell salute of Garrick on leaving the table -twenty minutes before. Every one present, with the exception of Oliver, -perceived in a moment a family resemblance in the clergyman's bow to -that with which Goldsmith was accustomed to receive his friends. A -little jerk which the visitor gave in raising his head was laughably -like a motion made by Goldsmith, supplemental to his usual bow. - -"Gentlemen," said the visitor, with a wave of his hand, "I entreat of -you to be seated." His voice and accent more than suggested Goldsmith's, -although he had only a suspicion of an Irish brogue. If Oliver had made -an attempt to disown his relationship, no one in the room would have -regarded him as sincere. "Nay, gentlemen, I insist," continued the -stranger; "you embarrass me with your courtesy." - -"Sir," said Johnson, "you will not find that any company over which I -have the honour to preside is found lacking in its duty to the church." - -"I am the humblest of its ministers, sir," said the stranger, with a -deprecatory bow. Then he glanced round the room, and with an exclamation -of pleasure went towards Goldsmith. "Ah! I do not need to ask which -of this distinguished company is my cousin Nolly--I beg your pardon, -Oliver--ah, old times--old times!" He had caught Goldsmith's hands -in both his own and was looking into his face with a pathetic air. -Goldsmith seemed a little embarrassed. His smile was but the shadow of -a smile. The rest of the party averted their heads, for in the long -silence that followed the exclamation of the visitor, there was an -element of pathos. - -Curiously enough, a sudden laugh came from Sir Joshua Reynolds, causing -all faces to be turned in his direction. An aspect of stern rebuke was -now worn by Dr. Johnson. The painter hastened to apologise. - -"I ask your pardon, sir," he said, gravely, "but--sir, I am a -painter--my name is Reynolds--and--well, sir, the family resemblance -between you and our dear friend Dr. Goldsmith--a resemblance that -perhaps only a painter's eye could detect--seemed to me so extraordinary -as you stood together, that----" - -"Not another word, sir, I entreat of you," cried the visitor. "My -cousin Oliver and I have not met for--how many years is it, Nolly? Not -eleven--no, it cannot be eleven--and yet----" - -"Ah, sir," said Oliver, "time is fugitive--very fugitive." - -He shook his head sadly. - -"I am pleased to hear that you have acquired this knowledge, which the -wisdom of the ancients has crystallised in a phrase," said the stranger. -"But you must present me to your friends, Noll--Oliver, I mean. You, -sir"--he turned to Reynolds--"have told me your name. Am I fortunate -enough to be face to face with Sir Joshua Reynolds? Oh, there can be no -doubt about it. Oliver dedicated his last poem to you. Sir, I am your -servant. And you, sir"--he turned to Burke--"I seem to have seen your -face somewhere--it is strangely familiar----" - -"That gentleman is Mr. Burke, sir," said Goldsmith. He was rapidly -recovering his embarrassment, and spoke with something of an air of -pride, as he made a gesture with his right hand towards Burke. The -clergyman made precisely the same gesture with his left hand, crying---- - -"What, Mr. Edmund Burke, the friend of liberty--the friend of the -people?" - -"The same, sir," said Oliver. "He is, besides, the friend of Oliver -Goldsmith." - -"Then he is my friend also," said the clergyman. "Sir, to be in a -position to shake you by the hand is the greatest privilege of my life." - -"You do me great honor, sir," said Burke. - -Goldsmith was burning to draw the attention of his relative to Dr. -Johnson, who on his side was looking anything but pleased at being so -far neglected. - -"Mr. Burke, you are our countryman--Oliver's and mine--and I know you -are sound on the Royal Marriage Act. I should dearly like to have a talk -with you on that iniquitous measure. You opposed it, sir?" - -"With all my power, sir," said Burke. "Give me your hand again, sir. -Mrs. Luttrel was an honour to her sex, and it is she who confers an -honour upon the Duke of Cumberland, not the other way about." - -"You are with me, Mr. Burke? Eh, what is the matter, Cousin Noll? Why do -you work with your arm that way?" - -"There are other gentlemen in the room, Mr. Dean," said Oliver. - -"They can wait," cried Mr. Dean. "They are certain to be inferior to Mr. -Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds. If I should be wrong, they will not feel -mortified at what I have said." - -"This is Mr. Boswell, sir," said Goldsmith. - -"Mr. Boswell--of where, sir?" - -"Mr. Boswell, of--of Scotland, sir." - -"Scotland, the land where the clergymen write plays for the theatre. -Your clergymen might be better employed, Mr.--Mr.----" - -"Boswell, sir." - -"Mr. Boswell. Yes, I hope you will look into this matter should you -ever visit your country again--a remote possibility, from all that I can -learn of your countrymen." - -"Why, sir, since Mr. Home wrote his tragedy of 'Douglas'----" began -Boswell, but he was interrupted by the stranger. - -"What, you would condone his offence?" he cried. "The fact of your -having a mind to do so shows that the clergy of your country are still -sadly lax in their duty, sir. They should have taught you better." - -"And this is Dr. Johnson, sir," said Goldsmith in tones of triumph. - -His relation sprang from his seat and advanced to the head of the table, -bowing profoundly. - -"Dr. Johnson," he cried, "I have long desired to meet you, sir." - -"I am your servant, Mr. Dean," said Johnson, towering above him as he -got--somewhat awkwardly--upon his feet. "No gentleman of your cloth, -sir--leaving aside for the moment all consideration of the eminence in -the church to which you have attained--fails to obtain my respect." - -"I am glad of that, sir," said the Dean. "It shows that you, though -a Non-conformist preacher, and, as I understand, abounding in zeal -on behalf of the cause of which you are so able an advocate, are not -disposed to relinquish the example of the great Wesley in his admiration -for the church." - -"Sir," said Johnson, with great dignity, but with a scowl upon his face. -"Sir, you are the victim of an error as gross as it is unaccountable. -I am not a Non-conformist--on the contrary, I would give the rogues no -quarter." - -"Sir," said the clergyman, with the air of one administering a rebuke -to a subordinate. "Sir, such intoleration is unworthy of an enlightened -country and an age of some culture. But I ask your pardon; finding you -in the company of distinguished gentlemen, I was, led to believe -that you were the great Dr. Johnson, the champion of the rights of -conscience. I regret that I was mistaken." - -"Sir!" cried Goldsmith, in great consternation--for Johnson was rendered -speechless through being placed in the position of the rebuked, instead -of occupying his accustomed place as the rebuker. "Sir, this is the -great Dr. Johnson--nay, there is no Dr. Johnson but one." - -"'Tis so like your good nature, Cousin Oliver, to take the side of the -weak," said the clergyman, smiling. "Well, well, we will take the honest -gentleman's greatness for granted; and, indeed, he is great in one -sense: he is large enough to outweigh you and me put together in one -scale. To such greatness we would do well to bow." - -"Heavens, sir!" said Boswell in a whisper that had something of awe in -it. "Is it possible that you have never heard of Dr. Samuel Johnson?" - -"Alas! sir," said the stranger, "I am but a country parson. I cannot be -expected to know all the men who are called great in London. Of course, -Mr. Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds have a European reputation; but you, -Mr.--Mr.--ah! you see I have e'en forgot your worthy name, sir, though -I doubt not you are one of London's greatest. Pray, sir, what have you -written that entitles you to speak with such freedom in the presence -of such gentlemen as Mr. Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and--I add with -pride--Oliver Goldsmith?" - -"I am the friend of Dr. Johnson, sir," muttered Boswell. - -"And he has doubtless greatness enough--avoirdupois--to serve for both! -Pray, Oliver, as the gentleman from Scotland is too modest to speak for -himself, tell me what he has written." - -"He has written many excellent works, sir, including an account of -Corsica," said Goldsmith, with some stammering. - -"And his friend, Dr. Johnson, has he attained to an equally dizzy -altitude in literature?" - -"You are surely jesting, sir," said Goldsmith. "The world is familiar -with Dr. Johnson's Dictionary." - -"Alas, I am but a country parson, as you know, Oliver, and I have no -need for a dictionary, having been moderately well educated. Has the -work appeared recently, Dr. Johnson?" - -[Illustration: 0037] - -But Dr. Johnson had turned his back upon the stranger, and had picked up -a volume which Tom Davies, the bookseller, had sent to him at the Crown -and Anchor, and had buried his face in its pages, bending it, as was his -wont, until the stitching had cracked, and the back was already loose. - -"Your great friend, Noll, is no lover of books, or he would treat them -with greater tenderness," said the clergyman. "I would fain hope that -the purchasers of his dictionary treat it more fairly than he does the -work of others. When did he bring out his dictionary?" - -"Eighteen years ago," said Oliver. - -"And what books has he written within the intervening years?" - -"He has been a constant writer, sir, and is the most highly esteemed of -our authors." - -"Nay, sir, but give me a list of his books published within the past -eighteen years, so that I may repair my deplorable ignorance. You, -cousin, have written many works that the world would not willingly be -without; and I hear that you are about to add to that already honourable -list; but your friend--oh, you have deceived me, Oliver!--he is no true -worker in literature, or he would--nay, he could not, have remained idle -all these years. How does he obtain his means of living if he will not -use his pen?" - -"He has a pension from the King, sir," stuttered Oliver. "I tell you, -sir, he is the most learned man in Europe." - -"His is a sad case," said the clergyman. "To refrain from administering -to him the rebuke which he deserves would be to neglect an obvious -duty." He took a few steps towards Johnson and raised his head. -Goldsmith fell into a chair and buried his face in his hands; Boswell's -jaw fell; Burke and Reynolds looked by turns grave and amused. "Dr. -Johnson," said the stranger, "I feel that it is my duty as a clergyman -to urge upon you to amend your way of life." - -"Sir," shouted Johnson, "if you were not a clergyman I would say that -you were a very impertinent fellow!" - -"Your way of receiving a rebuke which your conscience--if you have -one--tells you that you have earned, supplements in no small measure the -knowledge of your character which I have obtained since entering this -room, sir. You may be a man of some parts, Dr. Johnson, but you have -acknowledged yourself to be as intolerant in matters of religion as you -have proved yourself to be intolerant of rebuke, offered to you in a -friendly spirit. It seems to me that your habit is to browbeat your -friends into acquiescence with every dictum that comes from your lips, -though they are workers--not without honour--at that profession of -letters which you despise--nay, sir, do not interrupt me. If you did not -despise letters, you would not have allowed eighteen years of your life -to pass without printing at least as many books. Think you, sir, that a -pension was granted to you by the state to enable you to eat the bread -of idleness while your betters are starving in their garrets? Dr. -Johnson, if your name should go down to posterity, how do you think -you will be regarded by all discriminating men? Do you think that those -tavern dinners at which you sit at the head of the table and shout down -all who differ from you, will be placed to your credit to balance your -love of idleness and your intolerance? That is the question which I -leave with you; I pray you to consider it well; and so, sir, I take my -leave of you. Gentlemen, Cousin Oliver, farewell, sirs. I trust I have -not spoken in vain." - -He made a general bow--an awkward bow--and walked with some dignity to -the door. Then he turned and bowed again before leaving the room. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -When he had disappeared, the room was very silent. - -Suddenly Goldsmith, who had remained sitting at the table with his face -buried in his hands, started up, crying out, "'Rasse-las, Prince -of Abyssinia'! How could I be so great a fool as to forget that he -published 'Rasselas' since the Dictionary?" He ran to the door and -opened it, calling downstairs: "'Rasselas, Prince of Abysinia'!" -"Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia'!" - -"Sir!" came the roar of Dr. Johnson. "Close that door and return to your -chair, if you desire to retain even the smallest amount of the respect -which your friends once had for you. Cease your bawling, sir, and behave -decently." - -Goldsmith shut the door. - -"I did you a gross injustice, sir," said he, returning slowly to the -table. "I allowed that man to assume that you had published no book -since your Dictionary. The fact is, that I was so disturbed at the -moment I forgot your 'Rasselas.'" - -"If you had mentioned that book, you would but have added to the force -of your relation's contention, Dr. Goldsmith," said Johnson. "If I am -suspected of being an idle dog, the fact that I have printed a small -volume of no particular merit will not convince my accuser of my -industry." - -"Those who know you, sir," cried Goldsmith, "do not need any evidence of -your industry. As for that man----" - -"Let the man alone, sir," thundered Johnson. - -"Pray, why should he let the man alone, sir?" said Boswell. - -"Because, in the first place, sir, the man is a clergyman, in rank next -to a Bishop; in the second place, he is a relative of Dr. Goldsmith's; -and, in the third place, he was justified in his remarks." - -"Oh, no, sir," said Boswell. "We deny your generous plea of -justification. Idle! Think of the dedications which you have written -even within the year." - -"Psha! Sir, the more I think of them the--well, the less I think of -them, if you will allow me the paradox," said Johnson. "Sir, the man -is right, and there's an end on't. Dr. Goldsmith, you will convey -my compliments to your cousin, and assure him of my good will. I can -forgive him for everything, sir, except his ignorance respecting my -Dictionary. Pray what is his name, sir?" - -"His name, sir, his name?" faltered Goldsmith. - -"Yes, sir, his name. Surely the man has a name," said Johnson. - -"His name, sir, is--is--God help me, sir, I know not what is his name." - -"Nonsense, Dr. Goldsmith! He is your cousin and a Dean. Mr. Boswell -tells me that he has heard you refer to him in conversation; if you did -so in a spirit of boasting, you erred." - -For some moments Goldsmith was silent. Then, without looking up, he said -in a low tone: - -"The man is no cousin of mine; I have no relative who is a Dean." - -"Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, you need not deny it," cried Boswell. "You boasted -of him quite recently, and in the presence of Mr. Garrick, too." - -"Mr. Boswell's ear is acute, Goldsmith," said Burke with a smile. - -"His ears are so long, sir, one is not surprised to find the unities of -nature are maintained when one hears his voice," remarked Goldsmith in a -low tone. - -"Here comes Mr. Garrick himself," said Reynolds as the door was opened -and Garrick returned, bowing in his usual pleasant manner as he advanced -to the chair which he had vacated not more than half an hour before. -"Mr. Garrick is an impartial witness on this point." - -"Whatever he may be on some other points," remarked Burke. - -"Gentlemen," said Garrick, "you seem to be somewhat less harmonious than -you were when I was compelled to hurry away to keep my appointment. May -I inquire the reason of the difference?" - -"You may not, sir!" shouted Johnson, seeing that Boswell was burning to -acquaint Garrick with what had occurred. Johnson quickly perceived that -it would be well to keep the visit of the clergyman a secret, and he -knew that it would have no chance of remaining one for long if Garrick -were to hear of it. He could imagine Garrick burlesquing the whole scene -for the entertainment of the Burney girls or the Horneck family. He had -heard more than once of the diversion which his old pupil at Lichfield -had created by his mimicry of certain scenes in which he, Johnson, -played an important part. He had been congratulating himself upon the -fortunate absence of the actor during the visit of the clergyman. - -"You may tell Mr. Garrick nothing, sir," he repeated, as Garrick looked -with a blank expression of interrogation around the company. - -"Sir," said Boswell, "my veracity is called in question." - -"What is a question of your veracity, sir, in comparison with the issues -that have been in the balance during the past half-hour?" cried Johnson. - -"Nay, sir, one question," said Burke, seeing that Boswell had collapsed. -"Mr. Garrick--have you heard Dr. Goldsmith boast of having a Dean for a -relative?" - -"Why, no, sir," replied Garrick; "but I heard him say that he had a -brother who deserved to be a Dean." - -"And so I had," cried Goldsmith. "Alas! I cannot say that I have now. My -poor brother died a country clergyman a few years ago." - -"I am a blind man so far as evidence bearing upon things seen is -concerned," said Johnson; "but it seemed to me that some of the man's -gestures--nay, some of the tones of his voice as well--resembled those -of Dr. Goldsmith. I should like to know if any one at the table noticed -the similarity to which I allude." - -"I certainly noticed it," cried Boswell eagerly. - -"Your evidence is not admissible, sir," said Johnson. "What does Sir -Joshua Reynolds say?" - -"Why, sir," said Reynolds with a laugh, and a glance towards Garrick, -"I confess that I noticed the resemblance and was struck by it, both as -regards the man's gestures and his voice. But I am as convinced that he -was no relation of Dr. Goldsmith's as I am of my own existence." - -"But if not, sir, how can you account for----" - -Boswell's inquiry was promptly checked by Johnson. - -"Be silent, sir," he thundered. "If you have left your manners in -Scotland in an impulse of generosity, you have done a foolish thing, for -the gift was meagre out of all proportion to the needs of your country -in that respect. Sir, let me tell you that the last word has been spoken -touching this incident. I will consider any further reference to it in -the light of a personal affront." - -After a rather awkward pause, Garrick said: - -"I begin to suspect that I have been more highly diverted during the -past half-hour than any of this company." - -"Well, Davy," said Johnson, "the accuracy of your suspicion is wholly -dependent on your disposition to be entertained. Where have you been, -sir, and of what nature was your diversion?" - -"Sir," said Garrick, "I have been with a poet." - -"So have we, sir--with the greatest poet alive--the author of 'The -Deserted Village'--and yet you enter to find us immoderately glum," said -Johnson. He was anxious to show his friend Goldsmith that he did not -regard him as accountable for the visit of the clergyman whom he quite -believed to be Oliver's cousin, in spite of the repudiation of the -relationship by Goldsmith himself, and the asseveration of Reynolds. - -"Ah, sir, mine was not a poet such as Dr. Goldsmith," said Garrick. -"Mine was only a sort of poet." - -"And pray, sir, what is a sort of poet?" asked Boswell. - -"A sort of poet, sir, is one who writes a sort of poetry," replied -Garrick. - -He then began a circumstantial account of how he had made an appointment -for the hour at which he had left his friends, with a gentleman who -was anxious to read to him some portions of a play which he had just -written. The meeting was to take place in a neighbouring coffee-house -in the Strand; but even though the distance which he had to traverse was -short, it had been the scene of more than one adventure, which, narrated -by Garrick, proved comical to an extraordinary degree. - -"A few yards away I almost ran into the arms of a clergyman--he wore -the bands and apron of a Dean," he continued, "not seeming to notice the -little start which his announcement caused in some directions. The man -grasped me by the arm," he continued, "doubtless recognising me from -my portraits--for he said he had never seen me act--and then began an -harangue on the text of neglected opportunities. It seemed, however, -that he had no more apparent example of my sins in this direction -than my neglect to produce Dr. Goldsmith's 'Good-Natured Man.' Faith, -gentlemen, he took it quite as a family grievance." Suddenly he paused, -and looked around the party; only Reynolds was laughing, all the rest -were grave. A thought seemed to strike the narrator. "What!" he cried, -"it is not possible that this was, after all, Dr. Goldsmith's cousin, -the Dean, regarding whom you interrogated me just now? If so,'t is -an extraordinary coincidence that I should have encountered -him--unless--good heavens, gentlemen! is it the case that he came here -when I had thrown him off?" - -"Sir," cried Oliver, "I affirm that no relation of mine, Dean or no -Dean, entered this room!" - -"Then, sir, you may look to find him at your chambers in Brick Court -on your return," said Garrick. "Oh, yes, Doctor!--a small man with the -family bow of the Goldsmiths--something like this." He gave a comical -reproduction of the salutation of the clergyman. - -"I tell you, sir, once and for all, that the man is no relation of -mine," protested Goldsmith. - -"And let that be the end of the matter," declared Johnson, with no lack -of decisiveness in his voice. - -"Oh, sir, I assure you I have no desire to meet the gentleman -again," laughed Garrick. "I got rid of him by a feint, just as he was -endeavouring to force me to promise a production of a dramatic version -of 'The Deserted Village'--he said he had the version at his lodging, -and meant to read it to his cousin--I ask your pardon, sir, but he said -'cousin.'" - -"Sir, let us have no more of this--cousin or no cousin," roared Johnson. - -"That is my prayer, sir--I utter it with all my heart and soul," said -Garrick. "It was about my poet I meant to speak--my poet and his play. -What think you of the South Seas and the visit of Lieutenant Cook as the -subject of a tragedy in blank verse, Dr. Johnson?" - -"I think, Davy, that the subject represents so magnificent a scheme -of theatrical bankruptcy you would do well to hand it over to that -scoundrel Foote," said Johnson pleasantly. He was by this time quite -himself again, and ready to pronounce an opinion on any question with -that finality which carried conviction with it--yes, to James Boswell. - -For the next half-hour Garrick entertained his friends with the details -of his interview with the poet who--according to his account--had -designed the drama of "Otaheite" in order to afford Garrick an -opportunity of playing the part of a cannibal king, dressed mainly in -feathers, and beating time alternately with a club and a tomahawk, while -he delivered a series of blank verse soliloquies and apostrophes to -Mars, Vulcan and Diana. - -"The monarch was especially devoted to Diana," said Garrick. "My poet -explained that, being a hunter, he would naturally find it greatly to -his advantage to say a good word now and again for the chaste goddess; -and when I inquired how it was possible that his Majesty of Otaheite -could know anything about Diana, he said the Romans and the South Sea -Islanders were equally Pagans, and that, as such, they had equal rights -in the Pagan mythology; it would be monstrously unjust to assume that -the Romans should claim a monopoly of Diana." - -Boswell interrupted him to express the opinion that the poet's -contention was quite untenable, and Garrick said it was a great relief -to his mind to have so erudite a scholar as Boswell on his side in the -argument, though he admitted that he thought there was a good deal in -the poet's argument. - -He adroitly led on his victim to enter into a serious argument on the -question of the possibility of the Otaheitans having any definite notion -of the character and responsibilities assigned to Diana in the Roman -mythology; and after keeping the party in roars of laughter for half an -hour, he delighted Boswell by assuring him that his eloquence and the -force of his arguments had removed whatever misgivings he, Garrick, -originally had, that he was doing the poet an injustice in declining his -tragedy. - -When the party were about to separate, Goldsmith drew Johnson -apart--greatly to the pique of Boswell--and said-- - -"Dr. Johnson, I have a great favour to ask of you, sir, and I hope you -will see your way to grant it, though I do not deserve any favour from -you." - -"You deserve no favour, Goldy," said Johnson, laying his hand on the -little man's shoulder, "and therefore, sir, you make a man who grants -you one so well satisfied with himself he should regard himself your -debtor. Pray, sir, make me your debtor by giving me a chance of granting -you a favour." - -"You say everything better than any living man, sir," cried Goldsmith. -"How long would it take me to compose so graceful a sentence, do you -suppose? You are the man whom I most highly respect, sir, and I am -anxious to obtain your permission to dedicate to you the comedy which I -have written and Mr. Colman is about to produce." - -"Dr. Goldsmith," said Johnson, "we have been good friends for several -years now." - -"Long before Mr. Boswell came to town, sir." - -"Undoubtedly, sir--long before you became recognised as the most -melodious of our poets--the most diverting of our play-writers. I wrote -the prologue to your first play, Goldy, and I'll stand sponsor for your -second--nay, sir, not only so, but I'll also go to see it, and if it be -damned, I'll drink punch with you all night and talk of my tragedy of -'Irene,' which was also damned; there's my hand on it, Dr. Goldsmith." - -Goldsmith pressed the great hand with both of his own, and tears were in -his eyes and his voice as he said-- - -"Your generosity overpowers me, sir." - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -Boswell, who was standing to one side watching---his eyes full of -curiosity and his ears strained to catch by chance a word--the little -scene that was being enacted in a corner of the room, took good care -that Johnson should be in his charge going home. This walk to Johnson's -house necessitated a walk back to his own lodgings in Piccadilly; -but this was nothing to Boswell, who had every confidence in his own -capability to extract from his great patron some account of the secrets -which had been exchanged in the corner. - -For once, however, he found himself unable to effect his object--nay, -when he began his operations with his accustomed lightness of touch, -Johnson turned upon him, saying-- - -"Sir, I observe what is your aim, and I take this opportunity to tell -you that if you make any further references, direct or indirect, to man, -woman or child, to the occurrences of this evening, you will cease to be -a friend of mine. I have been humiliated sufficiently by a stranger, -who had every right to speak as he did, but I refuse to be humiliated by -you, sir." - -Boswell expressed himself willing to give the amplest security for his -good behaviour. He had great hope of conferring upon his patron a month -of inconvenience in making a tour of the west coast of Scotland during -the summer. - -The others of the party went northward by one of the streets off the -Strand into Coventry street, and thence toward Sir Joshua's house -in Leicester Square, Burke walking in front with his arm through -Goldsmith's, and Garrick some way behind with Reynolds. Goldsmith was -very eloquent in his references to the magnanimity of Johnson, who, -he said, in spite of the fact that he had been grossly insulted by an -impostor calling himself his, Goldsmith's, cousin, had consented to -receive the dedication of the new comedy. Burke, who understood the -temperament of his countryman, felt that he himself might surpass in -eloquence even Oliver Goldsmith if he took for his text the magnanimity -of the author of "The Good Natured Man." He, however, refrained from the -attempt to prove to his companion that there were other ways by which a -man could gain a reputation for generosity than by permitting the most -distinguished writer of the age to dedicate a comedy to him. - -Of the other couple Garrick was rattling away in the highest spirits, -quite regardless of the position of Reynolds's ear-trumpet. Reynolds -was as silent as Burke for a considerable time; but then, stopping at -a corner so as to allow Goldsmith and his companion to get out of -ear-shot, he laid his hand on Garrick's arm, laughing heartily as he -said-- - -"You are a pretty rascal, David, to play such a trick upon your best -friends. You are a pretty rascal, and a great genius, Davy--the greatest -genius alive. There never has been such an actor as you, Davy, and there -never will be another such." - -"Sir," said Garrick, with an overdone expression of embarrassment upon -his face, every gesture that he made corresponding. "Sir, I protest that -you are speaking in parables. I admit the genius, if you insist upon it, -but as for the rascality--well, it is possible, I suppose, to be both -a great genius and a great rascal; there was our friend Benvenuto, for -example, but----" - -"Only a combination of genius and rascality could have hit upon such a -device as that bow which you made, Davy," said Reynolds. "It presented -before my eyes a long vista of Goldsmiths--all made in the same fashion -as our friend on in front, and all striving---and not unsuccessfully, -either--to maintain the family tradition of the Goldsmith bow. And -then your imitation of your imitation of the same movement--how did we -contain ourselves--Burke and I?" - -"You fancy that Burke saw through the Dean, also?" said Garrick. - -"I'm convinced that he did." - -"But he will not tell Johnson, I would fain hope." - -"You are very anxious that Johnson should not know how it was he was -tricked. But you do not mind how you pain a much more generous man." - -"You mean Goldsmith? Faith, sir, I do mind it greatly. If I were not -certain that he would forthwith hasten to tell Johnson, I would go to -him and confess all, asking his forgiveness. But he would tell Johnson -and never forgive me, so I'll e'en hold my tongue." - -"You will not lose a night's rest through brooding on Goldsmith's pain, -David." - -"It was an impulse of the moment that caused me to adopt that device, -my friend. Johnson is past all argument, sir. That sickening sycophant, -Boswell, may find happiness in being insulted by him, but there are -others who think that the Doctor has no more right than any ordinary man -to offer an affront to those whom the rest of the world respects." - -"He will allow no one but himself to attack you, Davy." - -"And by my soul, sir, I would rather that he allowed every one else to -attack me if he refrained from it himself. Where is the generosity of a -man who, with the force and influence of a dozen men, will not allow -a bad word to be said about you, but says himself more than the whole -dozen could say in as many years? Sir, do the pheasants, which our -friend Mr. Bunbury breeds so successfully, regard him as a pattern of -generosity because he won't let a dozen of his farmers have a shot at -them, but preserves them for his own unerring gun? By the Lord Harry, I -would rather, if I were a pheasant, be shot at by the blunderbusses of -a dozen yokels than by the fowling-piece of one good marksman, such -as Bunbury. On the same principle, I have no particular liking to be -preserved to make sport for the heavy broadsides that come from that -literary three-decker, Johnson." - -"I have sympathy with your contentions, David; but we all allow your old -schoolmaster a license which would be permitted to no one else." - -"That license is not a game license, Sir Joshua; and so I have made up -my mind that if he says anything more about the profession of an -actor being a degrading-one--about an actor being on the level with a -fiddler--nay, one of the puppets of Panton street, I will teach my old -schoolmaster a more useful lesson than he ever taught to me. I think it -is probable that he is at this very moment pondering upon those plain -truths which were told to him by the Dean." - -"And poor Goldsmith has been talking so incessantly and so earnestly to -Burke, I am convinced that he feels greatly pained as well as puzzled -by that inopportune visit of the clergyman who exhibited such striking -characteristics of the Goldsmith family." - -"Nay, did I not bear testimony in his favour--declaring that he had -never alluded to a relation who was a Dean?" - -"Oh, yes; you did your best to place us all at our ease, sir. You were -magnanimous, David--as magnanimous as the surgeon who cuts off an arm, -plunges the stump into boiling pitch, and then gives the patient a grain -or two of opium to make him sleep. But I should not say a word: I have -seen you in your best part, Mr. Garrick, and I can give the heartiest -commendation to your powers as a comedian, while condemning with equal -force the immorality of the whole proceeding." - -They had now arrived at Reynolds's house in Leicester Square, Goldsmith -and Burke--the former still talking eagerly--having waited for them to -come up. - -"Gentlemen," said Reynolds, "you have all gone out of your accustomed -way to leave me at my own door. I insist on your entering to have some -refreshment. Mr. Burke, you will not refuse to enter and pronounce an -opinion as to the portrait at which I am engaged of the charming Lady -Betty Hamilton." - -"_O matre pulchra filia pulchrior_" said Goldsmith; but there was not -much aptness in the quotation, the mother of Lady Betty having been -the loveliest of the sisters Gunning, who had married first the Duke of -Hamilton, and, later, the Duke of Argyll. - -Before they had rung the bell the hall door was opened by Sir Joshua's -servant, Ralph, and a young man, very elegantly dressed, was shown out -by the servant. - -He at once recognised Sir Joshua and then Garrick. - -"Ah, my dear Sir Joshua," he cried, "I have to entreat your forgiveness -for having taken the liberty of going into your painting-room in your -absence." - -"Your Lordship has every claim upon my consideration," said Sir Joshua. -"I cannot doubt which of my poor efforts drew you thither." - -"The fact is, Sir Joshua, I promised her Grace three days ago to see the -picture, and as I think it likely that I shall meet her tonight, I made -a point of coming hither. The Duchess of Argyll is not easily put aside -when she commences to catechise a poor man, sir." - -"I cannot hope, my Lord, that the picture of Lady Betty commended itself -to your Lordship's eye," said Sir Joshua. - -"The picture is a beauty, my dear Sir Joshua," said the young man, but -with no great show of ardour. "It pleases me greatly. Your macaw is also -a beauty. A capital notion of painting a macaw on a pedestal by the side -of the lady, is it not, Mr. Garrick--two birds with the one stone, you -know?" - -"True, sir," said Garrick. "Lady Betty is a bird of Paradise." - -"That's as neatly said as if it were part of a play," said the young -man. "Talking of plays, there is going to be a pretty comedy enacted at -the Pantheon to-night." - -"Is it not a mask?" said Garrick. - -"Nay, finer sport even than that," laughed the youth. "We are going to -do more for the drama in an hour, Mr. Garrick, than you have done in -twenty years, sir." - -"At the Pantheon, Lord Stanley?" inquired Garrick. - -"Come to the Pantheon and you shall see all that there is to be seen," -cried Lord Stanley. "Who are your friends? Have I had the honour to be -acquainted with them?" - -"Your Lordship must have met Mr. Burke and Dr. Goldsmith," said Garrick. - -"I have often longed for that privilege," said Lord Stanley, bowing -in reply to the salutation of the others. "Mr. Burke's speech on the -Marriage Bill was a fine effort, and Mr. Goldsmith's comedy has always -been my favourite. I hear that you are at present engaged upon another, -Dr. Goldsmith. That is good news, sir. Oh, 't were a great pity if so -distinguished a party missed the sport which is on foot tonight! Let me -invite you all to the Pantheon--here are tickets to the show. You will -give me a box at your theatre, Garrick, in exchange, on the night when -Mr. Goldsmith's new play is produced." - -"Alas, my Lord," said Garrick, "that privilege will be in the hands of -Mr. Col-man." - -"What, at t' other house? Mr. Garrick, I'm ashamed of you. Nevertheless, -you will come to the comedy at the Pantheon to-night. I must hasten to -act my part. But we shall meet there, I trust." - -He bowed with his hat in his hand to the group, and hastened away with -an air of mystery. - -"What does he mean?" asked Reynolds. - -"That is what I have been asking myself," replied Garrick. "By heavens, -I have it!" he cried after a pause of a few moments. "I have heard -rumours of what some of our young bloods swore to do, since the managers -of the Pantheon, in an outburst of virtuous indignation at the orgies of -Vauxhall and Ranelagh, issued their sheet of regulations prohibiting the -entrance of actresses to their rotunda. Lord Conway, I heard, was the -leader of the scheme, and it seems that this young Stanley is also -one of the plot. Let us hasten to witness the sport. I would not miss -being-present for the world." - -"I am not so eager," said Sir Joshua. "I have my work to engage me early -in the morning, and I have lost all interest in such follies as seem to -be on foot." - -"I have not, thank heaven!" cried Garrick; "nor has Dr. Goldsmith, -I'll swear. As for Burke--well, being a member of Parliament, he is a -seasoned rascal; and so good-night to you, good Mr. President." - -"We need a frolic," cried Goldsmith. "God knows we had a dull enough -dinner at the Crown and Anchor." - -"An Irishman and a frolic are like--well, let us say like Lady Betty and -your macaw, Sir Joshua," said Burke. "They go together very naturally." - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -Sir Joshua entered his house, and the others hastened northward to the -Oxford road, where the Pantheon had scarcely been opened more than a -year for the entertainment of the fashionable world--a more fashionable -world, it was hoped, than was in the habit of appearing at Ranelagh -and Vauxhall. From a hundred to a hundred and fifty years ago, rank and -fashion sought their entertainment almost exclusively at the Assembly -Rooms when the weather failed to allow of their meeting at the two great -public gardens. But as the government of the majority of these places -invariably became lax--there was only one Beau Nash who had the -cleverness to perceive that an autocracy was the only possible form of -government for such assemblies--the committee of the Pantheon determined -to frame so strict a code of rules, bearing upon the admission of -visitors, as should, they believed, prevent the place from falling to -the low level of the gardens. - -In addition to the charge of half-a-guinea for admission to the rotunda, -there were rules which gave the committee the option of practically -excluding any person whose presence they might regard as not tending to -maintain the high character of the Pantheon; and it was announced in the -most decisive way that upon no consideration would actresses be allowed -to enter. - -The announcements made to this effect were regarded in some directions -as eminently salutary. They were applauded by all persons who were -sufficiently strict to prevent their wives or daughters from going -to those entertainments that possessed little or no supervision. Such -persons understood the world and the period so indifferently as to be -optimists in regard to the question of the possibility of combining -Puritanism and promiscuous entertainments terminating long after -midnight. They hailed the arrival of the time when innocent recreation -would not be incompatible with the display of the richest dresses or the -most sumptuous figures. - -But there was another, and a more numerous set, who were very cynical on -the subject of the regulation of beauty and fashion at the Pantheon. The -best of this set shrugged their shoulders, and expressed the belief that -the supervised entertainments would be vastly dull. The worst of them -published verses full of cheap sarcasm, and proper names with asterisks -artfully introduced in place of vowels, so as to evade the possibility -of actions for libel when their allusions were more than usually -scandalous. - -While the ladies of the committee were applauding one another and -declaring that neither threats nor sarcasms would prevail against their -resolution, an informal meeting was held at White's of the persons who -affirmed that they were more affected than any others by the carrying -out of the new regulations; and at the meeting they resolved to make -the management aware of the mistake into which they had fallen in -endeavouring to discriminate between the classes of their patrons. - -When Garrick and his friends reached the Oxford road, as the -thoroughfare was then called, the result of this meeting was making -itself felt. The road was crowded with people who seemed waiting for -something unusual to occur, though of what form it was to assume no -one seemed to be aware. The crowd were at any rate good-humoured. They -cheered heartily every coach that rolled by bearing splendidly dressed -ladies to the Pantheon and to other and less public entertainments. -They waved their hats over the chairs which, similarly burdened, went -swinging along between the bearers, footmen walking on each side -and link-boys running in advance, the glare of their torches giving -additional redness to the faces of the hot fellows who had the -chair-straps over their shoulders. Every now and again an officer of the -Guards would come in for the cheers of the people, and occasionally a -jostling match took place between some supercilious young beau and the -apprentices, through the midst of whom he attempted to force his way. -More than once swords flashed beneath the sickly illumination of the -lamps, but the drawers of the weapons regretted their impetuosity the -next minute, for they were quickly disarmed, either by the crowd closing -with them or jolting them into the kennel, which at no time was savoury. -Once, however, a tall young fellow, who had been struck by a stick, -drew his sword and stood against a lamp-post preparatory to charging the -crowd. It looked as if those who interfered with him would suffer, and a -space was soon cleared in front of him. At that instant, however, he was -thrown to the ground by the assault of a previously unseen foe: a boy -dropped upon him from the lamp-post and sent his sword flying, while the -crowd cheered and jeered in turn. - -At intervals a roar would arise, and the people would part before the -frantic flight of a pickpocket, pursued and belaboured in his rush by a -dozen apprentices, who carried sticks and straps, and were well able to -use both. - -But a few minutes after Garrick, Goldsmith and Burke reached the road, -all the energies of the crowds seemed to be directed upon one object, -and there was a cry of, "Here they come--here she comes--a cheer for -Mrs. Baddeley!" - -"O Lord," cried Garrick, "they have gone so far as to choose Sophia -Baddeley for their experiment!" - -"Their notion clearly is not to do things by degrees," said Goldsmith. -"They might have begun with a less conspicuous person than Mrs. -Baddeley. There are many gradations in colour between black and white." - -"But not between black and White's," said Burke. "This notion is well -worthy of the wit of White's." - -"Sophia is not among the gradations that Goldsmith speaks of," said -Garrick. "But whatever be the result of this jerk into prominence, it -cannot fail to increase her popularity at the playhouse." - -"That's the standpoint from which a good manager regards such a scene -as this," said Burke. "Sophia will claim an extra twenty guineas a week -after to-night." - -"By my soul!" cried Goldsmith, "she looks as if she would give double -that sum to be safe at home in bed." - -The cheers of the crowd increased as the chair containing Mrs. Baddeley, -the actress, was borne along, the lady smiling in a half-hearted way -through her paint. On each side of the chair, but some short distance -in front, were four link-boys in various liveries, shining with gold -and silver lace. In place of footmen, however, there walked two rows of -gentlemen on each side of the chair. They were all splendidly dressed, -and they carried their swords drawn. At the head of the escort on one -side was the well known young Lord Conway, and at the other side Mr. -Hanger, equally well known as a leader of fashion. Lord Stanley was -immediately behind his friend Conway, and almost every other member of -the lady's escort was a young nobleman or the heir to a peerage. - -The lines extended to a second chair, in which Mrs. Abington was -seated, smiling----"Very much more naturally than Mrs. Baddeley," Burke -remarked. - -"Oh, yes," cried Goldsmith, "she was always the better actress. I am -fortunate in having her in my new comedy." - -"The Duchesses have become jealous of the sway of Mrs. Abington," said -Garrick, alluding to the fact that the fashions in dress had been for -several years controlled by that lovely and accomplished actress. - -"And young Lord Conway and his friends have become tired of the sway of -the Duchesses," said Burke. - -"My Lord Stanley looked as if he were pretty nigh weary of his Duchess's -sway," said Garrick. "I wonder if he fancies that his joining that band -will emancipate him." - -"If so he is in error," said Burke. "The Duchess of Argyll will never -let him out of her clutches till he is safely married to the Lady -Betty." - -"Till then, do you say?" said Goldsmith. "Faith, sir, if he fancies he -will escape from her clutches by marrying her daughter he must have had -a very limited experience of life. Still, I think the lovely young lady -is most to be pitied. You heard the cold way he talked of her picture to -Reynolds." - -The engagement of Lord Stanley, the heir to the earldom of Derby, to -Lady Betty Hamilton, though not formally announced, was understood to be -a _fait accompli_; but there were rumours that the young man had of -late been making an effort to release himself--that it was only with -difficulty the Duchess managed to secure his attendance in public upon -her daughter, whose portrait was being painted by Reynolds. - -The picturesque procession went slowly along amid the cheers of the -crowds, and certainly not without many expressions of familiarity and -friendliness toward the two ladies whose beauty of countenance and of -dress was made apparent by the flambeaux of the link-boys, which also -gleamed upon the thin blades of the ladies' escort. The actresses were -plainly more popular than the committee of the Pantheon. - -It was only when the crowds were closing in on the end of the procession -that a voice cried-- - -"Woe unto them! Woe unto Aholah and Aholibah! Woe unto ye who follow -them to your own destruction! Turn back ere it be too late!" The -discordant note came from a Methodist preacher who considered the moment -a seasonable one for an admonition against the frivolities of the town. - -The people did not seem to agree with him in this matter. They sent up -a shout of laughter, and half a dozen youths began a travesty of a -Methodist service, introducing all the hysterical cries and moans with -which the early followers of Wesley punctuated their prayers. In another -direction a ribald parody of a Methodist hymn was sung by women as -well as men; but above all the mockery the stern, strident voice of the -preacher was heard. - -"By my soul," said Garrick, "that effect is strikingly dramatic. I -should like to find some one who would give me a play with such a -scene." - -A good-looking young officer in the uniform of the Guards, who was in -the act of hurrying past where Garrick and his friends stood, turned -suddenly round. - -"I'll take your order, sir," he cried. "Only you will have to pay me -handsomely." - -"What, Captain Horneck? Is 't possible that you are a straggler from the -escort of the two ladies who are being feted to-night?" said Garrick. - -"Hush, man, for Heaven's sake," cried Captain Horneck--Goldsmith's -"Captain in lace." - -"If Mr. Burke had a suspicion that I was associated with such a rout he -would, as the guardian of my purse if not of my person, give notice to -my Lord Albemarle's trustees, and then the Lord only knows what would -happen." Then he turned to Goldsmith. "Come along, Nolly, my friend," he -cried, putting his arm through Oliver's; "if you want a scene for -your new comedy you will find it in the Pantheon to-night. You are not -wearing the peach-bloom coat, to be sure, but, Lord, sir! you are not to -be resisted, whatever you wear." - -"You, at any rate, are not to be resisted, my gallant Captain," said -Goldsmith. "I have half a mind to see the sport when the ladies' chairs -stop at the porch of the Pantheon." - -"As a matter of course you will come," said young Horneck. "Let us -hasten out of range of that howling. What a time for a fellow to begin -to preach!" - -He hurried Oliver away, taking charge of him through the crowd with his -arm across his shoulder. Garrick and Burke followed as rapidly as -they could, and Charles Horneck explained to them, as well as to his -companion, that he would have been in the escort of the actress, but -for the fact that he was about to marry the orphan daughter of Lord -Albemarle, and that his mother had entreated him not to do anything that -might jeopardise the match. - -"You are more discreet than Lord Stanley," said Garrick. - -"Nay," said Goldsmith. "'Tis not a question of discretion, but of the -means to an end. Our Captain in lace fears that his joining the escort -would offend his charming bride, but Lord Stanley is only afraid that -his act in the same direction will not offend his Duchess." - -"You have hit the nail on the head, as usual, Nolly," said the Captain. -"Poor Stanley is anxious to fly from his charmer through any loop-hole. -But he'll not succeed. Why, sir, I'll wager that if her daughter Betty -and the Duke were to die, her Grace would marry him herself." - -"Ay, assuming that a third Duke was not forthcoming," said Burke. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -The party found, on approaching the Pantheon, the advantage of being -under the guidance of Captain Horneck. Without his aid they would have -had considerable difficulty getting near the porch of the building, -where the crowds were most dense. The young guardsman, however, pushed -his way quite good-humouredly, but not the less effectively, through the -people, and was followed by Goldsmith, Garrick and Burke being a little -way behind. But as soon as the latter couple came within the light of -the hundred lamps which hung around the porch, they were recognised and -cheered by the crowd, who made a passage for them to the entrance just -as Mrs. Baddeley's chair was set down. - -The doors had been hastily closed and half-a-dozen constables stationed -in front with their staves. The gentlemen of the escort formed in a -line on each side of her chair to the doors, and when the lady stepped -out--she could not be persuaded to do so for some time--and walked -between the ranks of her admirers, they took off their hats and lowered -the points of their swords, bowing to the ground with greater courtesy -than they would have shown to either of the royal Duchesses, who just at -that period were doing their best to obtain some recognition. - -Mrs. Baddeley had rehearsed the "business" of the part which she had -to play, but she was so nervous that she forgot her words on finding -herself confronted by the constables. She caught sight of Garrick -standing at one side of the door with his hat swept behind him as he -bowed with exquisite irony as she stopped short, and the force of habit -was too much for her. Forgetting that she was playing the part of a -_grande dame_, she turned in an agony of fright to Garrick, raising her -hands--one holding a lace handkerchief, the other a fan--crying-- - -"La! Mr. Garrick, I'm so fluttered that I've forgot my words. Where's -the prompter, sir? Pray, what am I to say now?" - -"Nay, madam, I am not responsible for this production," said Garrick -gravely, and there was a roar of laughter from the people around the -porch. - -The young gentlemen who had their swords drawn were, however, extremely -serious. They began to perceive the possibility of their heroic plan -collapsing into a merry burlesque, and so young Mr. Hanger sprang to the -side of the lady. - -"Madam," he cried, "honour me by accepting my escort into the Pantheon. -What do you mean, sirrah, by shutting that door in the face of a lady -visitor?" he shouted to the liveried porter. - -"Sir, we have orders from the management to permit no players to enter," -replied the man. - -"Nevertheless, you will permit this lady to enter," said the young -gentleman. "Come, sir, open the doors without a moment's delay." - -"I cannot act contrary to my orders, sir," replied the man. - -"Nay, Mr. Hanger," replied the frightened actress, "I wish not to be the -cause of a disturbance. Pray, sir, let me return to my chair." - -"Gentlemen," cried Mr. Hanger to his friends, "I know that it is not -your will that we should come in active contest with the representatives -of authority; but am I right in assuming that it is your desire that -our honoured friend, Mrs. Baddeley, should enter the Pantheon?" When -the cries of assent came to an end he continued, "Then, sirs, the -responsibility for bloodshed rests with those who oppose us. Swords -to the front! You will touch no man with a point unless he oppose you. -Should a constable assault any of this company you will run him through -without mercy. Now, gentlemen." - -In an instant thirty sword-blades were radiating from the lady, and -in that fashion an advance was made upon the constables, who for a few -moments stood irresolute, but then--the points of a dozen swords were -within a yard of their breasts--lowered their staves and slipped quietly -aside. The porter, finding himself thus deserted, made no attempt to -withstand single-handed an attack converging upon the doors; he hastily -went through the porch, leaving the doors wide apart. - -To the sound of roars of laughter and shouts of congratulation from -the thousands who blocked the road, Mrs. Baddeley and her escort -walked through the porch and on to the rotunda beyond, the swords being -sheathed at the entrance. - -It seemed as if all the rank and fashion of the town had come to the -rotunda this night. Peeresses were on the raised dais by the score, some -of them laughing, others shaking their heads and doing their best to -look scandalised. Only one matron, however, felt it imperative to leave -the assembly and to take her daughters with her. She was a lady whose -first husband had divorced her, and her daughters were excessively -plain, in spite of their masks of paint and powder. - -The Duchess of Argyll stood in the centre of the dais by the side of -her daughter, Lady Betty Hamilton, her figure as graceful as it had been -twenty years before, when she and her sister Maria, who became Countess -of Coventry, could not walk down the Mall unless under the protection of -a body of soldiers, so closely were they pressed by the fashionable mob -anxious to catch a glimpse of the beautiful Miss Gunnings. She had -no touch of carmine or powder to obscure the transparency of her -complexion, and her wonderful long eyelashes needed no darkening to add -to their silken effect. Her neck and shoulders were white, not with the -cold whiteness of snow, but with the pearl-like charm of the white rose. -The solid roundness of her arms, and the grace of every movement that -she made with them, added to the delight of those who looked upon that -lovely woman. - -Her daughter had only a measure of her mother's charm. Her features were -small, and though her figure was pleasing, she suggested nothing of the -Duchess's elegance and distinction. - -Both mother and daughter looked at first with scorn in their eyes at -the lady who stood at one of the doors of the rotunda, surrounded by her -body guard; but when they perceived that Lord Stanley was next to her, -they exchanged a few words, and the scorn left their eyes. The Duchess -even smiled at Lady Ancaster, who stood near her, and Lady Ancaster -shrugged her shoulders almost as naturally as if she had been a -Frenchwoman. - -Cynical people who had been watching the Duchess's change of countenance -also shrugged their shoulders (indifferently), saying-- - -"Her Grace will not be inexorable; the son-in-law upon whom she has set -her heart, and tried to set her daughter's heart as well, must not be -frightened away." - -Captain Horneck had gone up to his _fiancee_. - -"You were not in that creature's train, I hope," said the lady. - -"I? Dear child, for what do you take me?" he said. "No, I certainly was -not in her train. I was with my friend Dr. Goldsmith." - -"If you had been among that woman's escort, I should never have forgiven -you the impropriety," said she. - -(She was inflexible as a girl, but before she had been married more than -a year she had run away with her husband's friend, Mr. Scawen.) - -By this time Lord Conway had had an interview with the management, and -now returned with two of the gentlemen who comprised that body to where -Mrs. Baddeley was standing simpering among her admirers. - -"Madam," said Lord Conway, "these gentlemen are anxious to offer you -their sincere apologies for the conduct of their servants to-night, and -to express the hope that you and your friends will frequently honour -them by your patronage." - -And those were the very words uttered by the spokesman of the -management, with many humble bows, in the presence of the smiling -actress. - -"And now you can send for Mrs. Abing-ton," said Lord Stanley. "She -agreed to wait in her chair until this matter was settled." - -"She can take very good care of herself," said Mrs. Baddeley somewhat -curtly. Her fright had now vanished, and she was not disposed to -underrate the importance of her victory. She had no particular wish to -divide the honours attached to her position with another woman, much -less with one who was usually regarded as better-looking than herself. -"Mrs. Abington is a little timid, my Lord," she continued; "she may not -find herself quite at home in this assembly.'Tis a monstrous fine place, -to be sure; but for my part, I think Vauxhall is richer and in better -taste." - -But in spite of the indifference of Mrs. Baddeley, a message was -conveyed to Mrs. Abington, who had not left her chair, informing her of -the honours which were being done to the lady who had entered the room, -and when this news reached her she lost not a moment in hurrying through -the porch to the side of her sister actress. - -And then a remarkable incident occurred, for the Duchess of Argyll -and Lady Ancaster stepped down from their dais and went to the two -actresses, offering them hands, and expressing the desire to see them -frequently at the assemblies in the rotunda. - -The actresses made stage courtesies and returned thanks for the -condescension of the great ladies. The cynical ones laughed and shrugged -their shoulders once more. - -Only Lord Stanley looked chagrined. He perceived that the Duchess was -disposed to regard his freak in the most liberal spirit, and he knew -that the point of view of the Duchess was the point of view of the -Duchess's daughter. He felt rather sad as he reflected upon the laxity -of mothers with daughters yet unmarried. Could it be that eligible -suitors were growing scarce? - -Garrick was highly amused at the little scene that was being played -under his eyes; he considered himself a pretty fair judge of comedy, -and he was compelled to acknowledge that he had never witnessed any more -highly finished exhibition of this form of art. - -His friend Goldsmith had not waited at the door for the arrival of Mrs. -Abington. He was not wearing any of the gorgeous costumes in which he -liked to appear at places of amusement, and so he did not intend to -remain in the rotunda for longer than a few minutes; he was only curious -to see what would be the result of the bold action of Lord Conway and -his friends. But when he was watching the act of condescension on the -part of the Duchess and the Countess, and had had his laugh with Burke, -he heard a merry voice behind him saying-- - -"Is Dr. Goldsmith a modern Marius, weeping over the ruin of the -Pantheon?" - -"Nay," cried another voice, "Dr. Goldsmith is contemplating the writing -of a history of the attempted reformation of society in the eighteenth -century, through the agency of a Greek temple known as the Pantheon on -the Oxford road." - -He turned and stood face to face with two lovely laughing girls and a -handsome elder lady, who was pretending to look scandalised. - -"Ah, my dear Jessamy Bride--and my sweet Little Comedy!" he cried, as -the girls caught each a hand of his. He had dropped his hat in the act -of making his bow to Mrs. Horneck, the mother of the two girls, Mary and -Katherine--the latter the wife of Mr. Bunbury. "Mrs. Horneck, madam, -I am your servant--and don't I look your servant, too," he added, -remembering that he was not wearing his usual gala dress. - -"You look always the same good friend," said the lady. - -"Nay," laughed Mrs. Bunbury, "if he were your servant he would take -care, for the honour of the house, that he was splendidly dressed; it -is not that snuff-coloured suit we should have on him, but something -gorgeous. What would you say to a peach-bloom coat, Dr. Goldsmith?" - -(His coat of this tint had become a family joke among the Hornecks and -Bun-burys.) - -"Well, if the bloom remain on the peach it would be well enough in your -company, madam," said Goldsmith, with a face of humorous gravity. "But -a peach with the bloom off would be more congenial to the Pantheon after -to-night." He gave a glance in the direction of the group of actresses -and their admirers. - -Mrs. Horneck looked serious, her two daughters looked demurely down. - -"The air is tainted," said Goldsmith, solemnly. - -"Yes," said Mrs. Bunbury, with a charming mock demureness. "'T is as you -say: the Pantheon will soon become as amusing as Ranelagh." - -"I said not so, madam," cried Goldsmith, shaking-his head. "As -amusing---amusing----" - -"As Ranelagh. Those were your exact words, Doctor, I assure you," -protested Little Comedy. "Were they not, Mary?" - -"Oh, undoubtedly those were his words--only he did not utter them," -replied the Jessamy Bride. - -"There, now, you will not surely deny your words in the face of two such -witnesses!" said Mrs. Bunbury. - -"I could deny nothing to two such faces," said Goldsmith, "even though -one of the faces is that of a little dunce who could talk of Marius -weeping over the Pantheon." - -"And why should not he weep over the Pantheon if he saw good cause for -it?" she inquired, with her chin in the air. - -"Ah, why not indeed? Only he was never within reach of it, my dear," -said Goldsmith. - -"Psha! I daresay Marius was no better than he need be," cried the young -lady. - -"Few men are even so good as it is necessary for them to be," said -Oliver. - -"That depends upon their own views as to the need of being good," -remarked Mary. - -"And so I say that Marius most likely made many excursions to the -Pantheon without the knowledge of his biographer," cried her sister, -with an air of worldly wisdom of which a recent bride was so well -qualified to be an exponent. - -"'Twere vain to attempt to contend against such wisdom," said Goldsmith. - -"Nay, all things are possible, with a Professor of Ancient History to -the Royal Academy of Arts," said a lady who had come up with Burke at -that moment--a small but very elegant lady with distinction in every -movement, and withal having eyes sparkling with humour. - -Goldsmith bowed low--again over his fallen hat, on the crown of which -Little Comedy set a very dainty foot with an aspect of the sweetest -unconsciousness. She was a tom-boy down to the sole of that dainty foot. - -"In the presence of Mrs. Thrale," Goldsmith began, but seeing the -ill-treatment to which his hat was subjected, he became confused, and -the compliment which he had been elaborating dwindled away in a murmur. - -"Is it not the business of a professor to contend with wisdom, Dr. -Goldsmith?" said Mrs. Thrale. - -"Madam, if you say that it is so, I will prove that you are wrong by -declining to argue out the matter with you," said the Professor of -Ancient History. - -Miss Horneck's face shone with appreciation of her dear friend's -quickness; but the lively Mrs. Thrale was, as usual, too much engrossed -in her own efforts to be brilliant to be able to pay any attention -to the words of so clumsy a person as Oliver Goldsmith, and one who, -moreover, declined to join with so many other distinguished persons in -accepting her patronage. - -She found it to her advantage to launch into a series of sarcasms--most -of which had been said at least once before--at the expense of the -Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster, and finding that Goldsmith was more -busily, engaged in listening to Mrs. Bunbury's mock apologies for the -injury she had done to his hat than in attending to her _jeux d'esprit_, -she turned her back upon him, and gave Burke and Mrs. Horneck the -benefit of her remarks. - -Goldsmith continued taking part in the fun made by Little Comedy, -pointing out to her the details of his hat's disfigurement, when, -suddenly turning in the direction of Mary Horneck, who was standing -behind her mother, the jocular remark died on his lips. He saw the -expression of dismay--worse than dismay--which was on the girl's face as -she gazed across the rotunda. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -Goldsmith followed the direction of her eyes and saw that their object -was a man in the uniform of an officer, who was chatting with Mrs. -Abingdon. He was a showily handsome man, though his face bore evidence -of some dissipated years, and there was an undoubted swagger in his -bearing. - -Meanwhile Goldsmith watched him. The man caught sight of Miss Horneck -and gave a slight start, his jaw falling for an instant--only for an -instant, however; then he recovered himself and made an elaborate bow to -the girl across the room. - -Goldsmith turned to Miss Horneck and perceived that her face had become -white; she returned very coldly the man's recognition, and only after -the lapse of some seconds. Goldsmith possessed naturally both delicacy -of feeling and tact. He did not allow the girl to see that he had been -a witness of a _rencontre_ which evidently was painful to her; but -he spoke to her sister, who was amusing her husband by a scarcely -noticeable imitation of a certain great lady known to both of them; -and, professing himself woefully ignorant as to the _personnel_ of the -majority of the people who were present, inquired first what was the -name of a gentleman wearing a star and talking to a group of apparently -interested ladies, and then of the officer whom he had seen make that -elaborate bow. - -Mrs. Bunbury was able to tell him who was the gentleman with the star, -but after glancing casually at the other man, she shook her head. - -"I have never seen him before," she said. "I don't think he can be -any one in particular. The people whom we don't know are usually -nobodies--until we come to know them." - -"That is quite reasonable," said he. "It is a distinction to become your -friend. It will be remembered in my favour when my efforts as Professor -at the Academy are forgotten." - -His last sentence was unheard, for Mrs. Bunbury was giving all her -attention to her sister, of whose face she had just caught a glimpse. - -"Heavens, child!" she whispered to her, "what is the matter with you?" - -"What should be the matter with me?" said Mary. "What, except--oh, this -place is stifling! And the managers boasted that it would be cool and -well ventilated at all times!" - -"My dear girl, you'll be quite right when I take you into the air," said -Bunbury. - -"No, no; I do not need to leave the rotunda; I shall be myself in a -moment," said the girl somewhat huskily and spasmodically. "For heaven's -sake don't stare so, child," she added to her sister, making a pitiful -attempt to laugh. - -"But, my dear----" began Mrs. Bunbury; she was interrupted by Mary. - -"Nay," she cried, "I will not have our mother alarmed, and--well, every -one knows what a tongue Mrs. Thrale has. Oh, no; already the faintness -has passed away. What should one fear with a doctor in one's company? -Come, Dr. Goldsmith, you are a sensible person. You do not make a fuss. -Lend me your arm, if you please." - -"With all pleasure in life," cried Oliver. - -He offered her his arm, and she laid her hand upon it. He could feel how -greatly she was trembling. - -When they had taken a few steps away Mary looked back at her sister -and Bunbury and smiled reassuringly at them. Her companion saw that, -immediately afterwards, her glance went in the direction of the officer -who had bowed to her. - -"Take me up to one of the galleries, my dear friend," she said. "Take me -somewhere--some place away from here--any place away from here." - -He brought her to an alcove off one of the galleries where only one -sconce with wax candles was alight. - -"Why should you tremble, my dear girl?" said he. "What is there to be -afraid of? I am your friend--you know that I would die to save you from -the least trouble." - -"Trouble? Who said anything about trouble?" she cried. "I am in no -trouble--only for the trouble I am giving you, dear Goldsmith. And you -did not come in the bloom-tinted coat after all." - -He made no reply to her spasmodic utterances. The long silence was -broken only by the playing of the band, following Madame Agujari's -song--the hum of voices and laughter from the well-dressed mob in the -rotunda and around the galleries. - -At last the girl put her hand again upon his arm, saying-- - -"I wonder what you think of this business, my dear friend--I wonder what -you think of your Jessamy Bride." - -"I think nothing but what is good of you, my dear," said he tenderly. -"But if you can tell me of the matter that troubles you, I think I may -be able to make you see that it should not be a trouble to you for a -moment. Why, what can possibly have happened since we were all so merry -in France together?" - -"Nothing--nothing has happened--I give you my word upon it," she -said. "Oh, I feel that you are altogether right. I have no cause to be -frightened--no cause to be troubled. Why, if it came to fighting, have -not I a brother? Ah, I had much better say nothing more. You could not -understand--psha! there is nothing to be understood, dear Dr. Goldsmith; -girls are foolish creatures." - -"Is it nothing to you that we have been friends so long, dear child?" -said he. "Is it not possible for you to let me have your confidence? -Think if it be possible, Mary. I am not a wise man where my own affairs -are concerned, but I feel that for others--for you, my dear--ah, child, -don't you know that if you share a secret trouble with another its -poignancy is blunted?" - -"I have never had consolation except from you," said the girl. "But -this--this--oh, my friend, by what means did you look into a woman's -soul to enable you to write those lines-- - - 'When lovely woman stoops to folly, - - And finds too late. . . '?" - -There was a long pause before he started up, with his hand pressed to -his forehead. He looked at her strangely for a moment, and then walked -slowly away from her with his head bent. Before he had taken more than -a dozen steps, however, he stopped, and, after another moment of -indecision, hastened back to her and offered her his hand, saying-- - -"I am but a man; I can think nothing of you but what is good." - -"Yes," she said; "it is only a woman who can think everything that is -evil about a woman. It is not by men that women are deceived to their -own destruction, but by women." - -She sprang to her feet and laid her hand upon his arm once again. - -"Let us go away," she said. "I am sick of this place. There is no corner -of it that is not penetrated by the Agujari's singing. Was there ever -any singing so detestable? And they pay her fifty guineas a song! -I would pay fifty guineas to get out of earshot of the best of her -efforts." Her laugh had a shrill note that caused it to sound very -pitiful to the man who heard it. - -He spoke no word, but led her tenderly back to where her mother was -standing with Burke and her son. - -"I do hope that you have not missed Agujari's last song," said Mrs. -Horneck. "We have been entranced with its melody." - -"Oh, no; I have missed no note of it--no note. Was there ever anything -so delicious--so liquid-sweet? Is it not time that we went homeward, -mother? I do feel a little tired, in spite of the Agujari." - -"At what an admirable period we have arrived in the world's history!" -said Burke. "It is the young miss in these days who insists on her -mother's keeping good hours. How wise we are all growing!" - -"Mary was always a wise little person," said Mrs. Horneck. - -"Wise? Oh, let us go home!" said the girl wearily. - -"Dr. Goldsmith will, I am sure, direct our coach to be called," said her -mother. - -Goldsmith bowed and pressed his way to the door, where he told the -janitor to call for Mrs. Horneck's coach. - -He led Mary out of the rotunda, Burke having gone before with the elder -lady. Goldsmith did not fail to notice the look of apprehension on the -girl's face as her eyes wandered around the crowd in the porch. He could -hear the little sigh of relief that she gave after her scrutiny. - -The coach had drawn up at the entrance, and the little party went -out into the region of flaring links and pitch-scented smoke. While -Goldsmith was in the act of helping Mary Horneck up the steps, he was -furtively glancing around, and before she had got into a position for -seating herself by the side of her mother, he dropped her hand in so -clumsy a way that several of the onlookers laughed. Then he retreated, -bowing awkwardly, and, to crown his stupidity, he turned round so -rapidly and unexpectedly that he ran violently full-tilt against a -gentleman in uniform, who was hurrying to the side of the chariot as if -to take leave of the ladies. - -The crowd roared as the officer lost his footing for a moment and -staggered among the loiterers in the porch, not recovering himself until -the vehicle had driven away. Even then Goldsmith, with disordered -wig, was barring the way to the coach, profusely apologising for his -awkwardness. - -"Curse you for a lout!" cried the officer. - -Goldsmith put his hat on his head. - -"Look you, sir!" he said. "I have offered you my humblest apologies for -the accident. If you do not choose to accept them, you have but got to -say as much and I am at your service. My name is Goldsmith, sir--Oliver -Goldsmith--and my friend is Mr. Edmund Burke. I flatter myself that we -are both as well known and of as high repute as yourself, whoever you -may be." - -The onlookers in the porch laughed, those outside gave an encouraging -cheer, while the chairmen and linkmen, who were nearly all Irish, -shouted "Well done, your Honour! The little Doctor and Mr. Burke -forever!" For both Goldsmith and Burke were as popular with the mob as -they were in society. - -While Goldsmith stood facing the scowling officer, an elderly gentleman, -in the uniform of a general and with his breast covered with orders, -stepped out from the side of the porch and shook Oliver by the hand. -Then he turned to his opponent, saying-- - -"Dr. Goldsmith is my friend, sir. If you have any quarrel with him you -can let me hear from you. I am General Oglethorpe." - -"Or if it suits you better, sir," said another gentleman coming to -Goldsmith's side, "you can send your friend to my house. My name is Lord -Clare." - -"My Lord," cried the man, bowing with a little swagger, "I have no -quarrel with Dr. Goldsmith. He has no warmer admirer than myself. If in -the heat of the moment I made use of any expression that one gentleman -might not make use of toward another, I ask Dr. Goldsmith's pardon. I -have the honour to wish your Lordship good-night." - -He bowed and made his exit. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -When Goldsmith reached his chambers in Brick Court, he found awaiting -him a letter from Colman, the lessee of Covent Garden Theatre, to let -him know that Woodward and Mrs. Abington had resigned their parts in his -comedy which had been in rehearsal for a week, and that he, Colman, -felt they were right in doing so, as the failure of the piece was so -inevitable. He hoped that Dr. Goldsmith would be discreet enough to -sanction its withdrawal while its withdrawal was still possible. - -He read this letter--one of several which he had received from Colman -during the week prophesying disaster--without impatience, and threw it -aside without a further thought. He had no thought for anything save the -expression that had been on the face of Mary Horneck as she had spoken -his lines-- - - "When lovely woman stoops to folly, - - And finds too late...." - -"Too late----" She had not got beyond those words. Her voice had broken, -as he had often believed that his beloved Olivia's voice had broken, -when trying to sing her song in which a woman's despair is enshrined for -all ages. Her voice had broken, though not with the stress of tears. It -would not have been so full of despair if tears had been in her eyes. -Where there are tears there is hope. But her voice.... - -What was he to believe? What was he to think regarding that sweet girl -who had, since the first day he had known her, treated him as no other -human being had ever treated him? The whole family of the Hornecks had -shown themselves to be his best friends. They insisted on his placing -himself on the most familiar footing in regard to their house, and when -Little Comedy married she maintained the pleasant intimacy with him -which had begun at Sir Joshua Reynolds's dinner-table. The days that he -spent at the Bunburys' house at Barton were among the pleasantest of his -life. - -But, fond though he was of Mrs. Bun-bury, her sister Mary, his "Jessamy -Bride," drew him to her by a deeper and warmer affection. He had felt -from the first hour of meeting her that she understood his nature--that -in her he had at last found some one who could give him the sympathy -which he sought. More than once she had proved to him that she -recognised the greatness of his nature--his simplicity, his generosity, -the tenderness of his heart for all things that suffered, his -trustfulness, that caused him to be so frequently imposed upon, his -intolerance of hypocrisy and false sentiment, though false sentiment was -the note of the most successful productions of the day. Above all, -he felt that she recognised his true attitude in relation to English -literature. If he was compelled to work in uncongenial channels in order -to earn his daily bread, he himself never forgot what he owed to English -literature. How nobly he discharged this debt his "Traveller," "The -Vicar of Wakefield," "The Deserted Village," and "The Good Natured -Man" testified at intervals. He felt that he was the truest poet, the -sincerest dramatist, of the period, and he never allowed the work which -he was compelled to do for the booksellers to turn him aside from his -high aims. - -It was because Mary Horneck proved to him daily that she understood -what his aims were he regarded her as different from all the rest of -the world. She did not talk to him of sympathising with him, but she -understood him and sympathised with him. - -As he lay back in his chair now asking himself what he should think of -her, he recalled every day that he had passed in her company, from the -time of their first meeting at Reynolds's house until he had accompanied -her and her mother and sister on the tour through France. He remembered -how, the previous year, she had stirred his heart on returning from a -long visit to her native Devonshire by a clasp of the hand and a look -of gratitude, as she spoke the name of the book which he had sent to her -with a letter. "The Vicar of Wakefield" was the book, and she had said-- - -"You can never, never know what it has been to me--what it has done -for me." Her eyes had at that time been full of tears of gratitude--of -affection, and the sound of her voice and the sight of her liquid eyes -had overcome him. He knew there was a bond between them that would not -be easily severed. - -[Illustration: 0105] - -But there were no tears in her eyes as she spoke the words of Olivia's -song. - -What was he to think of her? - -One moment she had been overflowing with girlish merriment, and then, -on glancing across the hall, her face had become pale and her mood had -changed from one of merriment to one of despair--the despair of a bird -that finds itself in the net of the fowler. - -What was he to think of her? - -He would not wrong her by a single thought. He thought no longer of -her, but of the man whose sudden appearance before her eyes had, he felt -certain, brought about her change of mood. - -It was his certainty of feeling on this matter that had caused him to -guard her jealously from the approach of that man, and, when he saw him -going toward the coach, to prevent his further advance by the readiest -means in his power. He had had no time to elaborate any scheme to keep -the man away from Mary Horneck, and he had been forced to adopt the most -rudimentary scheme to carry out his purpose. - -Well, he reflected upon the fact that if the scheme was rudimentary -it had proved extremely effective. He had kept the man apart from the -girls, and he only regretted that the man had been so easily led to -regard the occurrence as an accident. He would have dearly liked to run -the man through some vital part. - -What was that man to Mary Horneck that she should be in terror at the -very sight of him? That was the question which presented itself to him, -and his too vivid imagination had no difficulty in suggesting a number -of answers to it, but through all he kept his word to her: he thought no -ill of her. He could not entertain a thought of her that was not wholly -good. He felt that her concern was on account of some one else who -might be in the power of that man. He knew how generous she was--how -sympathetic. He had told her some of his own troubles, and though he did -so lightly, as was his custom, she had been deeply affected on hearing -of them. Might it not then be that the trouble which affected her was -not her own, but another's? - -Before he went to bed he had brought himself to take this view of the -incident of the evening, and he felt much easier in his mind. - -Only he felt a twinge of regret when he reflected that the fellow -whose appearance had deprived Mary Horneck of an evening's pleasure had -escaped with no greater inconvenience than would be the result of an -ordinary shaking. His contempt for the man increased as he recalled how -he had declined to prolong the quarrel. If he had been anything of a -man he would have perceived that he was insulted, not by accident but -design, and would have been ready to fight. - -Whatever might be the nature of Mary Horneck's trouble, the killing of -the man would be a step in the right direction. - -It was not until his servant, John Eyles, had awakened him in the -morning that he recollected receiving a letter from Colman which -contained some unpleasant news. He could not at first remember the -details of the news, but he was certain that on receiving it he had a -definite idea that it was unpleasant. When he now read Colman's -letter for the second time he found that his recollection of his first -impression was not at fault. It was just his luck: no man was in the -habit of writing more joyous letters or receiving more depressing than -Goldsmith. - -He hurried off to the theatre and found Colman in his most disagreeable -mood. The actor and actress who had resigned their parts were just those -to whom he was looking, Colman declared, to pull the play through. He -could not, however, blame them, he frankly admitted. They were, he said, -dependent for a livelihood upon their association with success on the -stage, and it could not be otherwise than prejudicial to their best -interests to be connected with a failure. - -This was too much, even for the long suffering Goldsmith. - -"Is it not somewhat premature to talk of the failure of a play that has -not yet been produced, Mr. Colman?" he said. - -"It might be in respect to most plays, sir," replied Colman; "but in -regard to this particular play, I don't think that one need be afraid to -anticipate by a week or two the verdict of the playgoers. Two things in -this world are inevitable, sir: death and the damning of your comedy." - -"I shall try to bear both with fortitude," said Goldsmith quietly, -though he was inwardly very indignant with the manager for his -gratuitous predictions of failure--predictions which from the first his -attitude in regard to the play had contributed to realise. "I should -like to have a talk with Mrs. Abington and Woodward," he added. - -"They are in the green room," said the manager. "I must say that I was -in hope, Dr. Goldsmith, that your critical judgment of your own work -would enable you to see your way to withdraw it." - -"I decline to withdraw it, sir," said Goldsmith. - -"I have been a manager now for some years," said Colman, "and, speaking -from the experience which I have gained at this theatre, I say without -hesitation that I never had a piece offered to me which promised so -complete a disaster as this, sir. Why,'t is like no other comedy that -was ever wrote." - -"That is a feature which I think the playgoers will not be slow to -appreciate," said Goldsmith. "Good Lord! Mr. Colman, cannot you see that -what the people want nowadays is a novelty?" - -"Ay, sir; but there are novelties and novelties, and this novelty of -yours is not to their taste.'T is not a comedy of the pothouse that's -the novelty genteel people want in these days; and mark my words, -sir, the bringing on of that vulgar young boor--what's the fellow's -name?--Lumpkin, in his pothouse, and the unworthy sneers against the -refinement and sensibility of the period--the fellow who talks of his -bear only dancing to the genteelest of tunes--all this, Dr. Goldsmith, -I pledge you my word and reputation as a manager, will bring about an -early fall of the curtain." - -"An early fall of the curtain?" - -"Even so, sir; for the people in the house will not permit another scene -beyond that of your pothouse to be set." - -"Let me tell you, Mr. Colman, that the Three Pigeons is an hostelry, not -a pothouse." - -"The playgoers will damn it if it were e'en a Bishop's palace." - -"Which you think most secure against such a fate. Nay, sir, let us not -apply the doctrine of predestination to a comedy. Men have gone mad -through believing that they had no chance of being saved from the Pit. -Pray let not us take so gloomy a view of the hereafter of our play." - -"Of _your_ play, sir, by your leave. I have no mind to accept even a -share of its paternity, though I know that I cannot escape blame for -having anything to do with its production." - -"If you are so anxious to decline the responsibilities of a father in -respect to it, sir, I must beg that you will not feel called upon to act -with the cruelty of a step-father towards it." - -Goldsmith bowed in his pleasantest manner as he left the manager's -office and went to the green room. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -The attitude of Colman in regard to the comedy was quite in keeping -with the traditions of the stage of the eighteenth century, nor was it -so contrary to the traditions of the nineteenth century. Colman, like -the rest of his profession--not even excepting Garrick--possessed only a -small amount of knowledge as to what playgoers desired to have presented -to them. Whatever successes he achieved were certainly not due to his -own acumen. He had no idea that audiences had grown tired of stilted -blank verse tragedies and comedies constructed on the most conventional -lines, with plentiful allusions to heathen deities, but a plentiful lack -of human nature. Such plays had succeeded in his hands previously, and -he could see no reason why he should substitute for them anything more -natural. He had no idea that playgoers were ready to hail with pleasure -a comedy founded upon scenes of everyday life, not upon the spurious -sentimentality of an artificial age. - -He had produced "The Good Natured Man" some years before, and had made -money by the transaction. But the shrieks of the shallow critics who -had condemned the introduction of the low-life personages into that -play were still ringing in his ears; so, when he found that the leading -characteristics of these personages were not only introduced but -actually intensified in the new comedy, which the author had named -provisionally "The Mistakes of a Night," he at first declined to have -anything to do with it. But, fortunately, Goldsmith had influential -friends--friends who, like Dr. Johnson and Bishop Percy, had recognised -his genius when he was living in a garret and before he had written -anything beyond a few desultory essays--and they brought all their -influence to bear upon the Covent Garden manager. He accepted the -comedy, but laid it aside for several months, and only grudgingly, at -last, consented to put it in rehearsal. - -Daily, when Goldsmith attended the rehearsals, the manager did his best -to depreciate the piece, shaking his head over some scenes, shrugging -his shoulders over others, and asking the author if he actually meant -to allow certain portions of the dialogue to be spoken as he had written -them. - -This attitude would have discouraged a man less certain of his position -than Goldsmith. It did not discourage him, however, but its effect was -soon perceptible upon the members of the company. They rehearsed in a -half-hearted way, and accepted Goldsmith's suggestions with demur. - -At the end of a week Gentleman Smith, who had been cast for Young -Marlow, threw up the part, and Colman inquired of Goldsmith if he was -serious in his intention to continue rehearsing the piece. In a moment -Goldsmith assured him that he meant to perform his part of the contract -with the manager, and that he would tolerate no backing out of that same -contract by the manager. At his friend Shuter's suggestion, the part was -handed over to Lee Lewes. - -After this, it might at least have been expected that Colman would make -the best of what he believed to be a bad matter, and give the play every -chance of success. On the contrary, however, he was stupid even for the -manager of a theatre, and was at the pains to decry the play upon every -possible occasion. Having predicted failure for it, he seemed determined -to do his best to cause his prophecies to be realized. At rehearsal he -provoked Goldsmith almost beyond endurance by his sneers, and actually -encouraged the members of his own company in their frivolous complaints -regarding their dialogue. He spoke the truth to Goldsmith when he said -he was not surprised that Woodward and Mrs. Abington had thrown up -their parts: he would have been greatly surprised if they had continued -rehearsing. - -When the unfortunate author now entered the green room, the buzz of -conversation which had been audible outside ceased in an instant. He -knew that he had formed the subject of the conversation, and he could -not doubt what was its nature. For a moment he was tempted to turn round -and go back to Colman in order to tell him that he would withdraw -the play. The temptation lasted but a moment, however: the spirit of -determination which had carried him through many difficulties--that -spirit which Reynolds appreciated and had embodied in his portrait--came -to his aid. He walked boldly into the green room and shook hands with -both Woodward and Mrs. Abington. - -"I am greatly mortified at the news which I have just had from Mr. -Colman," he said; "but I am sure that you have not taken this serious -step without due consideration, so I need say no more about it. Mr. -Colman will be unable to attend this rehearsal, but he is under an -agreement with me to produce my comedy within a certain period, and he -will therefore sanction any step I may take on his behalf. Mr. Quick -will, I hope, honour me by reading the part of Tony Lumpkin and Mrs. -Bulk-ley that of Miss Hardcastle, so that there need be no delay in the -rehearsal." - -The members of the company were somewhat startled by the tone adopted by -the man who had previously been anything but fluent in his speech, and -who had submitted with patience to the sneers of the manager. They now -began to perceive something of the character of the man whose life had -been a fierce struggle with adversity, but who even in his wretched -garret knew what was due to himself and to his art, and did not hesitate -to kick downstairs the emissary from the government that offered him -employment as a libeller. - -"Sir," cried the impulsive Mrs. Bulkley, putting out her hand to -him--"Sir, you are not only a genius, you are a man as well, and it will -not be my fault if this comedy of yours does not turn out a success. -You have been badly treated, Dr. Goldsmith, and you have borne your -ill-treatment nobly. For myself, sir, I say that I shall be proud to -appear in your piece." - -"Madam," said Goldsmith, "you overwhelm me with your kindness. As for -ill-treatment, I have nothing to complain of so far as the ladies and -gentlemen of the company are concerned, and any one who ventures to -assert that I bear ill-will toward Mr. Woodward and Mrs. Abington I -shall regard as having put an affront upon me. Before a fortnight has -passed I know that they will be overcome by chagrin at their rejection -of the opportunity that was offered them of being associated with the -success of this play, for it will be a success, in spite of the untoward -circumstances incidental to its birth." - -He bowed several times around the company, and he did it so awkwardly -that he immediately gained the sympathy and good-will of all the actors: -they reflected how much better they could do it, and that, of course, -caused them to feel well disposed towards Goldsmith. - -"You mean to give the comedy another name, sir, I think," said Shuter, -who was cast for the part of Old Hardcastle. - -"You may be sure that a name will be forthcoming," said Goldsmith. -"Lord, sir, I am too good a Christian not to know that if an accident -was to happen to my bantling before it is christened it would be damned -to a certainty." - -The rehearsal this day was the most promising that had yet taken place. -Col-man did not put in an appearance, consequently the disheartening -influence of his presence was not felt. The broadly comical scenes were -acted with some spirit, and though it was quite apparent to Goldsmith -that none of the company believed that the play would be a success, yet -the members did not work, as they had worked hitherto, on the assumption -that its failure was inevitable. - -On the whole, he left the theatre with a lighter heart than he had had -since the first rehearsal. It was not until he returned to his chambers -to dress for the evening that he recollected he had not yet arrived at -a wholly satisfactory solution of the question which had kept him awake -during the greater part of the night. - -The words that Mary Horneck had spoken and the look there was in her -eyes at the same moment had yet to be explained. - -He seated himself at his desk with his hand to his head, his -elbow resting on a sheet of paper placed ready for his pen. After -half-an-hour's thought his hand went mechanically to his tray of pens. -Picking one up with a sigh, he began to write. - -Verse after verse appeared upon the paper--the love-song of a man who -feels that love is shut out from his life for evermore, but whose only -consolation in life is love. - -After an hour's fluent writing he laid down the pen and once again -rested his head on his hand. He had not the courage to read what he -had written. His desk was full of such verses, written with unaffected -sincerity when every one around him was engaged in composing verses -which were regarded worthy of admiration only in proportion as they were -artificial. - -He wondered, as he sat there, what would be the result of his sending to -Mary Horneck one of those poems which his heart had sung to her. Would -she be shocked at his presumption in venturing to love her? Would his -delightful relations with her and her family be changed when it became -known that he had not been satisfied with the friendship which he had -enjoyed for some years, but had hoped for a response to his deeper -feeling? - -His heart sank as he asked himself the question. - -"How is it that I seem ridiculous as a lover even to myself?" he -muttered. "Why has God laid upon me the curse of being a poet? A poet is -the chronicler of the loves of others, but it is thought madness should -he himself look for the consolation of love. It is the irony of life -that the man who is most capable of deep feeling should be forced to -live in loneliness. How the world would pity a great painter who was -struck blind--a great orator struck dumb! But the poet shut out from -love receives no pity--no pity on earth--no pity in heaven." - -He bowed his head down to his hands, and remained in that attitude for -an hour. Then he suddenly sprang to his feet. He caught up the paper -which he had just covered with verses, and was in the act of tearing it. -He did not tear the sheet quite across, however; it fell from his hand -to the desk and lay there, a slight current of air from a window making -the torn edge rise and fall as though it lay upon the beating heart of -a woman whose lover was beside her--that was what the quivering motion -suggested to the poet who watched it. - -"And I would have torn it in pieces and made a ruin of it!" he said. -"Alas! alas! for the poor torn, fluttering heart!" - -He dressed himself and went out, but to none of his accustomed haunts, -where he would have been certain to meet with some of the distinguished -men who were rejoiced to be regarded as his friends. In his mood he knew -that friendship could afford him no solace. - -He knew that to offer a man friendship when love is in his heart is like -giving a loaf of bread to one who is dying of thirst. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -For the next two days Goldsmith was fully occupied making such changes -in his play as were suggested to him in the course of the rehearsals. -The alterations were not radical, but he felt that they would be -improvements, and his judgment was rarely at fault. Moreover, he was -quick to perceive in what direction the strong points and the weak -points of the various members of the company lay, and he had no -hesitation in altering the dialogue so as to give them a better chance -of displaying their gifts. But not a line of what Colman called the -"pot-house scene" would he change, not a word of the scene where the -farm servants are being trained to wait at table would he allow to be -omitted. - -Colman declined to appear upon the stage during the rehearsals. He seems -to have spent all his spare time walking from coffee house to coffee -house talking about the play, its vulgarity, and the certainty of the -fate that was in store for it. It would have been impossible, had he -not adopted this remarkable course, for the people of the town to become -aware, as they certainly did, what were his ideas regarding the comedy. -When it was produced with extraordinary success, the papers held the -manager up to ridicule daily for his false predictions, and every day a -new set of lampoons came from the coffee-house wits on the same subject. - -But though the members of the company rehearsed the play loyally, some -of them were doubtful about the scene at the Three Pigeons, and did not -hesitate to express their fears to Goldsmith. They wondered if he -might not see his way to substitute for that scene one which could not -possibly be thought offensive by any section of playgoers. Was it not a -pity, one of them asked him, to run a chance of failure when it might be -so easily avoided? - -To all of these remonstrances he had but one answer: the play must stand -or fall by the scenes which were regarded as ungenteel. He had written -it, he said, for the sake of expressing his convictions through the -medium of these particular scenes, and he was content to accept the -verdict of the playgoers on the point in question. Why he had brought on -those scenes so early in the play was that the playgoers might know not -to expect a sentimental piece, but one that was meant to introduce a -natural school of comedy, with no pretence to be anything but a copy of -the manners of the day, with no fine writing in the dialogue, but only -the broadest and heartiest fun. - -"If the scenes are ungenteel," said he, "it is because nature is made -up of ungenteel things. Your modern gentleman is, to my mind, much less -interesting than your ungenteel person; and I believe that Tony Lumpkin -when admirably represented, as he will be by Mr. Quick, will be a -greater favourite with all who come to the playhouse than the finest -gentleman who ever uttered an artificial sentiment to fall exquisitely -on the ear of a boarding-school miss. So, by my faith! I'll not -interfere with his romping." - -He was fluent and decisive on this point, as he was on every other point -on which he had made up his mind. He only stammered and stuttered when -he did not know what he was about to say, and this frequently arose from -his over-sensitiveness in regard to the feelings of others--a disability -which could never be laid to the charge of Dr. Johnson, who was, in -consequence, delightfully fluent. - -On the evening of the third rehearsal of the play with the amended cast, -he went to Reynolds's house in Leicester Square to dine. He knew that -the Horneck family would be there, and he looked forward with some -degree of apprehension to his meeting with Mary. He felt that she might -think he looked for some explanation of her strange words spoken when he -was by her side at the Pantheon. But he wanted no explanation from her. -The words still lay as a burden upon his heart, but he felt that it -would pain her to attempt an explanation of them, and he was quite -content that matters should remain as they were. Whatever the words -might have meant, it was impossible that they could mean anything that -might cause him to think of her with less reverence and affection. - -He arrived early at Reynolds's house, but it did not take him long to -find out that he was not the first arrival. From the large drawingroom -there came to his ears the sound of laughter--such laughter as caused -him to remark to the servant-- - -"I perceive that Mr. Garrick is already in the house, Ralph." - -"Mr. Garrick has been here with the young ladies for the past half-hour, -sir," replied Ralph. - -"I shouldn't wonder if, on inquiry, it were found that he has been -entertaining them," said Goldsmith. - -Ralph, who knew perfectly well what was the exact form that the -entertainment assumed, busied himself hanging up the visitor's hat. - -The fact was that, for the previous quarter of an hour, Garrick had been -keeping Mary Horneck and her sister, and even Miss Reynolds, in fits -of laughter by his burlesque account of Goldsmith's interview with an -amanuensis who had been recommended to him with a view of saving him -much manual labour. Goldsmith had told him the story originally, and the -imagination of Garrick was quite equal to the duty of supplying all the -details necessary for the burlesque. He pretended to be the amanuensis -entering the room in which Goldsmith was supposed to be seated working -laboriously at his "Animated Nature." - -"Good morning, sir, good morning," he cried, pretending to take off -his gloves and shake the dust off them with the most perfect -self-possession, previous to laying them in his hat on a chair. "Now -mind you don't sit there, Dr. Goldsmith," he continued, raising a -warning finger. A little motion of his body, and the pert amanuensis, -with his mincing ways, was transformed into the awkward Goldsmith, shy -and self-conscious in the presence of a stranger, hastening with clumsy -politeness to get him a chair, and, of course, dragging forward the very -one on which the man had placed his hat. "Now, now, now, what are you -about?"--once more Garrick was the amanuensis. "Did not I warn you to -be careful about that chair, sir? Eh? I only told you not to sit in it? -Sir, that excuse is a mere quibble--a mere quibble. This must not occur -again, or I shall be forced to dismiss you, and where will you be then, -my good sir? Now to business, Doctor; but first you will tell your man -to make me a cup of chocolate--with milk, sir--plenty of milk, and two -lumps of sugar--plantation sugar, sir; I flatter myself that I am a -patriot--none of your foreign manufactures for me. And now that I think -on't, your laundress would do well to wash and iron my ruffles for -me; and mind you tell her to be careful of the one with the tear in -it"--this shouted half-way out of the door through which he had shown -Goldsmith hurrying with the ruffles and the order for the chocolate. -Then came the monologue of the amanuensis strolling about the room, -passing his sneering remarks at the furniture--opening a letter which -had just come by post, and reading it _sotto voce_. It was supposed to -be from Filby, the tailor, and to state that the field-marshal's uniform -in which Dr. Goldsmith meant to appear at the next masked ball at the -Haymarket would be ready in a few days, and to inquire if Dr. Goldsmith -had made up his mind as to the exact orders which he meant to -wear, ending with a compliment upon Dr. Goldsmith's good taste and -discrimination in choosing a costume which was so well adapted to -his physique, and a humble suggestion that it should be worn upon the -occasion of the first performance of the new comedy, when the writer -hoped no objection would be raised to the hanging of a board in front of -the author's box with "Made by Filby" printed on it. - -Garrick's reading of the imaginary letter, stumbling over certain -words--giving an odd turn and a ludicrous misreading to a phrase here -and there, and finally his turning over the letter and mumbling a -postscript alluding to the length of time that had passed since the -writer had received a payment on account, could not have been surpassed. -The effect of the comedy upon the people in the room was immeasurably -heightened by the entrance of Goldsmith in the flesh, when Garrick, -as the amanuensis, immediately walked to him gravely with the scrap of -paper which had done duty as the letter, in his hand, asking him if what -was written there in black and white about the field-marshal's uniform -was correct, and if he meant to agree to Filby's request to wear it on -the first night of the comedy. - -Goldsmith perceived that Garrick was giving an example of the impromptu -entertainment in which he delighted, and at once entered into the spirit -of the scene, saying-"Why, yes, sir; I have come to the conclusion that -more credit should be given to a man who has brought to a successful -issue a campaign against the prejudices and stupidities of the manager -of a playhouse than to the generalissimo of an army in the field, so why -should not I wear a field-marshal's uniform, sir?" - -The laugh was against Garrick, which pleased him greatly, for he knew -that Goldsmith would feel that he was sharing in the entertainment, -and would not regard it as a burlesque upon himself personally. In -an instant, however, the actor had ceased to be the supercilious -amanuensis, and became David Garrick, crying-- - -"Nay, sir, you are out of the play altogether. You are presuming to -reply to the amanuensis, which, I need scarcely tell a gentleman of -your experience, is a preposterous idea, and out of all consistency with -nature." - -Goldsmith had shaken hands with all his friends, and being quite elated -at the success of his reply to the brilliant Garrick, did not mind much -what might follow. - -At what did actually follow Goldsmith laughed as heartily as any one in -the room. - -"Come, sir," said the amanuensis, "we have no time to waste over empty -civilities. We have our 'Animated Nature' to proceed with; we -cannot keep the world waiting any longer; it matters not about the -booksellers,'t is the world we think of. What is this?"--picking up an -imaginary paper--"'The derivation of the name of the elephant has taxed -the ingeniousness of many able writers, but there can be no doubt in -the mind of any one who has seen that noble creature, as I have, in -its native woods, careering nimbly from branch to branch of the largest -trees in search of the butterflies, which form its sole food, that -the name elephant is but a corruption of elegant, the movements of the -animal being as singularly graceful as its shape is in accordance with -all accepted ideas of symmetry.' Sir, this is mighty fine, but your -style lacks animation. A writer on 'Animated Nature' should be himself -both animated and natural, as one who translates Buffon should himself -be a buffoon." - -In this strain of nonsense Garrick went on for the next ten minutes, -leading up to a simulated dispute between Goldsmith and his amanuensis -as to whether a dog lived on land or water. The dispute waxed warmer -and warmer, until at last blows were exchanged and the amanuensis kicked -Goldsmith through the door and down the stairs. The bumping of the -imaginary man from step to step was heard in the drawing-room, and then -the amanuensis entered, smiling and rubbing his hands as he remarked-- - -"The impertinent fellow! To presume to dictate to his amanuensis! -Lord! what's the world coming to when a common literary man presumes to -dictate to his amanuensis?" - -Such buffoonery was what Garrick loved. At Dr. Burney's new house, -around the corner in St. Martin's street, he used to keep the household -in roars of laughter--as one delightful member of the household has -recorded--over his burlesque auctions of books, and his imitations of -Dr. Johnson. - -"And all this," said Goldsmith, "came out of the paltry story which I -told him of how I hired an amanuensis, but found myself dumb the moment -he sat down to work, so that, after making a number of excuses which I -knew he saw through, I found it to my advantage to give the man a guinea -and send him away." - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -Goldsmith was delighted to find that the Jessamy Bride seemed free from -care. He had gone to Reynolds' in fear and trembling lest he should hear -that she was unable to join the party; but now he found her in as merry -a mood as he had ever known her to be in. He was seated by her side at -dinner, and he was glad to find that there was upon her no trace of the -mysterious mood that had spoiled his pleasure at the Pantheon. - -She had, of course, heard of the troubles at the playhouse, and she told -him that nothing would induce her ever to speak to Colman, though -she said that she and Little Comedy, when they had first heard of the -intention of the manager to withdraw the piece, had resolved to go -together to the theatre and demand its immediate production on the -finest scale possible. - -"There's still great need for some one who will be able to influence -Colman in that respect," said Goldsmith. "Only to-day, when I ventured -to talk of a fresh scene being painted, He told me that it was not -his intention to proceed to such expense for a piece that would not be -played for longer than a small portion of one evening." - -"The monster!" cried the girl. "I should like to talk to him as I -feel about this. What, is he mad enough to expect that playgoers will -tolerate his wretched old scenery in a new comedy? Oh, clearly he needs -some one to be near him who will speak plainly to him and tell him -how contemptible he is. Your friend Dr. Johnson should go to him. -The occasion is one that demands the powers of a man who has a whole -dictionary at his back--yes, Dr. Johnson should go to him and threaten -that if he does not behave handsomely he will, in his next edition of -the Dictionary, define a scoundrel as a playhouse manager who keeps -an author in suspense for months, and then produces his comedy so -ungenerously as to make its failure a certainty. But, no, your play -will be the greater success on account of its having to overcome all the -obstacles which Mr. Colman has placed in its way." - -"I know, dear child, that if it depended on your good will it would be -the greatest success of the century," said he. - -"And so it will be--oh, it must be! Little Comedy and I will--oh, we -shall insist on the playgoers liking it! We will sit in front of a box -and lead all the applause, and we will, besides, keep stern eyes fixed -upon any one who may have the bad taste to decline to follow us." - -"You are kindness itself, my dear; and meanwhile, if you would come to -the remaining rehearsals, and spend all your spare time thinking out a -suitable name for the play you would be conferring an additional favour -upon an ill-treated author." - -"I will do both, and it will be strange if I do not succeed in at least -one of the two enterprises--the first being the changing of the mistakes -of a manager into the success of a night, and the second the changing of -the 'Mistakes of a Night' into the success of a manager--ay, and of an -author as well." - -"Admirably spoke!" cried the author. "I have a mind to let the name 'The -Mistakes of a Night' stand, you have made such a pretty play upon it." - -"No, no; that is not the kind of play to fill the theatre," said she. -"Oh, do not be afraid; it will be very strange if between us we cannot -hit upon a title that will deserve, if not a coronet, at least a wreath -of laurel." Sir Joshua, who was sitting at the head of the table, not -far away, had put up his ear-trumpet between the courses, and caught a -word or two of the girl's sentence. - -"I presume that you are still discussing the great title question," said -he. "You need not do so. Have I not given you my assurance that 'The -Belle's Stratagem' is the best name that the play could receive?" - -"Nay, that title Dr. Goldsmith holds to be one of the 'mistakes of a -Knight!'" said Mr. Bunbury in a low tone. He delighted in a pun, but did -not like too many people to hear him make one. - -"'The Belle's Stratagem' I hold to be a good enough title until we get -a better," said Goldsmith. "I have confidence in the ingenuity of Miss -Horneck to discover the better one." - -"Nay, I protest if you do not take my title I shall go to the playhouse -and damn the play," said Reynolds. "I have given it its proper name, -and if it appears in public under any other it will have earned the -reprobation of all honest folk who detest an _alias_." - -"Then that name shall stand," said Goldsmith. "I give you my word, Sir -Joshua, I would rather see my play succeed under your title than have -it damned under a title given to it by the next best man to you in -England." - -"That is very well said, indeed," remarked Sir Joshua. "It gives -evidence of a certain generosity of feeling on your part which all -should respect." - -Miss Kauffman, who sat at Sir Joshua's right, smiled a trifle vaguely, -for she had not quite understood the drift of Goldsmith's phrase, -but from the other end of the table there came quite an outburst of -laughter. Garrick sat there with Mrs. Bunbury and Baretti, to whom he -was telling an imaginary story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room. - -Dr. Burney, who sat at the other side of the table, had ventured to -question the likelihood of an audience's apprehending the humour of the -story at which Diggory had only hinted. He wondered if the story should -not be told for the benefit of the playgoers. - -A gentleman whom Bunbury had brought to dinner--his name was Colonel -Gwyn, and it was known that he was a great admirer of Mary Horneck--took -up the question quite seriously. - -"For my part," he said, "I admit frankly that I have never heard the -story of Grouse in the gun-room." - -"Is it possible, sir?" cried Garrick. "What, you mean to say that you -are not familiar with the reply of Ould Grouse to the young woman who -asked him how he found his way into the gun-room when the door was -locked--that about every gun having a lock, and so forth?" - -"No, sir," cried Colonel Gwyn. "I had no idea that the story was a -familiar one. It seems interesting, too." - -"Oh, 't is amazingly interesting," said Garrick. "But you are an -army man, Colonel Gwyn; you have heard it frequently told over the -mess-table." - -"I protest, sir," said Colonel Gwyn, "I know so little about it that -I fancied Ould Grouse was the name of a dog--I have myself known of -sporting dogs called Grouse." - -"Oh, Colonel, you surprise me," cried Garrick. "Ould Grouse a dog! Pray -do not hint so much to Dr. Goldsmith. He is a very sensitive man, -and would feel greatly hurt by such a suggestion. I believe that Dr. -Goldsmith was an intimate friend of Ould Grouse and felt his death -severely." - -"Then he is dead?" said Gwyn. "That, sir, gives a melancholy interest to -the narrative." - -"A particularly pathetic interest, sir," said Garrick, shaking his head. -"I was not among his intimates, Colonel Gwyn, but when I reflect that -that dear simple-minded old soul is gone from us--that the gunroom door -is now open, but that within there is silence--no sound of the dear old -feet that were wont to patter and potter--you will pardon my emotion, -madam"--He turned with streaming eyes to Miss Reynolds, who forthwith -became sympathetically affected, her voice breaking as she endeavoured -to assure Garrick that his emotion, so far from requiring an apology, -did him honour. Bunbury, who was ready to roar, could not do so now -without seeming to laugh at the feeling of his hostess, and his wife had -too high an appreciation of comedy not to be able to keep her face -perfectly grave, while a sob or two that he seemed quite unable to -suppress came from the napkin which Garrick held up to his face. Baretti -said something in Italian to Dr. Burney across the table, about the -melancholy nature of the party, and then Garrick dropped his napkin, -saying-- - -"'T is selfish to repine, and he himself--dear old soul!--would be the -last to countenance a show of melancholy; for, as his remarks in the -gun-room testify, Colonel Gwyn, he had a fine sense of humour. I fancy -I see him, the broad smile lighting up his homely features, as he -delivered that sly thrust at his questioner, for it is perfectly well -known, Colonel, that so far as poaching was concerned the other man had -no particular character in the neighbourhood." - -"Oh, Grouse was a poacher, then," said the Colonel. - -"Well, if the truth must be told--but no, the man is dead and gone now," -cried Garrick, "and it is more generous only to remember, as we all -do, the nimbleness of his wit--the genial mirth which ran through the -gun-room after that famous sally of his. It seems that honest homely fun -is dying out in England; the country stands in need of an Ould Grouse -or two just now, and let us hope that when the story of that quiet, yet -thoroughly jovial, remark of his in the gun-room comes to be told in the -comedy, there will be a revival of the good old days when men were not -afraid to joke, sir, and----" - -"But so far as I can gather from what Mrs. Bunbury, who heard the comedy -read, has told me, the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room is never -actually narrated, but only hinted at," said Gwyn. - -"That makes little matter, sir," said Garrick. "The untold story of Ould -Grouse in the gun-room will be more heartily laughed at during the next -year or two than the best story of which every detail is given." - -"At any rate, Colonel Gwyn," said Mrs. Bunbury, "after the pains which -Mr. Garrick has taken to acquaint you with the amplest particulars of -the story you cannot in future profess to be unacquainted with it." -Colonel Gwyn looked puzzled. - -"I protest, madam," said he, "that up to the present--ah! I fear that -the very familiarity of Mr. Garrick with the story has caused him to -be led to take too much for granted. I do not question the humour, mind -you--I fancy that I am as quick as most men to see a joke, but----" - -This was too much for Bunbury and Burney. They both roared with -laughter, which increased in volume as the puzzled look upon Colonel -Gwyn's face was taken up by Garrick, as he glanced first at Burney and -then at Little Comedy's husband. Poor Miss Reynolds, who could never -quite make out what was going on around her in that strange household -where she had been thrown by an ironical fate, looked gravely at the -ultra-grave Garrick, and then smiled artificially at Dr. Burney with -a view of assuring him that she understood perfectly how he came to be -merry. - -"Colonel Gwyn," said Garrick, "these gentlemen seem to have their own -reasons for merriment, but I think you and I can better discriminate -when to laugh and when to refrain from laughter. And yet--ah, I perceive -they are recalling the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, and that, -sure enough, would convulse an Egyptian mummy or a statue of Nestor; and -the funny part of the business is yet to come, for up to the present I -don't believe that I told you that the man had actually been married for -some years." - -He laughed so heartily that Colonel Gwyn could not refrain from joining -in, though his laughter was a good deal less hearty than that of any of -the others who had enjoyed Garrick's whimsical fun. - -When the men were left alone at the table, there was some little -embarrassment owing to the deficiency of glass, for Sir Joshua, who -was hospitable to a fault, keeping an open house and dining his friends -every evening, could never be persuaded to replace the glass which -chanced to be broken. Garrick made an excuse of the shortness of -port-glasses at his end of the table to move up beside Goldsmith, whom -he cheered by telling him that he had already given a lesson to Woodward -regarding the speaking of the prologue which he, Garrick, had written -for the comedy. He said he believed Woodward would repeat the lines very -effectively. When Goldsmith mentioned that Colman declined to have a -single scene painted for the production, both Sir Joshua and Garrick -were indignant. - -"You would have done well to leave the piece in my hands, Noll," said -the latter, alluding to the circumstance of Goldsmith's having sent the -play to him on Colman's first refusal to produce it. - -"Ah, Davy, my friend," Goldsmith replied, "I feel more at my ease in -reflecting that in another week I shall know the worst--or the best. If -the play had remained with you I should feel like a condemned criminal -for the next year or two." - -In the drawing-room that evening Garrick and Goldsmith got up the -entertainment, which was possibly the most diverting one ever seen in a -room. - -Goldsmith sat on Garrick's knees with a table-cloth drawn over his head -and body, leaving his arms only exposed. Garrick then began reciting -long sentimental soliloquies from certain plays, which Goldsmith was -supposed to illustrate by his gestures. The form of the entertainment -has survived, and sometimes by chance it becomes humourous. But with -Garrick repeating the lines and thrilling his audience by his marvellous -change of expression as no audience has since been thrilled, and with -Goldsmith burlesquing with inappropriately extravagant and wholly -amusing gestures the passionate deliverances, it can easily be believed -that Sir Joshua's guests were convulsed. - -After some time of this division of labour, the position of the two -playmates was reversed. It was Garrick who sat on Goldsmith's knees and -did the gesticulating, while the poet attempted to deliver his lines -after the manner of the player. The effect was even more ludicrous -than that of the previous combination; and then, in the middle of an -affecting passage from Addison's "Cato," Goldsmith began to sing -the song which he had been compelled to omit from the part of Miss -Hardcastle, owing to Mrs. Bulkley's not being a singer. Of course -Garrick's gestures during the delivery of the song were marvellously -ingenious, and an additional element of attraction was introduced by -Dr. Burney, who hastily seated himself at the pianoforte and interwove a -medley accompaniment, introducing all the airs then popular, but without -prejudice to the harmonies of the accompaniment. - -Reynolds stood by the side of his friend, Miss Kauffman, and when this -marvellous fooling had come to an end, except for the extra diversion -caused by Garrick's declining to leave Goldsmith's knees--he begged the -lady to favour the company with an Italian song which she was accustomed -to sing to the accompaniment of a guitar. But Miss Angelica shook her -head. - -"Pray add your entreaties to mine, Miss Horneck," said Sir Joshua to -the Jessamy Bride. "Entreat our Angel of Art to give us the pleasure of -hearing her sing." - -Miss Horneck rose, and made an elaborate curtsey before the smiling -Angelica. - -"Oh, Madame Angel, live forever!" she cried. "Will your Majesty -condescend to let us hear your angelic voice? You have already deigned -to captivate our souls by the exercise of one art; will you now stoop to -conquer our savage hearts by the exercise of another?" - -A sudden cry startled the company, and at the same instant Garrick was -thrown on his hands and knees on the floor by the act of Goldsmith's -springing to his feet. - -"By the Lord, I've got it!" shouted Goldsmith. "The Jessamy Bride has -given it to me, as I knew she would--the title of my comedy--she has -just said it: '_She Stoops to Conquer_.'" - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -As a matter of course, Colman objected to the new title when Goldsmith -communicated it to him the next day; but the latter was firm on this -particular point. He had given the play its name, he said, and he would -not alter it now on any consideration. - -Colman once again shrugged his shoulders. The production of the play -gave him so much practice at shrugging, Goldsmith expressed his regret -at not being able to introduce the part of a Frenchman, which he said he -believed the manager would play to perfection. - -But when Johnson, who attended the rehearsal with Miss Reynolds, the -whole Horneck family, Cradock and Murphy, asserted, as he did with his -customary emphasis, that no better title than "She Stoops to Conquer" -could be found for the comedy, Colman made no further objections, and -the rehearsal was proceeded with. - -"Nay, sir," cried Johnson, when Goldsmith was leaving his party in a box -in order to go upon the stage, "Nay, sir, you shall not desert us. You -must stay by us to let us know when the jests are spoken, so that we -may be fully qualified to laugh at the right moments when the theatre is -filled. Why, Goldy, you would not leave us to our own resources?" - -"I will be the Lieutenant Cook of the comedy, Dr. Johnson," said Miss -Horneck--Lieutenant Cook and his discoveries constituted the chief -topics of the hour. "I believe that I know so much of the dialogue as -will enable me to pilot you, not merely to the Otaheite of a jest, but -to a whole archipelago of wit." - -"Otaheite is a name of good omen," said Cradock. "It is suggestive of -palms, and '_palmam qui meruit ferat._'" - -"Sir," said Johnson, "you should know better than to quote Latin in the -presence of ladies. Though your remark is not quite so bad as I expected -it would be, yet let me tell you, sir, that unless the wit in the comedy -is a good deal livelier than yours, it will have a poor chance with the -playgoers." - -"Oh, sir, Dr. Goldsmith's wit is greatly superior to mine," laughed -Cradock. "Otherwise it would be my comedy that would be in rehearsal, -and Dr. Goldsmith would be merely on a level with us who constitute his -critics." - -Goldsmith had gone on the stage and the rehearsal had begun, so that -Johnson was enabled, by pretending to give all his attention to the -opening dialogue, to hide his lack of an effective reply to Cradock for -his insolence in suggesting that they were both on the same level as -critics. - -Before Shuter, as Old Hardcastle, had more than begun to drill his -servants, the mighty laughter of Dr. Johnson was shaking the box. Every -outburst was like the exploding of a bomb, or, as Cradock put it, the -broadside coming from the carronade of a three-decker. He had laughed -and applauded during the scene at the Three Pigeons--especially the -satirical sallies directed against the sentimentalists--but it was the -drilling of the servants that excited him most, and he inquired of Miss -Horneck-- - -"Pray what is the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, my dear?" - -When the members of the company learned that it was the great Dr. Samuel -Johnson who was roaring with laughter in the box, they were as much -amazed as they were encouraged. Colman, who had come upon the stage -out of compliment to Johnson, feeling that his position as an authority -regarding the elements of diversion in a play was being undermined in -the estimation of his company, remarked-- - -"Your friend Dr. Johnson will be a friend indeed if he comes in as -generous a mood to the first representation. I only hope that the -playgoers will not resent his attempt to instruct them on the subject of -your wit." - -"I don't think that there is any one alive who will venture to resent -the instruction of Dr. Johnson," said Goldsmith quietly. - -The result of this rehearsal and of the three rehearsals that followed -it during the week, was more than encouraging to the actors, and it -became understood that Woodward and Gentleman Smith were ready to admit -their regret at having relinquished the parts for which they had been -originally cast. The former had asked to be permitted to speak the -prologue, which Garrick had written, and, upon which, as he had told -Goldsmith, he had already given a hint or two to Woodward. - -The difficulty of the epilogue, however, still remained. The one which -Murphy had written for Mrs. Bulkley was objected to by Miss Catley, who -threatened to leave the company if Mrs. Bulkley, who had been merely -thrust forward to take Mrs. Abington's place, were entrusted with the -epilogue; and, when Cradock wrote another for Miss Catley, Mrs. Bulkley -declared that if Miss Catley were allowed the distinction which she -herself had a right to claim, she would leave the theatre. Goldsmith's -ingenuity suggested the writing of an epilogue in which both the ladies -were presented in their true characters as quarreling on the subject; -but Colman placed his veto upon this idea and also upon another simple -epilogue which the author had written. Only on the day preceding -the first performance did Goldsmith produce the epilogue which was -eventually spoken by Mrs. Bulkley. - -"It seems to me to be a pity to waste so much time discussing an -epilogue which will never be spoke," sneered Colman when the last -difficulties had been smoothed over. - -Goldsmith walked away without another word, and joined his party, -consisting of Johnson, Reynolds, Miss Reynolds, the Bunburys and Mary -Horneck. Now that he had done all his work connected with the production -of the play--when he had not allowed himself to be overcome by the -niggardly behaviour of the manager in declining to spend a single penny -either upon the dresses or the scenery, that parting sneer of Colman's -almost caused him to break down. - -Mary Horneck perceived this, and hastened to say something kind to him. -She knew so well what would be truly encouraging to him that she did not -hesitate for a moment. - -"I am glad I am not going to the theatre to-night," she said; "my dress -would be ruined." - -He tried to smile as he asked her for an explanation. - -"Why, surely you heard the way the cleaners were laughing at the humour -of the play," she cried. "Oh, yes, all the cleaners dropped their -dusters, and stood around the boxes in fits of laughter. I overheard one -of the candle-snuffers say that no play he had seen rehearsed for years -contained such wit as yours. I also overheard another man cursing Mr. -Col-man for a curmudgeon." - -"You did? Thank God for that; 't is a great responsibility off my mind," -said Goldsmith. "Oh, my dear Jessamy Bride, I know how kind you are, and -I only hope that your god-child will turn out a credit to me." - -"It is not merely your credit that is involved in the success of this -play, sir," said Johnson. "The credit of your friends, who insisted on -Colman's taking the play, is also at stake." - -"And above all," said Reynolds pleasantly, "the play must be a success -in order to put Colman in the wrong." - -"That is the best reason that could be advanced why its success is -important to us all," said Mary. "It would never do for Colman to be in -the right. Oh, we need live in no trepidation; all our credits will be -saved by Monday night." - -"I wonder if any unworthy man ever had so many worthy friends," said -Goldsmith. "I am overcome by their kindness, and overwhelmed with a -sense of my own unworthiness." - -"You will have another thousand friends by Monday night, sir," cried -Johnson. "Your true friend, sir, is the friend who pays for his seat to -hear your play." - -"I always held that the best definition of a true friend is the man who, -when you are in the hands of bailiffs, comes to see you, but takes care -to send a guinea in advance," said Goldsmith, and every one present knew -that he alluded to the occasion upon which he had been befriended by -Johnson on the day that "The Vicar of Wakefield" was sold. - -"And now," said Reynolds, "I have to prove how certain we are of the -future of your piece by asking you to join us at dinner on Monday -previous to the performance." - -"Commonplace people would invite you to supper, sir, to celebrate the -success of the play," said Johnson. "To proffer such an invitation would -be to admit that we were only convinced of your worth after the public -had attested to it in the most practical way. But we, Dr. Goldsmith, who -know your worth, and have known it all these years, wish to show that -our esteem remains independent of the verdict of the public. On Monday -night, sir, you will find a thousand people who will esteem it an honour -to have you to sup with them; but on Monday afternoon you will dine with -us." - -"You not only mean better than any other man, sir, you express what -you mean better," said Goldsmith. "A compliment is doubly a compliment -coming from Dr. Johnson." - -He was quite overcome, and, observing this, Reynolds and Mary Horneck -walked away together, leaving him to compose himself under the shelter -of a somewhat protracted analysis by Dr. Johnson of the character -of Young Marlow. In the course of a quarter of an hour Goldsmith had -sufficiently recovered to be able to perceive for the first time how -remarkable a character he had created. - -On Monday George Steevens called for Goldsmith to accompany him to the -St. James's coffee-house, where the dinner was to take place. He found -the author giving the finishing touches to his toilet, his coat being a -salmon-pink in tint, and his waistcoat a pale yellow, embroidered -with silver. Filby's bills (unpaid, alas!) prevent one from making any -mistake on this point. - -"Heavens!" cried the visitor. "Have you forgot that you cannot wear -colours?" - -"Why not?" asked Goldsmith. "Because Woodward is to appear in mourning -to speak the prologue, is that any reason why the author of the comedy -should also be in black?" - -"Nay," said Steevens, "that is not the reason. How is it possible that -you forget the Court is in mourning for the King of Sardinia? That coat -of yours is a splendid one, I allow, but if you were to appear in it in -front of your box a very bad impression would be produced. I suppose you -hope that the King will command a performance." - -Goldsmith's face fell. He looked at the reflection of the gorgeous -garments in a mirror and sighed. He had a great weakness for colour in -dress. At last he took off the coat and gave another fond look at it -before throwing it over the back of a chair. - -"It was an inspiration on your part to come for me, my dear friend," -said he. "I would not for a good deal have made such a mistake." - -He reappeared in a few moments in a suit of sober grey, and drove with -his friend to the coffee-house, where the party, consisting of Johnson, -Reynolds, Edmund and Richard Burke, and Caleb Whitefoord, had already -assembled. - -It soon became plain that Goldsmith was extremely nervous. He shook -hands twice with Richard Burke and asked him if he had heard that the -King of Sardinia was dead, adding that it was a constant matter for -regret with him that he had not visited Sardinia when on his travels. He -expressed a hope that the death of the King of Sardinia would not have -so depressing an effect upon playgoers generally as to prejudice their -enjoyment of his comedy. - -Edmund Burke, understanding his mood, assured him gravely that he did -not think one should be apprehensive on this score, adding that it would -be quite possible to overestimate the poignancy of the grief which the -frequenters of the pit were likely to feel at so melancholy but, after -all, so inevitable an occurrence as the decease of a potentate whose -name they had probably never heard. - -Goldsmith shook his head doubtfully, and said he would try and hope for -the best, but still.... - -Then he hastened to Steevens, who was laughing heartily at a pun of -Whitefoord's, and said he was certain that neither of them could have -heard that the King of Sardinia was dead, or they would moderate their -merriment. - -The dinner was a dismal failure, so far as the guest of the party was -concerned. He was unable to swallow a morsel, so parched had his throat -become through sheer nervousness, and he could not be induced to partake -of more than a single glass of wine. He was evermore glancing at the -clock and expressing a hope that the dinner would be over in good time -to allow of their driving comfortably to the theatre. - -Dr. Johnson was at first greatly concerned on learning from Reynolds -that Goldsmith was eating nothing; but when Goldsmith, in his -nervousness, began to boast of the fine dinners of which he had partaken -at Lord Clare's house, and of the splendour of the banquets which took -place daily in the common hall of Trinity College, Dublin, Johnson gave -all his attention to his own plate, and addressed no further word to -him--not even to remind him, as he described the glories of Trinity -College to his friend Burke, that Burke had been at the college with -him. - -While there was still plenty of time to spare even for walking to the -theatre, Goldsmith left the room hastily, explaining elaborately that he -had forgotten to brush his hat before leaving his chambers, and he meant -to have the omission repaired without delay. - -He never returned. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -The party remained in the room for some time, and when at last a waiter -from the bar was sent for and requested to tell Dr. Goldsmith, who was -having his hat brushed, that his party were ready to leave the house, -the man stated that Dr. Goldsmith had left some time ago, hurrying in -the direction of Pall Mall. - -"Psha! sir," said Johnson to Burke, "Dr. Goldsmith is little better than -a fool." Johnson did not know what such nervousness as Goldsmith's was. - -"Yes," said Burke, "Dr. Goldsmith is, I suppose, the greatest fool that -ever wrote the best poem of a century, the best novel of a century, and -let us hope that, after the lapse of a few hours, I may be able to say -the best comedy of a century." - -"I suppose we may take it for granted that he has gone to the -playhouse?" said Richard Burke. - -"It is not wise to take anything for granted so far as Goldsmith is -concerned," said Steevens. "I think that the best course we can adopt -is for some of us to go to the playhouse without delay. The play must be -looked after; but for myself I mean to look after the author. Gentlemen, -Oliver Goldsmith needs to be looked after carefully. No one knows what a -burden he has been forced to bear during the past month." - -"You think it is actually possible that he has not preceded us to the -playhouse, sir," said Johnson. - -"If I know anything of him, sir," said Steevens, "the playhouse is just -the place which he would most persistently avoid." There was a long -pause before Johnson said in his weightiest manner: - -"Sir, we are all his friends; we hold you responsible for his safety." - -"That is very kind of you, sir," replied Steevens. "But you may rest -assured that I will do my best to find him, wherever he may be." - -While the rest of the party set out for Covent Garden Theatre, Steevens -hurried off in the opposite direction. He felt that he understood -Goldsmith's mood. He believed that he would come upon him sitting -alone in some little-frequented coffee house brooding over the probable -failure of his play. The cheerful optimism of the man, which enabled -him to hold out against Colman and his sneers, would, he was convinced, -suffer a relapse when there was no urgent reason for its exercise, and -his naturally sanguine temperament would at this critical hour of his -life give place to a brooding melancholy, making it impossible for him -to put in an appearance at the theatre, and driving him far from his -friends. Steevens actually made up his mind that if he failed to find -Goldsmith during the next hour or two, he would seek him at his cottage -on the Edgware road. - -He went on foot from coffee house to coffee house--from Jack's, in Dean -street, to the Old Bell, in Westminster--but he failed to discover his -friend in one of them. An hour and a half he spent in this way; and all -this time roars of laughter from every part of the playhouse--except -the one box that held Cumberland and his friends--were greeting the -brilliant dialogue, the natural characterisation, and the admirably -contrived situations in the best comedy that a century of brilliant -authors had witnessed. - -The scene comes before one with all the vividness that many able pens -have imparted to a description of its details. We see the enormous -figure of Dr. Johnson leaning far out of the box nearest the stage, with -a hand behind his ear, so as to lose no word spoken on the stage; and -as phrase after phrase, sparkling with wit, quivering with humour and -vivified with numbers of allusions to the events of the hour, is spoken, -he seems to shake the theatre with his laughter. - -Reynolds is in the opposite corner, his ear-trumpet resting on the ledge -of the box, his face smiling thoughtfully; and between these two -notable figures Miss Reynolds is seated bolt upright, and looking rather -frightened as the people in the pit look up now and again at the box. - -Baretti is in the next box with Angelica Kauffman, Dr. Burney and little -Miss Fanny Burney, destined in a year or two to become for a time the -most notable woman in England. On the other side of the house Lord Clare -occupies a box with his charming tom-boy daughter, who is convulsed with -laughter as she hears reference made in the dialogue to the trick which -she once played upon the wig of her dear friend the author. General -Oglethorpe, who is beside her, holds up his finger in mock reproof, and -Lord Camden, standing behind his chair, looks as if he regretted having -lost the opportunity of continuing his acquaintance with an author whom -every one is so highly honouring at the moment. - -Cumberland and his friends are in a lower box, "looking glum," as one -witness asserts, though a good many years later Cumberland boasted of -having contributed in so marked a way to the applause as to call forth -the resentment of the pit. - -In the next box Hugh Kelly, whose most noted success at Drury Lane a few -years previously eclipsed Goldsmith's "Good-Natured Man" at "the other -house," sits by the side of Macpherson, the rhapsodist who invented -"Ossian." He glares at Dr. Johnson, who had no hesitation in calling him -an impostor. - -The Burkes, Edmund and Richard, are in a box with Mrs. Horneck and her -younger daughter, who follows breathlessly the words with which she has -for long been familiar, and at every shout of laughter that comes from -the pit she is moved almost to tears. She is quite unaware of the fact -that Colonel Gwyn, sitting alone in another part of the house, has his -eyes fixed upon her--earnestly, affectionately. Her brother and his -_fiancée_ are in a box with the Bunburys; and in the most important -box in the house Mrs. Thrale sits well forward, so that all eyes may -be gratified by beholding her. It does not so much matter about her -husband, who once thought that the fact of his being the proprietor of a -concern whose operations represented the potentialities of wealth -beyond the dreams of avarice entitled him to play upon the mother of the -Gunnings when she first came to London the most contemptible hoax ever -recorded to the eternal discredit of a man. The Duchess of Argyll, -mindful of that trick which the cleverness of her mother turned to so -good account, does not condescend to notice from her box, where she sits -with Lady Betty Hamilton, either the brewer or his pushing wife, though -she is acquainted with old General Paoli, whom the latter is patronising -between the acts. - -What a play! What spectators! - -We listen to the one year by year with the same delight that it brought -to those who heard it this night for the first time; and we look with -delight at the faces of the notable spectators which the brush of the -little man with the ear-trumpet in Johnson's box has made immortal. - -Those two men in that box were the means of conferring immortality -upon their century. Incomparable Johnson, who chose Boswell to be his -biographer! Incomparable Reynolds, who, on innumerable canvases, handed -down to the next century all the grace and distinction of his own! - -And all this time Oliver Goldsmith is pacing with bent head and hands -nervously clasped behind him, backward and forward, the broad walk in -St. James's Park. - -Steevens came upon him there after spending nearly two hours searching -for him. - -"Don't speak, man, for God's sake," cried Oliver. "'Tis not so dark but -that I can see disaster imprinted on your face. You come to tell me that -the comedy is ended--that the curtain was obliged to be rung down in the -middle of an act. You come to tell me that my comedy of life is ended." - -"Not I," said Steevens. "I have not been at the playhouse yet. Why, man, -what can be the matter with you? Why did you leave us in the lurch at -the coffee house?" - -"I don't know what you speak of," said Goldsmith. "But I beg of you to -hasten to the playhouse and carry me the news of the play--don't fear to -tell me the worst; I have been in the world of letters for nearly twenty -years; I am not easily dismayed." - -"My dear friend," said Steevens, "I have no intention of going to -the playhouse unless you are in my company--I promised so much to Dr. -Johnson. What, man, have you no consideration for your friends, leaving -yourself out of the question? Have you no consideration for your art, -sir?" - -"What do you mean by that?" - -"I mean that perhaps while you are walking here some question may arise -on the stage that you, and you only, can decide--are you willing to -allow the future of your comedy to depend upon the decision of Colman, -who is not the man to let pass a chance of proving himself to be a true -prophet? Come, sir, you have shown yourself to be a man, and a great -man, too, before to-night. Why should your courage fail you now when I -am convinced you are on the eve of achieving a splendid success?" - -"It shall not--it shall not!" cried Goldsmith after a short pause. -"I'll not give in should the worst come to the worst. I feel that I -have something of a man in me still. The years that I have spent in -this battle have not crushed me into the earth. I'll go with you, my -friend--I'll go with you. Heaven grant that I may yet be in time to -avert disaster." - -They hurried together to Charing Cross, where a hackney coach was -obtainable. All the time it was lumbering along the uneven streets to -Covent Garden, Goldsmith was talking excitedly about the likelihood of -the play being wrecked through Colman's taking advantage of his absence -to insist on a scene being omitted--or, perhaps, a whole act; and -nothing that Steevens could say to comfort him had any effect. - -When the vehicle turned the corner into Covent Garden he craned his -head out of the window and declared that the people were leaving the -playhouse--that his worst fears were realized. - -"Nonsense!" cried Steevens, who had put his head out of the other -window. "The people you see are only the footmen and linkmen incidental -to any performance. What, man, would the coachmen beside us be dozing on -their boxes if they were waiting to be called? No, my friend, the comedy -has yet to be damned." - -When they got out of the coach Goldsmith hastened round to the stage -door, looking into the faces of the people who were lounging around, as -if to see in each of them the fate of his play written. He reached the -back of the stage and made for where Colman was standing, just as Quick, -in the part of Tony Lumpkin, was telling Mrs. Hardcastle that he had -driven her forty miles from her own house, when all the time she was -within twenty yards of it. In a moment he perceived that the lights -were far too strong; unless Mrs. Hardcastle was blind she could not have -failed to recognise the familiar features of the scene. The next moment -there came a hiss--a solitary hiss from the boxes. - -"What's that, Mr. Colman?" whispered the excited author. - -"Psha! sir," said Colman brutally. "Why trouble yourself about a squib -when we have all been sitting on a barrel of gunpowder these two hours?" - -"That's a lie," said Shuter, who was in the act of going on the stage as -Mr. Hardcastle. "'Tis a lie, Dr. Goldsmith. The success of your play was -assured from the first." - -"By God! Mr. Colman, if it is a lie I'll never look on you as a friend -while I live!" said Goldsmith. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -It was a lie, and surely the most cruel and most objectless lie ever -uttered. Goldsmith was soon made aware of this. The laughter that -followed Tony Lumpkin's pretending to his mother that Mr. Hard-castle -was a highwayman was not the laugh of playgoers who have endured four -acts of a dull play; it was the laugh of people who have been in a good -humour for over two hours, and Goldsmith knew it. He perceived from -their laughter that the people in every part of the house were following -the comedy with extraordinary interest. Every point in the dialogue was -effective--the exquisite complications, the broad fun, the innumerable -touches of nature, all were appreciated by an audience whose expression -of gratification fell little short of rapture. - -When the scene was being shifted Col-man left the stage and did not -return to it until it was his duty to come forward after the epilogue -was spoken by Mrs. Bulkley and announce the date of the author's night. - -As soon as the manager had disappeared Goldsmith had a chance of -speaking to several of the actors at intervals as they made their exits, -and from them he learned the whole truth regarding the play: from the -first scene to the one which was being represented, the performance had -been a succession of triumphs, not only for the author, but for every -member of the company concerned in the production. With old dresses and -scenery familiar to all frequenters of the playhouse, the extraordinary -success of the comedy was beyond all question. The allusion to the -offensive terms of the Royal Marriage Act was especially relished by the -audience, several of the occupants of the pit rising to their feet and -cheering for some time--so much Goldsmith learned little by little at -intervals from the actors. - -"I swore never to look on Colman as my friend again, and I'll keep my -word; he has treated me cruelly--more cruelly than he has any idea -of," said Goldsmith to Lee Lewes. "But as for you, Mr. Lewes, I'll do -anything that is in my power for you in the future. My poor play owes -much to you, sir." - -"Faith then, sir," cried Lewes, "I'll keep you to your word. My benefit -will take place in a short time; I'll ask you for a prologue, Dr. -Goldsmith." - -"You shall have the best prologue I ever wrote," said Goldsmith. - -And so he had. - -When the house was still cheering at the conclusion of the epilogue, -Goldsmith, overcome with emotion, hurried into the green room. Mrs. -Abington was the first person whom he met. She held down her head, -and affected a guilty look as she glanced at him sideways through -half-closed eyes. - -"Dr. Goldsmith," she said in a tone modulated to a point of humility, -"I hope in your hour of triumph you will be generous to those who were -foolish enough to doubt the greatness of your work. Oh, sir, I pray -of you not to increase by your taunts the humiliation which I feel at -having resigned my part in your comedy. Believe me, I have been punished -sufficiently during the past two hours by hearing the words, which I -might have spoken, applauded so rapturously coming from another." - -"Taunts, my dear madam; who speaks of taunts?" said he. "Nay, I have a -part in my mind for you already--that is, if you will be good enough to -accept it." - -"Oh, sir, you are generosity itself!" cried the actress, offering him -both her hands. "I shall not fail to remind you of your promise, Dr. -Goldsmith." - -[Illustration: 0173] - -And now the green room was being crowded by the members of the company -and the distinguished friends of the author, who were desirous of -congratulating him. Dr. Johnson's voice filled the room as his laughter -had filled the theatre. - -"We perceived the reason of your extraordinary and unusual modesty, Dr. -Goldsmith, before your play was many minutes on the stage," said he. -"You dog, you took as your example the Italians who, on the eve of Lent, -indulge in a carnival, celebrating their farewell to flesh by a feast. -On the same analogy you had a glut of modesty previous to bidding -modesty good-bye forever; for to-night's performance will surely make -you a coxcomb." - -"Oh, I hope not, sir," said Goldsmith. "No, you don't hope it, sir," -cried Johnson. "You are thinking at this moment how much better you are -than your betters--I see it on your face, you rascal." - -"And he has a right to think so," said Mrs. Bunbury. "Come, Dr. -Goldsmith, speak up, say something insulting to your betters." - -"Certainly, madam," said Goldsmith. "Where are they?" - -"Well said!" cried Edmund Burke. - -"Nay, sir," said Johnson. "Dr. Goldsmith's satire is not strong enough. -We expected something more violent. 'Tis like landing one in one's back -garden when one has looked for Crackskull Common." - -His mighty laughter echoed through the room and made the pictures shake -on the walls. - -Mary Horneck had not spoken. She had merely given her friend her hand. -She knew that he would understand her unuttered congratulations, and she -was not mistaken. - -For the next quarter of an hour there was an exchange of graceful wit -and gracious compliment between the various persons of distinction in -the green room. Mrs. Thrale, with her usual discrimination, conceived -the moment to be an opportune one for putting on what she fondly -imagined was an Irish brogue, in rallying Goldsmith upon some of the -points in his comedy. Miss Kauffman and Signor Baretti spoke Italian -into Reynolds's ear-trumpet, and Edmund Burke talked wittily in the -background with the Bunburys. - -So crowded the room was, no one seemed to notice how an officer in -uniform had stolen up to the side of Mary Horneck where she stood behind -Mr. Thrale and General Oglethorpe, and had withdrawn her into a corner, -saying a whispered word to her. No one seemed to observe the action, -though it was noticed by Goldsmith. He kept his eyes fixed upon the -girl, and perceived that, while the man was speaking to her, her eyes -were turned upon the floor and her left hand was pressed against her -heart. - -He kept looking at her all the time that Mrs. Thrale was rattling out -her inanities, too anxious to see what effect she was producing upon the -people within ear-shot to notice that the man whom she was addressing -was paying no attention to her. - -When the others as well ceased to pay any attention to her, she thought -it advisable to bring her prattle to a close. - -"Psha! Dr. Goldsmith," she cried. "We have given you our ears for more -than two hours, and yet you refuse to listen to us for as many minutes." - -"I protest, madam, that I have been absorbed," said Goldsmith. "Yes, you -were remarking that----" - -"That an Irishman, when he achieves a sudden success, can only be -compared to a boy who has robbed an orchard," said the lady. - -"True--very true, madam," said he. He saw Mary Horneck's hands clasp -involuntarily for a moment as she spoke to the man who stood smiling -beside her. She was not smiling. - -"Yes,'tis true; but why?" cried Mrs. Thrale, taking care that her voice -did not appeal to Goldsmith only. - -"Ah, yes; that's just it--why?" said he. Mary Horneck had turned away -from the officer, and was coming slowly back to where her sister and -Henry Bunbury were standing. - -"Why?" said Mrs. Thrale shrilly. "Why? Why is an Irishman who has become -suddenly successful like a boy who has robbed an orchard? Why, because -his booty so distends his body that any one can perceive he has got in -his pockets what he is not entitled to." - -She looked around for appreciation, but failed to find it. She certainly -did not perceive any appreciation of her pleasantry on the face of the -successful Irishman before her. He was not watching Mary now. All his -attention was given to the man to whom she had been talking, and who had -gone to the side of Mrs. Abington, where he remained chatting with even -more animation than was usual for one to assume in the green room. - -"You will join us at supper, Dr. Goldsmith?" said Mr. Thrale. - -"Nay, sir!" cried Bunbury; "mine is a prior claim. Dr. Goldsmith agreed -some days ago to honour my wife with his company to-night." - -"What did I say, Goldy?" cried Johnson. "Was it not that, after the -presentation of the comedy, you would receive a hundred invitations?" - -"Well, sir, I have only received two since my play was produced, and one -of them I accepted some days ago," said the Irishman, and Mrs. Thrale -hoped she would be able to remember the bull in order to record it as -conclusive evidence of Goldsmith's awkwardness of speech. - -But Burke, who knew the exact nature of the Irish bull, only smiled. He -laughed, however, when Goldsmith, assuming the puzzled expression of -the Irishman who adds to the humour of his bull by pretending that it is -involuntary, stumbled carefully in his words, simulating a man anxious -to explain away a mistake that he has made. Goldsmith excelled at this -form of humour but too well; hence, while the pages of every book that -refers to him are crowded with his brilliant saying's, the writers quote -Garrick's lines in proof--proof positive, mind--that he "talked like -poor Poll." He is the first man on record who has been condemned solely -because of the exigencies of rhyme, and that, too, in the doggerel -couplet of the most unscrupulous jester of the century. - -Mary Horneck seems to have been the only one who understood him -thoroughly. She has left her appreciation of his humour on record. The -expression which she perceived upon his face immediately after he had -given utterance to some delightful witticism--which the recording demons -around him delighted to turn against himself--was the expression which -makes itself apparent in Reynolds's portrait of him. The man who "talked -like poor Poll" was the man who, even before he had done anything in -literature except a few insignificant essays, was visited by Bishop -Percy, though every visit entailed a climb up a rickety staircase and -a seat on a rickety stool in a garret. Perhaps, however, the fastidious -Percy was interested in ornithology and was ready to put himself to -great inconvenience in order to hear parrot-talk. - -While he was preparing to go with the Bunburys, Goldsmith noticed that -the man who, after talking with Mary Horneck, had chatted with Mrs. -Abington, had disappeared; and when the party whom he was accompanying -to supper had left the room he remained for a few moments to make his -adieux to the players. He shook hands with Mrs. Abington, saying-- - -"Have no fear that I shall forget my promise, madam." - -"I shall take good care that you don't, sir," said she. - -"Do not fancy that I shall neglect my own interests!" he cried, bowing -as he took a step away from her. When he had taken another step he -suddenly returned to her as if a sudden thought had struck him. "Why, if -I wasn't going away without asking you what is the name of the gentleman -in uniform who was speaking with you just now," said he. "I fancy I have -met him somewhere, and one doesn't want to be rude." - -"His name is Jackson," she replied. "Yes, Captain Jackson, though the -Lord only knows what he is captain of." - -"I have been mistaken; I know no one of that name," said Goldsmith. -"'Tis as well I made sure; one may affront a gentleman as easily by -professing to have met him as by forgetting that one has done so." - -When he got outside, he found that Mary Horneck has been so greatly -affected by the heat of the playhouse and the excitement of the -occasion, she had thought it prudent to go away with the Reynoldses in -their coach--her mother had preceded her by nearly half an hour. - -The Bunburys found that apparently the excitement of the evening had -produced a similar effect upon their guest. Although he admitted having -eaten no dinner--Johnson and his friends had been by no means reticent -on the subject of the dinner--he was without an appetite for the -delightful little supper which awaited him at Mrs. Bunbury's. It was -in vain too that his hostess showed herself to be in high spirits, and -endeavoured to rally him after her own delightful fashion. He remained -almost speechless the whole evening. - -"Ah," said she, "I perceive clearly that your Little Comedy has been -quite obscured by your great comedy. But wait until we get you down with -us at Barton; you will find the first time we play loo together that a -little comedy may become a great tragedy." - -Bunbury declared that he was as poor company during the supper as if his -play had been a mortifying failure instead of a triumphant success, and -Goldsmith admitted that this was true, taking his departure as soon as -he could without being rude. - -He walked slowly through the empty streets to his chambers in Brick -Court. But it was almost daylight before he went to bed. - -All his life he had been looking forward to this night--the night -that should put the seal upon his reputation, that should give him -an incontestable place at the head of the imaginative writers of his -period. And yet, now that the fame for which he had struggled with -destiny was within his grasp, he felt more miserable than he had ever -felt in his garret. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -What did it all mean? - -That was the question which was on his mind when he awoke. It did not -refer to the reception given to "She Stoops to Conquer," which had -placed him in the position he had longed for; it had reference solely to -the strange incident which had occurred in the green room. - -The way Mrs. Abington had referred to the man with whom Mary had -been speaking was sufficient to let him know that he was not a man of -reputation--he certainly had not seemed to Goldsmith to be a man of -reputation either when he had seen him at the Pantheon or in the green -room. He had worn an impudent and forward manner which, in spite of his -glaring good looks that might possibly make him acceptable in the -eyes of such generous ladies as Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Bulkley or Mrs. -Woffington, showed that he was a person of no position in society. This -conclusion to which Goldsmith had come was confirmed by the fact that no -persons of any distinction who had been present at the Pantheon or the -playhouse had shown that they were acquainted with him--no one person -save only Mary Horneck. - -Mary Horneck had by her act bracketed herself with Mrs. Abington and -Mrs. Bulk-ley. - -This he felt to be a very terrible thing. A month ago it would have -been incredible to him that such a thing could be. Mary Horneck had -invariably shunned in society those persons--women as well as men--who -had shown themselves to be wanting in modesty. She had always detested -the man--he was popular enough at that period--who had allowed -innuendoes to do duty for wit; and she had also detested the woman--she -is popular enough now--who had laughed at and made light of the -innuendoes, bordering upon impropriety, of such a man. - -And yet she had by her own act placed herself on a level with the least -fastidious of the persons for whom she had always professed a contempt. -The Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster had, to be sure, shaken hands -with the two actresses; but the first named at least had done so for -her own ends, and had got pretty well sneered at in consequence. Mary -Horneck stood in a very different position from that occupied by the -Duchess. While not deficient in charity, she had declined to follow the -lead of any leader of fashion in this matter, and had held aloof from -the actresses. - -And yet he had seen her in secret conversation with a man at whom one -of these same actresses had not hesitated to sneer as an impostor--a man -who was clearly unacquainted with any other member of her family. - -What could this curious incident mean? - -The letters which had come from various friends congratulating him upon -the success of the comedy lay unheeded by him by the side of those which -had arrived--not a post had been missed--from persons who professed the -most disinterested friendship for him, and were anxious to borrow from -him a trifle until they also had made their success. Men whom he had -rescued from starvation, from despair, from suicide, and who had, -consequently, been living on him ever since, begged that he would -continue his contributions on a more liberal scale now that he had in so -marked a way improved his own position. But, for the first time, their -letters lay unread and unanswered. (Three days actually passed before he -sent his guineas flying to the deserving and the undeserving alike. That -was how he contrived to get rid of the thousands of pounds which he had -earned since leaving his garret.) - -His man servant had never before seen him so depressed as he was when he -left his chambers. - -He had made up his mind to go to Mary and tell her that he had seen what -no one else either in the Pantheon or in the green room had seemed -to notice in regard to that man whose name he had learned was Captain -Jackson--he would tell her and leave it to her to explain what appeared -to him more than mysterious. If any one had told him in respect to -another girl all that he had noticed, he would have said that such a -matter required no explanation; he had heard of the intrigues of young -girls with men of the stamp of that Captain Jackson. With Mary Horneck, -however, the matter was not so easily explained. The shrug and -the raising of the eyebrows were singularly inappropriate to any -consideration of an incident in which she was concerned. - -He found before he had gone far from his chambers that the news of the -success of the comedy had reached his neighbours. He was met by several -of the students of the Temple, with whom he had placed himself on -terms of the pleasantest familiarity, and they all greeted him with a -cordiality, the sincerity of which was apparent on their beaming faces. -Among them was one youth named Grattan, who, being an Irishman, had -early found a friend in Goldsmith. He talked years afterward of this -early friendship of his. - -Then the head porter, Ginger, for whom Goldsmith had always a pleasant -word, and whose wife was his laundress--not wholly above suspicion as -regards her honesty--stammered his congratulations, and received the -crown which he knew was certain; and Goldsmith began to feel what he -had always suspected--that there was a great deal of friendliness in the -world for men who have become successful. - -Long before he had arrived at the house of the Hornecks he was feeling -that he would be the happiest man in London or the most miserable before -another hour would pass. - -He was fortunate enough to find, on arriving at the house, that Mary was -alone. Mrs. Horneck and her son had gone out together in the coach some -time before, the servant said, admitting him, for he was on terms of -such intimacy with the family the man did not think it necessary to -inquire if Miss Horneck would see him. The man was grinning from ear to -ear as he admitted the visitor. - -"I hope, Doctor, that I know my business better than Diggory," he said, -his grin expanding genially. - -"Ah! so you were one of the gentlemen in the gallery?" said Goldsmith. -"You had my destiny in your keeping for two hours?" - -"I thought I'd ha' dropped, sir, when it came to Diggory at the -table--and Mr. Marlow's man, sir--as drunk as a lord. 'I don't know what -more you want unless you'd have had him soused in a beer barrel,' says -he quite cool-like and satisfied--and it's the gentleman's own private -house, after all. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Didn't Sir Joshua's Ralph laugh -till he thought our neighbours would think it undignified-like, and then -sent us off worse than ever by trying to look solemn. Only some -fools about us said the drunk servant was ungenteel; but young Mr. -Northcote--Sir Joshua's young man, sir--he up and says that nature isn't -always genteel, and that nature was above gentility, and so forth--I beg -your pardon, Doctor, what was I thinking of? Why, sir, Diggory himself -couldn't ha' done worse than me--talking so familiar-like, instead of -showing you up." - -"Nay, sir," said Goldsmith, "the patron has the privilege of addressing -his humble servant at what length he please. You are one of my patrons, -George; but strike me dumb, sir, I'll be patronised by you no longer; -and, to put a stop to your airs, I'll give you half a dozen tickets for -my benefit, and that will turn the tables on you, my fine fellow." - -"Oh, Doctor, you are too kind, sir," whispered the man, for he had led -the way to the drawingroom door. "I hope I've not been too bold, sir. If -I told them in the kitchen about forgetting myself they'd dub me Diggory -without more ado. There'll be Diggorys enough in the servants' halls -this year, sir." - -In another moment Goldsmith was in the presence of Mary Horneck. - -She was seated on a low chair at the window. He could not fail to notice -that she looked ill, though it was not until she had risen, trying to -smile, that he saw how very ill she was. Her face, which he had scarcely -ever seen otherwise than bright, had a worn appearance, her eyes were -sunken through much weeping, and there was a frightened look in them -that touched him deeply. - -"You will believe me when I say how sorry I was not to be able to do -honour last night to the one whom I honour most of all men," she said, -giving him her hand. "But it was impossible--oh, quite impossible, for -me to sup even with my sister and you. Ah, it was pitiful! considering -how I had been looking forward to your night of triumph, my dear -friend." - -"It was pitiful, indeed, dear child," said he. "I was looking forward to -that night also--I don't know for how many years--all my life, it seems -to me." - -"Never mind!" she cried, with a feeble attempt at brightness. "Never -mind! your night of triumph came, and no one can take it away from you -now; every one in the town is talking of your comedy and its success." - -"There is no one to whom success is sweeter than it is to me," said -Goldsmith. "But you know me too well, my Jessamy Bride, to think for a -single moment that I could enjoy my success when my dearest friend was -miserable." - -"I know it," she said, giving him her hand once more. "I know it, and -knowing it last night only made me feel more miserable." - -"What is the matter, Mary?" he asked her after a pause. "Once before I -begged of you to tell me if you could. I say again that perhaps I may be -able to help you out of your trouble, though I know that I am not a man -of many resources." - -"I cannot tell you," she said slowly, but with great emphasis. "There -are some sorrows that a woman must bear alone. It is Heaven's decree -that a woman's sorrow is only doubled when she tries to share it with -another--either with a sister or with a brother--even so good a friend -as Oliver Goldsmith." - -"That such should be your thought shows how deep is your misery," said -he. "I cannot believe that it could be increased by your confiding its -origin to me." - -"Ah, I see everything but too plainly," she cried, throwing herself down -on her chair once more and burying her face in her hands. "Why, all my -misery arises from the possibility of some one knowing whence it arises. -Oh, I have said too much," she cried piteously. She had sprung to her -feet and was standing looking with eager eyes into his. "Pray forget -what I have said, my friend. The truth is that I do not know what I say; -oh, pray go away--go away and leave me alone with my sorrow--it is my -own--no one has a right to it but myself." - -There was actually a note of jealousy in her voice, and there came a -little flash from her eyes as she spoke. - -"No, I will not go away from you, my poor child," said he. "You shall -tell me first what that man to whom I saw you speak in the green room -last night has to do with your sorrow." - -She did not give any visible start when he had spoken. There was a -curious look of cunning in her eyes--a look that made him shudder, so -foreign was it to her nature, which was ingenuous to a fault. - -"A man? Did I speak to a man?" she said slowly, affecting an endeavour -to recall a half-forgotten incident of no importance. "Oh, yes, I -suppose I spoke to quite a number of men in the green room. How crowded -it was! And it became so heated! Ah, how terrible the actresses looked -in their paint!--almost as terrible as a lady of quality!" - -"Poor child!" said he. "My heart bleeds for you. In striving to hide -everything from me you have told me all--all except--listen to me, Mary. -Nothing that I can hear--nothing that you can tell me--will cause me to -think the least that is ill of you; but I have seen enough to make me -aware that that man--Captain Jackson, he calls himself----" - -"How did you find out his name?" she said in a whisper. "I did not tell -you his name even at the Pantheon." - -"No, you did not; but yet I had no difficulty in finding it out. Tell me -why it is that you should be afraid of that man. Do you not know as well -as I do that he is a rascal? Good heavens! Mary, could you fail to see -rascal written on his countenance for all men and women to read?" - -"He is worse than you or any one can imagine, and yet----" - -"How has he got you in his power--that is what you are going to tell -me." - -"No, no; that is impossible. You do not know what you ask. You do not -know me, or you would not ask me to tell you." - -"What would you have me think, child?" - -"Think the worst--the worst that your kind heart can think--only leave -me--leave me. God may prove less unkind than He seems to me. I may soon -die. 'The only way her guilt to cover.'" - -"I cannot leave you, and I say again that I refuse to believe anything -ill of you. Do you really think that it is possible for me to have -written so much as I have written about men and women without being able -to know when a woman is altogether good--a man altogether bad? I know -you, my dear, and I have seen him. Why should you be afraid of him? -Think of the friends you have." - -"It is the thought of them that frightens me. I have friends now, but -if they knew all that that man can tell, they would fly from me with -loathing. Oh! when I think of it all, I abhor myself. Oh, fool, fool, -fool! Was ever woman such a fool before?" - -"For God's sake, child, don't talk in that strain." - -"It is the only strain in which I can talk. It is the cry of a wretch -who stands on the brink of a precipice and knows that hands are being -thrust out behind to push her over." - -She tottered forward with wild eyes, under the influence of her own -thought. He caught her and supported her in his arms. - -"That shows you, my poor girl, that if there are unkind hands behind -you, there are still some hands that are ready to keep your feet from -slipping. There are hands that will hold you back from that precipice, -or else those who hold them out to you will go over the brink with -you. Ah, my dear, dear girl, nothing can happen to make you despair. In -another year--perhaps in another month--you will wonder how you could -ever have taken so gloomy a view of the present hour." - -A gleam of hope came into her eyes. Only for an instant it remained -there, however. Then she shook her head, saying-- - -"Alas! Alas!" - -She seated herself once more, but he retained her hand in one of his -own, laying his other caressingly on her head. - -"You are surely the sweetest girl that ever lived," said he. "You fill -with your sweetness the world through which I walk. I do not say that -it would be a happiness for me to die for you, for you know that if my -dying could save you from your trouble I would not shrink from it. What -I do say is that I should like to live for you--to live to see happiness -once again brought to you. And yet you will tell me nothing--you will -not give me a chance of helping you." - -She shook her head sadly. - -"I dare not--I dare not," she said. "I dare not run the chance of -forfeiting your regard forever." - -"Good-bye," he said after a pause. - -He felt her fingers press his own for a moment; then he dropped her hand -and walked toward the door. Suddenly, however, he returned to her. - -"Mary," he said, "I will seek no more to learn your secret; I will only -beg of you to promise me that you will not meet that man again--that -you will hold no communication with him. If you were to be seen in the -company of such a man--talking to him as I saw you last night--what -would people think? The world is always ready to put the worst possible -construction upon anything unusual that it sees. You will promise me, my -dear?" - -"Alas! alas!" she cried piteously. "I cannot make you such a promise. -You will not do me the injustice to believe that I spoke to him of my -own free will?" - -"What, you would have me believe that he possesses sufficient power over -you to make you do his bidding? Great God! that can never be!" - -"That is what I have said to myself day by day; he cannot possess that -power over me--he cannot be such a monster as to. . . oh, I cannot speak -to you more! Leave me--leave me! I have been a fool and I must pay the -penalty of my folly." Before he could make a reply, the door was opened -and Mrs. Bunbury danced into the room, her mother following more -sedately and with a word of remonstrance. - -"Nonsense, dear Mamma," cried Little Comedy. "What Mary needs is some -one who will raise her spirits--Dr. Goldsmith, for instance. He has, I -am sure, laughed her out of her whimsies. Have you succeeded, Doctor? -Nay, you don't look like it, nor does she, poor thing! I felt certain -that you would be in the act of reading a new comedy to her, but -I protest it would seem as if it was a tragedy that engrossed your -attention. He doesn't look particularly like our agreeable Rattle at -the present moment, does he, Mamma? And it was the same at supper -last night. It might have been fancied that he was celebrating a great -failure instead of a huge success." - -For the next quarter of an hour the lively girl chatted away, imitating -the various actors who had taken part in the comedy, and giving the -author some account of what the friends whom she had met that day -said of the piece. He had never before felt the wearisomeness of a -perpetually sparkling nature. Her laughter grated upon his ears; her -gaiety was out of tune with his mood. He took leave of the family at the -first breathing space that the girl permitted him. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -He felt that the result of his interview with Mary was to render more -mysterious than ever the question which he had hoped to solve. - -He wondered if he was more clumsy of apprehension than other men, as he -had come away from her without learning her secret. He was shrewd -enough to know that the majority of men to whom he might give a detailed -account of his interview with the girl--a detailed account of his -observation of her upon the appearance of Captain Jackson first at the -Pantheon, then in the green room of Covent Garden--would have no trouble -whatever in accounting for her behaviour upon both occasions. He could -see the shrugs of the cynical, the head-shakings of those who professed -to be vastly grieved. - -Ah, they did not know this one girl. They were ready to lump all -womankind together and to suppose that it would be impossible for one -woman to be swayed by other impulses than were common to womankind -generally. - -But he knew this girl, and he felt that it was impossible to believe -that she was otherwise than good. Nothing would force him to think -anything evil regarding her. - -"She is not as others," was the phrase that was in his mind--the thought -that was in his heart. - -He did not pause to reflect upon the strangeness of the circumstance -that when a man wishes to think the best of a woman he says she is not -as other women are. - -He did not know enough of men and women to be aware of the fact that -when a man makes up his mind that a woman is altogether different from -other women, he loves that woman. - -He felt greatly grieved to think that he had been unable to search out -the heart of her mystery; but the more he recalled of the incidents that -had occurred upon the two occasions when that man Jackson had been in -the same apartment as Mary Horneck, the more convinced he became that -the killing of that man would tend to a happy solution of the question -which was puzzling him. - -After giving this subject all his thought for the next day or two, he -went to his friend Baretti, and presented him with tickets for one of -the author's nights for "She Stoops to Conquer." Baretti was a -well known personage in the best literary society in London, having -consolidated his reputation by the publication of his English and -Italian dictionary. He had been Johnson's friend since his first exile -from Italy, and it was through his influence Baretti, on the formation -of the Royal Academy, had been appointed Secretary for Foreign -Correspondence. To Johnson also he owed the more remunerative -appointment of Italian tutor at the Thrales'. He had frequently dined -with Goldsmith at his chambers. - -Baretti expressed himself grateful for the tickets, and complimented the -author of the play upon his success. - -"If one may measure the success of a play by the amount of envy it -creates in the breasts of others, yours is a huge triumph," said the -Italian. - -"Yes," said Goldsmith quickly, "that is just what I wish to have a word -with you about. The fact is, Baretti, I am not so good a swordsman as I -should be." - -"What," cried Baretti, smiling as he looked at the man before him, who -had certainly not the physique of the ideal swordsman. "What, do you -mean to fight your detractors? Take my advice, my friend, let the pen be -your weapon if such is your intention. If you are attacked with the pen -you should reply with the same weapon, and with it you may be pretty -certain of victory." - -"Ah, yes; but there are cases--well, one never knows what may happen, -and a man in my position should be prepared for any emergency. I can -do a little sword play--enough to enable me to face a moderately good -antagonist. A pair of coxcombs insulted me a few days ago and I retorted -in a way that I fancy might be thought effective by some people." - -"How did you retort?" - -"Well, I warned the passers-by that the pair were pickpockets disguised -as gentlemen." - -"Bacchus! An effective retort! And then----" - -"Then I turned down a side street and half drew my sword; but, after -making a feint of following me, they gave themselves over to a bout -of swearing and went on. What I wish is to be directed by you to any -compatriot of yours who would give me lessons in fencing. Do you know of -any first-rate master of the art in London?" - -The Italian could not avoid laughing, Goldsmith spoke so seriously. - -"You would like to find a maestro who would be capable of turning you -into a first-rate swordsman within the space of a week?" - -"Nay, sir, I am not unreasonable; I would give him a fortnight." - -"Better make it five years." - -"Five years?" - -"My dear friend, I pray of you not to make me your first victim if I -express to you my opinion that you are not the sort of man who can be -made a good swordsman. You were born, not made, a poet, and let me tell -you that a man must be a born swordsman if he is to take a front -place among swordsmen. I am in the same situation as yourself: I am so -short-sighted I could make no stand against an antagonist. No, sir, I -shall never kill a man." - -He laughed as men laugh who do not understand what fate has in store for -them. - -"I have made up my mind to have some lessons," said Goldsmith, "and I -know there are no better teachers than your countrymen, Baretti." - -"Psha!" said Baretti. "There are clever fencers in Italy, just as there -are in England. But if you have made up your mind to have an Italian -teacher, I shall find out one for you and send him to your chambers. If -you are wise, however, you will stick to your pen, which you wield with -such dexterity, and leave the more harmless weapon to others of coarser -fiber than yourself." - -"There are times when it is necessary for the most pacific of men--nay, -even an Irishman--to show himself adroit with a sword," said Goldsmith; -"and so I shall be forever grateful to you for your services towards -this end." - -He was about to walk away when a thought seemed to strike him. - -"You will add to my debt to you if you allow this matter to go no -further than ourselves. You can understand that I have no particular -wish to place myself at the mercy of Dr. Johnson or Garrick," said -he. "I fancy I can see Garrick's mimicry of a meeting between me and a -fencing master." - -"I shall keep it a secret," laughed Baretti; "but mind, sir, when you -run your first man through the vitals you need not ask me to attend the -court as a witness as to your pacific character." - -(When the two did appear in court it was Goldsmith who had been called -as a witness on behalf of Baretti, who stood in the dock charged with -the murder of a man.) - -He felt very much better after leaving Baretti. He felt that he had -taken at least one step on behalf of Mary Horneck. He knew his own -nature so imperfectly that he thought if he were to engage in a duel -with Captain Jackson and disarm him he would not hesitate to run him -through a vital part. - -He returned to his chambers and found awaiting him a number of papers -containing some flattering notices of his comedy, and lampoons upon -Colman for his persistent ill treatment of the play. In fact, the topic -of the town was Colman's want of judgment in regard to this matter, and -so strongly did the critics and lampooners, malicious as well as genial, -express themselves, that the manager found life in London unbearable. He -posted off to Bath, but only to find that his tormentors had taken good -care that his reputation should precede him thither. His chastisement -with whips in London was mild in comparison with his chastisement with -scorpions at Bath; and now Goldsmith found waiting for him a letter from -the unfortunate man imploring the poet to intercede for him, and get the -lampooners to refrain from molesting him further. - -If Goldsmith had been in a mood to appreciate a triumph he would have -enjoyed reading this letter from the man who had given him so many -months of pain. He was not, however, in such a mood. He looked for his -triumph in another direction. - -After dressing he went to the Mitre for dinner, and found in the tavern -several of his friends. Cradock had run up from the country, and with -him were Whitefoord and Richard Burke. - -He was rather chilled at his reception by the party. They were all -clearly ill at ease in his presence for some reason of which he was -unaware; and when he began to talk of the criticisms which his play had -received, the uneasiness of his friends became more apparent. - -He could stand this unaccountable behaviour no longer, and inquired what -was the reason of their treating him so coldly. - -"You were talking about me just before I entered," said he: "I always -know on entering a room if my friends have been talking about me. Now, -may I ask what this admirable party were saying regarding me? Tell it to -me in your own way. I don't charge you to be frank with me. Frankness I -hold to be an excellent cloak for one's real opinion. Tell me all -that you can tell--as simply as you can--without prejudice to your own -reputation for oratory, Richard. What is the matter, sir?" - -Richard Burke usually was the merriest of the company, and the most -fluent. But now he looked down, and the tone was far from persuasive in -which he said-- - -"You may trust--whatever may be spoken, or written, about you, -Goldsmith--we are your unalterable friends." - -"Psha, sir!" cried Goldsmith, "don't I know that already? Were you not -all my friends in my day of adversity, and do you expect me suddenly to -overthrow all my ideas of friendship by assuming that now that I have -bettered my position in the world my friends will be less friendly?" - -"Goldsmith," said Steevens, "we received a copy of the _London Packet_ -half an hour before you entered. We were discussing the most infamous -attack that has ever been made upon a distinguished man of letters." - -"At the risk of being thought a conceited puppy, sir, I suppose I may -assume that the distinguished man of letters which the article refers to -is none other than myself," said Goldsmith. - -"It is a foul and scurrilous slander upon you, sir," said Steevens. "It -is the most contemptible thing ever penned by that scoundrel Kenrick." - -"Do not annoy yourselves on my account, gentlemen," said Goldsmith. "You -know how little I think of anything that Kenrick may write of me. Once -I made him eat his words, and the fit of indigestion that that operation -caused him is still manifest in all he writes about me. I tell you that -it is out of the power of that cur to cause me any inconvenience. Where -is the _Packet?_" - -"There is no gain in reading such contemptible stuff," said Cradock. -"Take my advice, Goldsmith, do not seek to become aware of the precise -nature of that scoundrel's slanders." - -"Nay, to shirk them would be to suggest that they have the power to -sting me," replied Goldsmith. "And so, sir, let me have the _Packet_, -and you shall see me read the article without blenching. I tell you, Mr. -Cradock, no man of letters is deserving of an eulogy who is scared by a -detraction." - -"Nay, Goldsmith, but one does not examine under a magnifying glass the -garbage that a creature of the kennel flings at one," said Steevens. - -"Come, sirs, I insist," cried Goldsmith. "Why do I waste time with you?" -he added, turning round and going to the door of the room. "I waste time -here when I can read the _Packet_ in the bar." - -"Hold, sir," said Burke. "Here is the thing. If you will read it, you -would do well to read it where you will find a dozen hands stretched -forth to you in affection and sympathy. Oliver Goldsmith, this is the -paper and here are our hands. We look on you as the greatest of English -writers--the truest of English poets--the best of Englishmen." - -"You overwhelm me, sir. After this, what does it matter if Kenrick -flings himself upon me?" - -He took the _Packet_. It opened automatically, where an imaginary letter -to himself, signed "Tom Tickle," appeared. - -He held it up to the light; a smile was at first on his features; he had -nerved himself to the ordeal. His friends would not find that he shrank -from it--he even smiled, after a manner, as he read the thing--but -suddenly his jaw fell, his face became pale. In another second he had -crushed the paper between his hands. He crushed it and tore it, and then -flung it on the floor and trampled on it. He walked to and fro in the -room with bent head. Then he did a strange thing: he removed his sword -and placed it in a corner, as if he were going to dine, and, without a -word to any of his friends, left the room, carrying with him his cane -only. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -Kenrick's article in the _London Packet_ remains to this day as the -vilest example of scurrility published under the form of criticism. All -the venom that can be engendered by envy and malice appears in every -line of it. It contains no suggestion of literary criticism; it contains -no clever phrase. It is the shriek of a vulgar wretch dominated by the -demon of jealousy. The note of the Gadarene herd sounds through it, -strident and strenuous. It exists as the worst outcome of the period -when every garret scribbler emulated "Junius," both as regards style and -method, but only succeeded in producing the shriek of a wildcat, instead -of the thunder of the unknown master of vituperation. - -Goldsmith read the first part of the scurrility without feeling hurt; -but when he came to that vile passage--"For hours the _great_ Goldsmith -will stand arranging his grotesque orangoutang figure before a -pier-glass. Was but the lovely H------k as much enamoured, you would not -sigh, my gentle swain"--his hands tore the paper in fury. - -He had received abuse in the past without being affected by it. He did -not know much about natural history, but he knew enough to make him -aware of the fact that the skunk tribe cannot change their nature. He -did not mind any attack that might be made upon himself; but to have -the name that he most cherished of all names associated with his in an -insult that seemed to him diabolical in the manner of its delivery, was -more than he could bear. He felt as if a foul creature had crept behind -him and had struck from thence the one who had been kindest to him of -all the people in the world. - -There was the horrible thing printed for all eyes in the town to read. -There was the thing that had in a moment raised a barrier between him -and the girl who was all in all to him. How could he look Mary Horneck -in the face again? How could he ever meet any member of the family to -whom he had been the means of causing so much pain as the Hornecks would -undoubtedly feel when they read that vile thing? He felt that he himself -was to blame for the appearance of that insult upon the girl. He felt -that if the attack had not been made upon him she would certainly have -escaped. Yes, that blow had been struck by a hand that stretched over -him to her. - -His first impulse had sent his hand to his sword. He had shown himself -upon several occasions to be a brave man; but instead of drawing his -sword he had taken it off and had placed it out of the reach of his -hands. - -And this was the man who, a few hours earlier in the day, had been -assuming that if a certain man were in his power he would not shrink -from running him through the body with his sword. - -On leaving the Mitre he did not seek any one with whom he might take -counsel as to what course it would be wise for him to pursue. He knew -that he had adopted a wise course when he had placed his sword in a -corner; he felt he did not require any further counsel. His mind was -made up as to what he should do, and all that he now feared was that -some circumstance might prevent his realising his intention. - -He grasped his cane firmly, and walked excitedly to the shop of Evans, -the publisher of the _London Packet_. He arrived almost breathless at -the place--it was in Little Queen street--and entered the shop demanding -to see Kenrick, who, he knew was employed on the premises. Evans, the -publisher, being in a room the door of which was open, and hearing -a stranger's voice speaking in a high tone, came out to the shop. -Goldsmith met him, asking to see Kenrick; and Evans denied that he was -in the house. - -"I require you to tell me if Kenrick is the writer of that article upon -me which appeared in the _Packet_ of to-day. My name is Goldsmith!" said -the visitor. - -The shopkeeper smiled. - -"Does anything appear about you in the _Packet_, sir?" he said, -over-emphasising the tone of complete ignorance and inquiry. - -"You are the publisher of the foul thing, you rascal!" cried Goldsmith, -stung by the supercilious smile of the man; "you are the publisher of -this gross outrage upon an innocent lady, and, as the ruffian who wrote -it struck at her through me, so I strike at him through you." - -He rushed at the man, seized him by the throat, and struck at him with -his cane. The bookseller shouted for help while he struggled with his -opponent, and Kenrick himself, who had been within the shelter of a -small wooden-partitioned office from the moment of Goldsmith's entrance, -and had, consequently, overheard every word of the recrimination and -all the noise of the scuffle that followed, ran to the help of his -paymaster. It was quite in keeping with his cowardly nature to hold back -from the cane of Evans's assailant. He did so, and, looking round for a -missile to fling at Goldsmith, he caught up a heavy lamp that stood on a -table and hurled it at his enemy's head. Missing this mark, however, it -struck Evans on the chest and knocked him down, Goldsmith falling over -him. This Kenrick perceived to be his chance. He lifted one of the small -shop chairs and rushed forward to brain the man whom he had libelled; -but, before he could carry out his purpose, a man ran into the shop -from the street, and, flinging him and the chair into a corner, caught -Goldsmith, who had risen, by the shoulder and hurried him into a -hackney-coach, which drove away. - -The man was Captain Higgins. When Goldsmith had failed to return to the -room in the Mitre where he had left his sword, his friends became -uneasy regarding him, and Higgins, suspecting his purpose in leaving -the tavern, had hastened to Evans's, hoping to be in time to prevent -the assault which he felt certain Goldsmith intended to commit upon the -person of Kenrick. - -He ordered the coachman to drive to the Temple, and took advantage of -the occasion to lecture the excited man upon the impropriety of his -conduct. A lecture on the disgrace attached to a public fight, when -delivered in a broad Irish brogue, can rarely be effective, and Captain -Higgins's counsel of peace only called for Goldsmith's ridicule. - -"Don't tell me what I ought to have done or what I ought to have -abstained from doing," cried the still breathless man. "I did what my -manhood prompted me to do, and that is just what you would have done -yourself, my friend. God knows I didn't mean to harm Evans--it was -that reptile Kenrick whom I meant to flail; but when Evans undertook to -shelter him, what was left to me, I ask you, sir?" - -"You were a fool, Oliver," said his countryman; "you made a great -mistake. Can't you see that you should never go about such things -single-handed? You should have brought with you a full-sized friend who -would not hesitate to use his fists in the interests of fair play. Why -the devil, sir, didn't you give me a hint of what was on your mind when -you left the tavern?" - -"Because I didn't know myself what was on my mind," replied Goldsmith. -"And, besides," he added, "I'm not the man to carry bruisers about with -me to engage in my quarrels. I don't regret what I have done to-day. -I have taught the reptiles a lesson, even though I have to pay for it. -Kenrick won't attack me again so long as I am alive." - -He was right. It was when he was lying in his coffin, yet unburied, that -Kenrick made his next attack upon him in that scurrility of phrase of -which he was a master. - -When this curious exponent of the advantages of peace had left him at -Brick Court, and his few incidental bruises were attended to by John -Eyles, poor Oliver's despondency returned to him. He did not feel very -like one who has got the better of another in a quarrel, though he knew -that he had done all that he said he had done: he had taught his enemies -a lesson. - -But then he began to think about Mary Horneck, who had been so grossly -insulted simply because of her kindness to him. He felt that if she had -been less gracious to him--if she had treated him as Mrs. Thrale, for -example, had been accustomed to treat him--regarding him and his defects -merely as excuses for displaying her own wit, she would have escaped -all mention by Kenrick. Yes, he still felt that he was the cause of her -being insulted, and he would never forgive himself for it. - -But what did it matter whether he forgave himself or not? It was the -forgiveness of Mary Horneck and her friends that he had good reason to -think about. - -The longer he considered this point the more convinced he became that -he had forfeited forever the friendship which he had enjoyed for several -years, and which had been a dear consolation to him in his hours of -despondency. A barrier had been raised between himself and the Hornecks -that could not be surmounted. - -He sat down at his desk and wrote a letter to Mary, asking her -forgiveness for the insult for which he said he felt himself to be -responsible. He could not, he added, expect that in the future it would -be allowed to him to remain on the same terms of intimacy with her and -her family as had been permitted to him in the past. - -Suddenly he recollected the unknown trouble which had been upon the girl -when he had last seen her. She was not yet free from that secret sorrow -which he had hoped it might be in his power to dispel. He and he only -had seen Captain Jackson speaking to her in the green room at Covent -Garden, and he only had good reason to believe that her sorrow had -originated with that man. Under these circumstances he asked himself if -he was justified in leaving her to fight her battle alone. She had not -asked him to be her champion, and he felt that if she had done so, it -was a very poor champion that he would have made; but still he knew more -of her grief than any one else, and he believed he might be able to help -her. - -He tore up the letter which he had written to her. - -"I will not leave her," he cried. "Whatever may happen--whatever blame -people who do not understand may say I have earned, I will not leave her -until she has been freed from whatever distress she is in." - -He had scarcely seated himself when his servant announced Captain -Horneck. - -For an instant Goldsmith was in trepidation. Mary Horneck's brother -had no reason to visit him except as he himself had visited Evans and -Kenrick. But with the sound of Captain Horneck's voice his trepidation -passed away. - -"Ha, my little hero!" Horneck cried before he had quite crossed the -threshold. "What is this that is the talk of the town? Good Lord! what -are things coming to when the men of letters have taken to beating the -booksellers?" - -"You have heard of it?" said Oliver. "You have heard of the quarrel, but -you cannot have heard of the reason for it!" - -"What, there is something behind the _London Packet_, after all?" cried -Captain Horneck. - -"Something behind it--something behind that slander--the mention of your -sister's name, sir? What should be behind it, sir?" - -"My dear old Nolly, do you fancy that the friendship which exists -between my family and you is too weak to withstand such a strain as -this--a strain put upon it by a vulgar scoundrel, whose malice so far as -you are concerned is as well known as his envy of your success?" - -Goldsmith stared at him for some moments and then at the hand which -he was holding out. He seemed to be making an effort to speak, but the -words never came. Suddenly he caught Captain Horneck's hand in both of -his own, and held it for a moment; but then, quite overcome, he dropped -it, and burying his face in his hands he burst into tears. - -Horneck watched him for some time, and was himself almost equally -affected. - -"Come, come, old friend," he said at last, placing his hand -affectionately on Goldsmith's shoulder. "Come, come; this will not do. -There is nothing to be so concerned about. What, man! are you so little -aware of your own position in the world as to fancy that the Horneck -family regard your friendship for them otherwise than an honour? Good -heavens, Dr. Goldsmith, don't you perceive that we are making a bold bid -for immortality through our names being associated with yours? Who in a -hundred years--in fifty years--would know anything of the Horneck -family if it were not for their association with you? The name of Oliver -Goldsmith will live so long as there is life in English letters, and -when your name is spoken the name of your friends the Hornecks will not -be forgotten." - -He tried to comfort his unhappy friend, but though he remained at his -chambers for half an hour, he got no word from Oliver Goldsmith. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -The next day the news of the prompt and vigorous action taken by -Goldsmith in respect of the scurrility of Kenrick had spread round the -literary circle of which Johnson was the centre, and the general feeling -was one of regret that Kenrick had not received the beating instead of -Evans. Of course, Johnson, who had threatened two writers with an oak -stick, shook his head--and his body as well--in grave disapproval of -Goldsmith's use of his cane; but Reynolds, Garrick and the two Burkes -were of the opinion that a cane had never been more appropriately used. - -What Colman's attitude was in regard to the man who had put thousands -of pounds into his pocket may be gathered from the fact that, shortly -afterwards, he accepted and produced a play of Kenrick's at his theatre, -which was more decisively damned than any play ever produced under -Colman's management. - -Of course, the act of an author in resenting the scurrility of a man who -had delivered his stab under the cloak of criticism, called for a howl -of indignation from the scores of hacks who existed at that period--some -in the pay of the government others of the opposition--solely by -stabbing men of reputation; for the literary cut-throat, in the person -of the professional libeller-critic, and the literary cut-purse, in -the form of the professional blackmailer, followed as well as preceded -Junius. - -The howl went up that the liberty of the press was in danger, and the -public, who took then, as they do now, but the most languid interest -in the quarrels of literature, were forced to become the unwilling -audience. When, however, Goldsmith published his letter in the _Daily -Advertiser_--surely the manliest manifesto ever printed--the howls -became attenuated, and shortly afterwards died away. It was admitted, -even by Dr. Johnson--and so emphatically, too, that his biographer -could not avoid recording his judgment--that Goldsmith had increased his -reputation by the incident. - -(Boswell paid Goldsmith the highest compliment in his power on account -of this letter, for he fancied that it had been written by Johnson, and -received another rebuke from the latter to gloat over.) - -For some days Goldsmith had many visitors at his chambers, including -Baretti, who remarked that he took it for granted that he need not now -search for the fencingmaster, as his quarrel was over. Goldsmith allowed -him to go away under the impression that he had foreseen the quarrel -when he had consulted him regarding the fencingmaster. - -But at the end of a week, when Evans had been conciliated by the friends -of his assailant, Goldsmith, on returning to his chambers one afternoon, -found Johnson gravely awaiting his arrival. His hearty welcome was not -responded to quite so heartily by his visitor. - -"Dr. Goldsmith," said Johnson, after he had made some of those -grotesque movements with which his judicial utterances were invariably -accompanied--"Dr. Goldsmith, we have been friends for a good many years, -sir." - -"That fact constitutes one of my pleasantest reflections, sir," said -Goldsmith. He spoke with some measure of hesitancy, for he had a feeling -that his friend had come to him with a reproof. He had expected him to -come rather sooner. - -"If our friendship was not such as it is, I would not have come to you -to-day, sir, to tell you that you have been a fool," said Johnson. - -"Yes, sir," said Goldsmith, "you were right in assuming that you could -say nothing to me that would offend me; I know that I have been a -fool--at many times--in many ways." - -"I suspected that you were a fool before I set out to come hither, sir, -and since I entered this room I have convinced myself of the accuracy of -my suspicion." - -"If a man suspects that I am a fool before seeing me, sir, what will he -do after having seen me?" said Goldsmith. - -"Dr. Goldsmith," resumed Johnson, "it was, believe me, sir, a great pain -to me to find, as I did in this room--on that desk--such evidence of -your folly as left no doubt on my mind in this matter." - -"What do you mean, sir? My folly--evidence--on that desk? Ah, I know now -what you mean. Yes, poor Filby's bill for my last coats and I suppose -for a few others that have long ago been worn threadbare. Alas, sir, who -could resist Filby's flatteries?" - -"Sir," said Johnson, "you gave me permission several years ago to read -any manuscript of yours in prose or verse at which you were engaged." - -"And the result of your so honouring me, Dr. Johnson, has invariably -been advantageous to my work. What, sir, have I ever failed in respect -for your criticisms? Have I ever failed to make a change that you -suggested?" - -"It was in consideration of that permission, Dr. Goldsmith, that while -waiting for you here to-day, I read several pages in your handwriting," -said Johnson sternly. - -Goldsmith glanced at his desk. - -"I forget now what work was last under my hand," said he; "but whatever -it was, sir----" - -"I have it here, sir," said Johnson, and Goldsmith for the first time -noticed that he held in one of his hands a roll of manuscript. Johnson -laid it solemnly on the table, and in a moment Goldsmith perceived -that it consisted of a number of the poems which he had written to the -Jessamy Bride, but which he had not dared to send to her. He had had -them before him on the desk that day while he asked himself what would -be the result of sending them to her. - -He was considerably disturbed when he discovered what it was that his -friend had been reading in his absence, and his attempt to treat the -matter lightly only made his confusion appear the greater. - -"Oh, those verses, sir," he stammered; "they are poor things. You will, -I fear, find them too obviously defective to merit criticism; they -resemble my oldest coat, sir, which I designed to have repaired for my -man, but Filby returned it with the remark that it was not worth the -cost of repairing. If you were to become a critic of those trifles----" - -"They are trifles, Goldsmith, for they represent the trifling of a man -of determination with his own future--with his own happiness and the -happiness of others." - -"I protest, sir, I scarcely understand----" - -"Your confusion, sir, shows that you do understand." - -"Nay, sir, you do not suppose that the lines which a poet writes in the -character of a lover should be accepted as damning evidence that his own -heart speaks." - -"Goldsmith, I am not the man to be deceived by any literary work that -may come under my notice. I have read those verses of yours; sir, your -heart throbs in every line." - -"Nay, sir, you would make me believe that my poor attempts to realise -the feelings of one who has experienced the tender passion are more -happy than I fancied." - -"Sir, this dissimulation is unworthy of you." - -"Sir, I protest that I--that is--no, I shall protest nothing. You have -spoken the truth, sir; any dissimulation is unworthy of me. I wrote -those verses out of my own heart--God knows if they are the first that -came from my heart--I own it, sir. Why should I be ashamed to own it?" - -"My poor friend, you have been Fortune's plaything all your life; but I -did not think that she was reserving such a blow as this for you." - -"A blow, sir? Nay, I cannot regard as a blow that which has been -the sweetest--the only consolation of a life that has known but few -consolations." - -"Sir, this will not do. A man has the right to make himself as miserable -as he pleases, but he has no right to make others miserable. Dr. -Goldsmith, you have ill-repaid the friendship which Miss Horneck and her -family have extended to you." - -"I have done nothing for which my conscience reproaches me, Dr. Johnson. -What, sir, if I have ventured to love that lady whose name had better -remain unspoken by either of us--what if I do love her? Where is the -indignity that I do either to her or to the sentiment of friendship? -Does one offer an indignity to friendship by loving?" - -"My poor friend, you are laying up a future of misery for yourself--yes, -and for her too; for she has a kind heart, and if she should come to -know--and, indeed, I think she must--that she has been the cause, even -though the unwilling cause, of suffering on the part of another, she -will not be free from unhappiness." - -"She need not know, she need not know. I have been a bearer of burdens -all my life. I will assume without repining this new burden." - -"Nay, sir, if I know your character--and I believe I have known it -for some years--you will cast that burden away from you. Life, my dear -friend, you and I have found to be not a meadow wherein to sport, but a -battle field. We have been in the struggle, you and I, and we have not -come out of it unscathed. Come, sir, face boldly this new enemy, and put -it to flight before it prove your ruin." - -"Enemy, you call it, sir? You call that which gives everything there -is of beauty--everything there is of sweetness--in the life of man--you -call it our enemy?" - -"I call it _your_ enemy, Goldsmith." - -"Why mine only? What is there about me that makes me different from -other men? Why should a poet be looked upon as one who is shut out for -evermore from all the tenderness, all the grace of life, when he -has proved to the world that he is most capable of all mankind of -appreciating tenderness and grace? What trick of nature is this? What -paradox for men to vex their souls over? Is the poet to stand aloof from -men, evermore looking on happiness through another man's eyes? If you -answer 'yes,' then I say that men who are not poets should go down on -their knees and thank Heaven that they are not poets. Happy it is for -mankind that Heaven has laid on few men the curse of being poets. For -myself, I feel that I would rather be a man for an hour than a poet for -all time." - -"Come, sir, let us not waste our time railing against Heaven. Let us -look at this matter as it stands at present. You have been unfortunate -enough to conceive a passion for a lady whose family could never be -brought to think of you seriously as a lover. You have been foolish -enough to regard their kindness to you--their acceptance of you as a -friend--as encouragement in your mad aspirations." - -"You have no right to speak so authoritatively, sir." - -"I have the right as your oldest friend, Goldsmith; and you know I speak -only what is true. Does your own conscience, your own intelligence, sir, -not tell you that the lady's family would regard her acceptance of you -as a lover in the light of the greatest misfortune possible to happen to -her? Answer me that question, sir." - -But Goldsmith made no attempt to speak. He only buried his face in his -hands, resting his elbows on the table at which he sat. - -"You cannot deny what you know to be a fact, sir," resumed Johnson. "I -will not humiliate you by suggesting that the young lady herself would -only be moved to laughter were you to make serious advances to her; but -I ask you if you think her family would not regard such an attitude on -your side as ridiculous--nay, worse--a gross affront." - -Still Goldsmith remained silent, and after a short pause his visitor -resumed his discourse. - -"The question that remains for you to answer is this, sir: Are you -desirous of humiliating yourself in the eyes of your best friends, -and of forfeiting their friendship for you, by persisting in your -infatuation?" - -Goldsmith started up. - -"Say no more, sir; for God's sake, say no more," he cried almost -piteously. "Am I, do you fancy, as great a fool as Pope, who did not -hesitate to declare himself to Lady Mary? Sir, I have done nothing that -the most honourable of men would shrink from doing. There are the verses -which I wrote--I could not help writing them--but she does not know that -they were ever written. Dr. Johnson, she shall never hear it from me. My -history, sir, shall be that of the hopeless lover--a blank--a blank." - -"My poor friend," said Johnson after a pause--he had laid his hand -upon the shoulder of his friend as he seated himself once more at the -table--"My poor friend, Providence puts into our hands many cups which -are bitter to the taste, but cannot be turned away from. You and I have -drank of bitter cups before now, and perhaps we may have to drink of -others before we die. To be a man is to suffer; to be a poet means -to have double the capacity of men to suffer. You have shown yourself -before now worthy of the admiration of all good men by the way you have -faced life, by your independence of the patronage of the great. You -dedicated 'The Traveller' to your brother, and your last comedy to me. -You did not hesitate to turn away from your door the man who came to -offer you money for the prostitution of the talents which God has given -you. Dr. Goldsmith, you have my respect--you have the respect of every -good man. I came to you to-day that you may disappoint those of your -detractors who are waiting for you to be guilty of an act that would -give them an opportunity of pointing a finger of malice at you. You will -not do anything but that which will reflect honour upon yourself, and -show all those who are your friends that their friendship for you is -well founded. I am assured that I can trust you, sir." - -Goldsmith took the hand that he offered, but said no word. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -When his visitor had gone Goldsmith seated himself in his chair and -gave way to the bitter reflections of the hour. - -He knew that the end of his dream had come. The straightforward words -which Johnson had spoken had put an end to his self-deception--to his -hoping against his better judgment that by some miracle his devotion -might be rewarded. If any man was calculated to be a disperser of -vain dreams that man was Johnson. In the very brutality of his -straightforwardness there was, however, a suspicion of kindliness that -made any appeal from his judgment hopeless. There was no timidity in -the utterances of his phrases when forcing his contentions upon any -audience; but Goldsmith knew that he only spoke strongly because he felt -strongly. - -Times without number he had said to himself precisely what Dr. Johnson -had said to him. If Mary Horneck herself ever went so far as to mistake -the sympathy which she had for him for that affection which alone would -content him, how could he approach her family? Her sister had married -Bunbury, a man of position and wealth, with a country house and a town -house--a man of her own age, and with the possibility of inheriting his -father's baronetcy. Her brother was about to marry a daughter of Lord -Albemarle's. What would these people say if he, Oliver Goldsmith, were -to present himself as a suitor for the hand of Mary Horneck? - -It did not require Dr. Johnson to speak such forcible words in his -hearing to enable him to perceive how ridiculous were his pretensions. -The tragedy of the poet's life among men and women eager to better their -prospects in the world was fully appreciated by him. It was surely, he -felt, the most cruel of all the cruelties of destiny, that the men who -make music of the passions of men--who have surrounded the passion -of love with a glorifying halo--should be doomed to spend their lives -looking on at the success of ordinary men in their loves by the aid of -the music which the poets have created. That is the poet's tragedy -of life, and Goldsmith had often found himself face to face with it, -feeling himself to be one of those with whom destiny is only on jesting -terms. - -Because he was a poet he could not love any less beautiful creature than -Mary Hor-neck, any less gracious, less sweet, less pure, and yet he knew -that if he were to go to her with those poems in his hand which he only -of all living men could write, telling her that they might plead his -cause, he would be regarded--and rightly, too--as both presumptuous and -ridiculous. - -He thought of the loneliness of his life. Was it the lot of the man of -letters to remain in loneliness while the people around him were taking -to themselves wives and begetting sons and daughters? Had he nothing to -look forward to but the laurel wreath? Was it taken for granted that a -contemplation of its shrivelling leaves would more than compensate the -poet for the loss of home--the grateful companionship of a wife--the -babble of children--all that his fellow-men associated with the gladness -and glory of life? - -He knew that he had reached a position in the world of letters that was -surpassed by no living man in England. He had often dreamed of reaching -such a place, and to reach it he had undergone privation--he had -sacrificed the best years of his life. And what did his consciousness -of having attained his end bring with it? It brought to him the snarl of -envy, the howl of hatred, the mock of malice. The air was full of these -sounds; they dinned in his ears and overcame the sounds of the approval -of his friends. - -And it was for this he had sacrificed so much? So much? Everything. He -had sacrificed his life. The one joy that had consoled him for all his -ills during the past few years had departed from him. He would never -see Mary Horneck again. To see her again would only be to increase the -burden of his humiliation. His resolution was formed and he would abide -by it. - -He rose to his feet and picked up the roll of poems. In sign of his -resolution he would burn them. He would, with them, reduce to ashes the -one consolation of his life. - -In the small grate the remains of a fire were still glowing. He knelt -down and blew the spark into a blaze. He was about to thrust the -manuscript into it between the bars when the light that it made fell -upon one of the lines. He had not the heart to burn the leaf until he -had read the remaining lines of the couplet; and when at last, with a -sigh, he hastily thrust the roll of papers between the bars, the little -blaze had fallen again to a mere smouldering spark. Before he could -raise it by a breath or two, his servant entered the room. He started to -his feet. - -"A letter for you, sir," said John Eyles. "It came by a messenger lad." - -"Fetch a candle, John," said Goldsmith, taking the letter. It was too -dark for him to see the handwriting, but he put the tip of his finger on -the seal and became aware that it was Mary Horneck's. - -By the light of the candle he broke the seal, and read the few lines -that the letter contained-- - -_Come to me, my dear friend, without delay, for heaven's sake. Your ear -only can hear what I have to tell. You may be able to help me, but if -not, then. . . . Oh, come to me to-night. Your unhappy Jessamy Bride._ - -He did not delay an instant. He caught up his hat and left his chambers. -He did not even think of the resolution to which he had just come, never -to see Mary Horneck again. All his thoughts were lost in the one thought -that he was about to stand face to face with her. - -He stood face to face with her in less than half an hour. She was in the -small drawing-room where he had seen her on the day after the production -of "She Stoops to Conquer." Only a few wax candles were lighted in the -cut-glass sconces that were placed in the centre of the panels of the -walls. Their light was, however, sufficient to make visible the contrast -between the laughing face of the girl in Reynolds's picture of her and -her sister which hung on the wall, and the sad face of the girl who put -her hand into his as he was shown in by the servant. - -"I knew you would come," she said. "I knew that I could trust you." - -"You may trust me, indeed," he said. He held her hand in his own, -looking into her pale face and sunken eyes. "I knew the time would come -when you would tell me all that there is to be told," he continued. -"Whether I can help you or not, you will find yourself better for having -told me." - -She seated herself on the sofa, and he took his place beside her. There -was a silence of a minute or two, before she suddenly started up, -and, after walking up and down the room nervously, stopped at the -mantelpiece, leaning her head against the high slab, and looking into -the smouldering fire in the grate. - -He watched her, but did not attempt to express the pity that filled his -heart. - -"What am I to tell you--what am I to tell you?" she cried at last, -resuming her pacing of the floor. - -He made no reply, but sat there following her movements with his eyes. -She went beside him, and stood, with nervously clasped hands, looking -with vacant eyes at the group of wax candles that burned in one of the -sconces. Once again she turned away with a little cry, but then with a -great effort she controlled herself, and her voice was almost tranquil -when she spoke, seating herself. - -"You were with me at the Pantheon, and saw me when I caught sight of -that man," she said. "You alone were observant. Did you also see him -call me to his side in the green room at the playhouse?" - -"I saw you in the act of speaking to him there--he calls himself -Jackson--Captain Jackson," said Goldsmith. - -"You saved me from him once!" she cried. "You saved me from becoming -his--body and soul." - -"No," he said; "I have not yet saved you, but God is good; He may enable -me to do so." - -"I tell you if it had not been for you--for the book which you wrote, I -should be to-day a miserable castaway." - -He looked puzzled. - -"I cannot quite understand," said he. "I gave you a copy of 'The Vicar -of Wakefield' when you were going to Devonshire a year ago. You were -complaining that your sister had taken away with her the copy which -I had presented to your mother, so that you had not an opportunity of -reading it." - -"It was that which saved me," she cried. "Oh, what fools girls are! They -are carried away by such devices as should not impose upon the merest -child! Why are we not taught from our childhood of the baseness of -men--some men--so that we can be on our guard when we are on the verge -of womanhood? If we are to live in the world why should we not be told -all that we should guard against?" - -She laid her head down on the arm of the sofa, sobbing. - -He put his hand gently upon her hair, saying-- - -"I cannot believe anything but what is good regarding you, my sweet -Jessamy Bride." - -She raised her head quickly and looked at him through her tears. - -"Then you will err," she said. "You will have to think ill of me. Thank -God you saved me from the worst, but it was not in your power to save me -from all--to save me from myself. Listen to me, my best friend. When -I was in Devonshire last year I met that man. He was staying in the -village, pretending that he was recovering from a wound which he had -received in our colonies in America. He was looked on as a hero and -feted in all directions. Every girl for miles around was in love -with him, and I--innocent fool that I was--considered myself the most -favoured creature in the world because he made love to me. Any day we -failed to meet I wrote him a letter--a foolish letter such as a -school miss might write--full of protestations of undying affection. -I sometimes wrote two of these letters in the day. More than a month -passed in this foolishness, and then it came to my uncle's ears that we -had meetings. He forbade my continuing to see a man of whom no one knew -anything definite, but about whom he was having strict inquiries made. I -wrote to the man to this effect, and I received a reply persuading me -to have one more meeting with him. I was so infatuated that I met him -secretly, and then in impassioned strains he implored me to make -a runaway match with him. He said he had enemies. When he had been -fighting the King's battles against the rebels these enemies had been -active, and he feared that their malice would come between us, and he -should lose me. I was so carried away by his pleading that I consented -to leave my uncle's house by his side." - -"But you cannot have done so." - -"You saved me," she cried. "I had been reading your book, and, by God's -mercy, on the very day before that on which I had promised to go to him -I came to the story of poor Olivia's flight and its consequences. With -the suddenness of a revelation from heaven I perceived the truth. The -scales fell from my eyes as they fell from St. Paul's on the way to -Damascus, only where he perceived the heaven I saw the hell that awaited -me. I knew that that man was endeavouring to encompass my ruin, and in a -single hour--thanks to the genius that wrote that book--my love for that -man, or what I fancied was love, was turned to loathing. I did not meet -him. I returned to him, without a word of comment, a letter he wrote -to me reproaching me for disappointing him; and the very next day my -uncle's suspicions regarding him were confirmed. His inquiries resulted -in proof positive of the ruffianism of the fellow who called himself -Captain Jackson, He had left the army in America with a stain on his -character, and it was known that since his return to England at least -two young women had been led into the trap which he laid for me." - -"Thank God you were saved, my child," said Goldsmith, as she paused, -overcome with emotion. "But being saved, my dear, you have no further -reason to fear that man." - -"That was my belief, too," said she. "But alas! it was a delusion. So -soon as he found out that I had escaped from him, he showed himself in -his true colours. He wrote threatening to send the letters which I -had been foolish enough to write to him, to my friends--he was even -scoundrel enough to point out that I had in my innocence written certain -passages which were susceptible of being interpreted as evidence of -guilt--nay, his letter in which he did so took it for granted that I had -been guilty, so that I could not show it as evidence of his falsehood. -What was left for me to do? I wrote to him imploring him to return to -me those letters. I asked him how he could think it consistent with his -honour to retain them and to hold such an infamous threat over my head. -Alas! he soon gave me to understand that I had but placed myself more -deeply in his power." - -"The scoundrel!" - -"Oh! scoundrel! I made an excuse for coming back to London, though I had -meant to stay in Devonshire until the end of the year." - -"And 'twas then you thanked me for the book." - -"I had good reason to do so. For some months I was happy, believing -that I had escaped from my persecutor. How happy we were when in France -together! But then--ah! you know the rest. My distress is killing me--I -cannot sleep at night. I start a dozen times a day; every time the bell -rings I am in trepidation." - -"Great Heaven! Is 't possible that you are miserable solely on this -account?" cried Goldsmith. - -"Is there not sufficient reason for my misery?" she asked. "What did he -say to me that night in the green room? He told me that he would give me -a fortnight to accede to his demands; if I failed he swore to print my -letters in full, introducing my name so that every one should know who -had written them." - -"And his terms?" asked Goldsmith in a whisper. - -"His terms? I cannot tell you--I cannot tell you. The very thought that -I placed myself in such a position as made it possible for me to have -such an insult offered to me makes me long for death." - -"By God! 'tis he who need to prepare for death!" cried Goldsmith, "for I -shall kill him, even though the act be called murder." - -"No--no!" she said, laying a hand upon his arm. "No friend of mine must -suffer for my folly. I dare not speak a word of this to my brother for -fear of the consequences. That wretch boasted to me of having laid his -plans so carefully that, if any harm were to come to him, the letters -would still be printed. He said he had heard of my friends, and declared -that if he were approached by any of them nothing should save me from -being made the talk of the town. I was terrified by the threat, but I -determined to-day to tell you my pitiful story in the hope--the forlorn -hope--that you might be able to help me. Tell me--tell me, my dear -friend, if you can see any chance of escape for me except that of which -poor Olivia sang: 'The only way her guilt to cover.'" - -"Guilt? Who talks of guilt?" said he. "Oh, my poor innocent child, I -knew that whatever your grief might be there was nothing to be thought -of you except what was good. I am not one to say even that you acted -foolishly; you only acted innocently. You, in the guilelessness of your -own pure heart could not believe that a man could be worse than any -monster. Dear child, I pray of you to bear up for a short time against -this stroke of fate, and I promise you that I shall discover a way of -escape for you." - -"Ah, it is easy to say those words 'bear up.' I have said them to -myself a score of times within the week. You cannot now perceive in what -direction lies my hope of escape?" - -He shook his head, but not without a smile on his face, as he said-- - -"'Tis easy enough for one who has composed so much fiction as I have to -invent a plan for the rescue of a tortured heroine; but, unhappily, it -is the case that in real life one cannot control circumstances as one -can in a work of the imagination. That is one of the weaknesses of real -life, my dear; things will go on happening in defiance of all the arts -of fiction. But of this I feel certain: Providence does not do things by -halves. He will not make me the means of averting a great disaster from -you and then permit me to stand idly by while you suffer such a calamity -as that which you apprehend just now. Nay, my dear, I feel that as -Heaven directed my pen to write that book in order that you might be -saved from the fate of my poor Livy, I shall be permitted to help you -out of your present difficulty." - -"You give me hope," she said. "Yes--a little hope. But you must promise -me that you will not be tempted to do anything that is rash. I know how -brave you are--my brother told me what prompt action you took yesterday -when that vile slander appeared. But were you not foolish to place -yourself in jeopardy? To strike at a serpent that hisses may only cause -it to spring." - -"I feel now that I was foolish," said he humbly; "I ran the chance of -forfeiting your friendship." - -"Oh, no, it was not so bad as that," she said. "But in this matter of -mine I perceive clearly that craft and not bravery will prevail to save -me, if I am to be saved. I saw that you provoked a quarrel with that man -on the night when we were leaving the Pantheon; think of it, think what -my feelings would have been if he had killed you! And think also that -if you had killed him I should certainly be lost, for he had made his -arrangements to print the letters by which I should be judged." - -"You have spoken truly," said he. "You are wiser than I have ever been. -But for your sake, my sweet Jessamy Bride, I promise to do nothing -that shall jeopardise your safety. Have no fear, dear one, you shall be -saved, whatever may happen." - -He took her hand and kissed it fondly. "You shall be saved," he -repeated. - -"If not----" said she in a low tone, looking beyond him. - -"No--no," he whispered. "I have given you my promise. You must give me -yours. You will do nothing impious." - -She gave a wan smile. - -"I am a girl," she said. "My courage is as water. I promise you I will -trust you, with all my heart--all my heart." - -"I shall not fail you--Heaven shall not fail you," said he, going to the -door. - -He looked back at her. What a lovely picture she made, standing in her -white loose gown with its lace collar that seemed to make her face the -more pallid! - -He bowed at the door. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -He went for supper to a tavern which he knew would be visited by none -of his friends. He had no wish to share in the drolleries of Garrick as -the latter turned Boswell into ridicule to make sport for the company. -He knew that Garrick would be at the club in Gerrard street, to which he -had been elected only a few days before the production of "She Stoops to -Conquer," and it was not at all unlikely that on this account the club -would be a good deal livelier than it usually was even when Richard -Burke was wittiest. - -While awaiting the modest fare which he had ordered he picked up one of -the papers published that evening, and found that it contained a fierce -assault upon him for having dared to take the law into his own hands in -attempting to punish the scoundrel who had introduced the name of Miss -Horneck into his libel upon the author of the comedy about which all the -town were talking. - -The scurrility of his new assailant produced no impression upon him. He -smiled as he read the ungrammatical expression of the indignation which -the writer purported to feel at so gross an infringement of the liberty -of the press as that of which--according to the writer--the ingenious -Dr. Goldsmith was guilty. He did not even fling the paper across the -room. He was not dwelling upon his own grievances. In his mind, the -worst that could happen to him was not worth a moment's thought compared -with the position of the girl whose presence he had just left. - -He knew perfectly well--had he not good reason to know?--that the man -who had threatened her would keep his threat. He knew of the gross -nature of the libels which were published daily upon not merely the most -notable persons in society, but also upon ordinary private individuals; -and he had a sufficient knowledge of men and women to be aware of the -fact that the grossest scandal upon the most innocent person was more -eagerly read than any of the other contents of the prints of the day. -That was one of the results of the publication of the scurrilities of -Junius: the appetite of the people for such piquant fare was whetted, -and there was no lack of literary cooks to prepare it. Slander was all -that the public demanded. They did not make the brilliancy of Junius -one of the conditions of their acceptance of such compositions--all they -required was that the libel should have a certain amount of piquancy. - -No one was better aware of this fact than Oliver Goldsmith. He knew that -Kenrick, who had so frequently libelled him, would pay all the money -that he could raise to obtain the letters which the man who called -himself Captain Jackson had in his possession; he also knew that there -would be no difficulty in finding a publisher for them; and as people -were always much more ready to believe evil than good regarding any -one--especially a young girl against whom no suspicion had ever been -breathed--the result of the publication of the letters would mean -practically ruin to the girl who had been innocent enough to write them. - -Of course, a man of the world, with money at his hand, would have smiled -at the possibility of a question arising as to the attitude to assume in -regard to such a scoundrel as Jackson. He would merely inquire what sum -the fellow required in exchange for the letters. But Goldsmith was in -such matters as innocent as the girl herself. He believed, as she did, -that because the man did not make any monetary claim upon her, he was -not sordid. He was the more inclined to disregard the question of the -possibility of buying the man off, knowing as he did that he should -find it impossible to raise a sufficient sum for the purpose; and -he believed, with Mary Horneck, that to tell her friends how she was -situated would be to forfeit their respect forever. - -She had told him that only cunning could prevail against her enemy, and -he felt certain that she was right. He would try and be cunning for her -sake. - -He found great difficulty in making a beginning. He remembered how often -in his life, and how easily, he had been imposed upon--how often his -friends had entreated him to acquire this talent, since he had certainly -not been endowed with it by nature. He remembered how upon some -occasions he had endeavoured to take their advice; and he also -remembered how, when he thought he had been extremely shrewd, it turned -out that he had never been more clearly imposed upon. - -He wondered if it was too late to begin again on a more approved system. - -He brought his skill as a writer of fiction to bear upon the question -(which maybe taken as evidence that he had not yet begun his career of -shrewdness). - -How, for instance, would he, if the exigencies of his story required -it, cause Moses Primrose to develop into a man of resources in worldly -wisdom? By what means would he turn Honeywood into a cynical man of the -world? - -He considered these questions at considerable length, and only when he -reached the Temple, returning to his chambers, did he find out that the -waiter at the tavern had given him change for a guinea two shillings -short, and that half-a-crown of the change was made of pewter. He could -not help being amused at his first step towards cunning. He certainly -felt no vexation at being made so easy a victim of--he was accustomed to -that position. - -When he found that the roll of manuscript which he had thrust between -the bars of the grate remained as he had left it, only slightly charred -at the end which had been the nearer to the hot, though not burning, -coals, all thoughts of guile--all his prospects of shrewdness were cast -aside. He unfolded the pages and read the verses once more. After all, -he had no right to burn them. He felt that they were no longer his -property. They either belonged to the world of literature or to Mary -Horneck, as--as what? As a token of affection which he bore her? But he -had promised Johnson to root out of his heart whatever might remain of -that which he had admitted to be foolishness. - -Alas! alas! He sat up for hours in his cold rooms thinking, hoping, -dreaming his old dream that a day was coming when he might without -reproach put those verses into the girl's hand--when, learning the -truth, she would understand. - -And that time did come. - -In the morning he found himself ready to face the question of how to -get possession of the letters. No man of his imagination could give his -attention to such a matter without having suggested to him many schemes -for the attainment of his object. But in the end he was painfully -aware that he had contrived nothing that did not involve the risk of -a criminal prosecution against himself, and, as a consequence, the -discovery of all that Mary Horneck was anxious to hide. - -It was not until the afternoon that he came to the conclusion that it -would be unwise for him to trust to his own resources in this particular -affair. After all, he was but a man; it required the craft of a woman to -defeat the wiles of such a demon as he had to deal with. - -That he knew to be a wise conclusion to come to. But where was the -woman to whom he could go for help? He wanted to find a woman who was -accustomed to the wiles of the devil, and he believed that he should -have considerable difficulty in finding her. - -He was, of course, wrong. He had not been considering this aspect of the -question for long before he thought of Mrs. Abington, and in a moment he -knew that he had found a woman who could help him if she had a mind to -do so. Her acquaintance with wiles he knew to be large and varied, and -he liked her. - -He liked her so well that he felt sure she would help him--if he made -it worth her while; and he thought he saw his way to make it worth her -while. - -He was so convinced he was on the way to success that he became -impatient at the reflection that he could not possibly see Mrs. Abington -until the evening. But while he was in this state his servant announced -a visitor--one with whom he was not familiar, but who gave his name as -Colonel Gwyn. - -Full of surprise, he ordered Colonel Gwyn to be shown into the room. He -recollected having met him at a dinner at the Reynolds's, and once at -the Hornecks' house in Westminster; but why he should pay a visit -to Brick Court Goldsmith was at a loss to know. He, however, greeted -Colonel Gwyn as if he considered it to be one of the most natural -occurrences in the world for him to appear at that particular moment. - -"Dr. Goldsmith," said the visitor when he had seated himself, "you -have no doubt every reason to be surprised at my taking the liberty of -calling upon you without first communicating with you." - -"Not at all, sir," said Goldsmith. "'Tis a great compliment you offer to -me. Bear in mind that I am sensible of it, sir." - -"You are very kind, sir. Those who have a right to speak on the subject -have frequently referred to you as the most generous of men." - -"Oh, sir, I perceive that you have been talking with some persons whose -generosity was more noteworthy than their judgment." - -And once again he gave an example of the Goldsmith bow which Garrick had -so successfully caricatured. - -"Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, if I thought so I would not be here to-day. The -fact is, sir, that I--I--i' faith, sir, I scarce know how to tell you -how it is I appear before you in this fashion." - -"You do not need to have an excuse, I do assure you, Colonel Gwyn. You -are a friend of my best friend--Sir Joshua Reynolds." - -"Yes, sir, and of other friends, too, I would fain hope. In short, Dr. -Goldsmith, I am here because I know how highly you stand in the esteem -of--of--well, of all the members of the Horneck family." - -It was now Goldsmith's turn to stammer. He was so surprised by the way -his visitor introduced the name of the Hor-necks he scarcely knew what -reply to make to him. - -"I perceive that you are surprised, sir." said Gwyn. - -"No, no--not at all--that is--no, not greatly surprised--only--well, -sir, why should you not be a friend of Mrs. Horneck? Her son is like -yourself, a soldier," stammered Goldsmith. - -"I have taken the liberty of calling more than once during the past -week or two upon the Hornecks, Dr. Goldsmith," said Gwyn; "but upon no -occasion have I been fortunate enough to see Miss Horneck. They told me -she was by no means well." - -"And they told you the truth, sir," said Goldsmith somewhat brusquely. - -"You know it then? Miss Horneck is really indisposed? Ah! I feared that -they were merely excusing her presence on the ground of illness. I must -confess a headache was not specified." - -"Nay, sir, Miss Horneck's relations are not destitute of imagination. -But why should you fancy that you were being deceived by them, Colonel -Gwyn?" - -Colonel Gwyn laughed slightly, not freely. - -"I thought that the lady herself might think, perhaps, that I was taking -a liberty," he said somewhat awkwardly. - -"Why should she think that, Colonel Gwyn?" asked Goldsmith. - -"Well, Dr. Goldsmith, you see--sir, you are, I know, a favoured friend -of the lady's--I perceived long ago--nay, it is well known that she -regards you with great affection as a--no, not as a father--no, as--as -an elder brother, that is it--yes, as an elder brother; and therefore -I thought that I would venture to intrude upon you to-day. Sir, to be -quite frank with you, I love Miss Horneck, but I hesitate--as I am sure -you could understand that any man must--before declaring myself to her. -Now, it occurred to me, Dr. Goldsmith, that you might not conceive it to -be a gross impertinence on my part if I were to ask you if you knew of -the lady's affections being already engaged. I hope you will be frank -with me, sir." - -Goldsmith looked with curious eyes at the man before him. Colonel -Gwyn was a well built man of perhaps a year or two over thirty. He sat -upright on his chair--a trifle stiffly, it might be thought by some -people, but that was pardonable in a military man. He was also somewhat -inclined to be pompous in his manners; but any one could perceive that -they were the manners of a gentleman. - -Goldsmith looked earnestly at him. Was that the man who was to take Mary -Horneck away from him? he asked himself. - -He could not speak for some time after his visitor had spoken. At last -he gave a little start. - -"You should not have come to me, sir," he said slowly. - -"I felt that I was taking a great liberty, sir," said Gwyn. - -"On the contrary, sir, I feel that you have honoured me with your -confidence. But--ah, sir, do you fancy that I am the sort of man a lady -would seek for a confidant in any matter concerning her heart?" - -"I thought it possible that she--Miss Horneck--might have let you know. -You are not as other men, Dr. Goldsmith; you are a poet, and so she -might naturally feel that you would be interested in a love affair. -Poets, all the world knows, sir, have a sort of--well, a sort of vested -interest in the love affairs of humanity, so to speak." - -"Yes, sir, that is the decree of Heaven, I suppose, to compensate -them for the emptiness in their own hearts to which they must become -accustomed. I have heard of childless women becoming the nurses to the -children of their happier sisters, and growing as fond of them as if -they were their own offspring. It is on the same principle, I suppose, -that poets become sympathetically interested in the world of lovers, -which is quite apart from the world of letters." - -Goldsmith spoke slowly, looking his visitor in the face. He had no -difficulty in perceiving that Colonel Gwyn failed to understand the -exact appropriateness of what he had said. Colonel Gwyn himself admitted -as much. - -"I protest, sir, I scarcely take your meaning," he said. "But for that -matter, I fear that I was scarcely fortunate enough to make myself quite -plain to you." - -"Oh, yes," said Goldsmith, "I think I gathered from your words all that -you came hither to learn. Briefly, Colonel Gwyn, you are reluctant to -subject yourself to the humiliation of having your suit rejected by the -lady, and so you have come hither to try and learn from me what are your -chances of success." - -"How admirably you put the matter!" said Gwyn. "And I fancied you did -not apprehend the purport of my visit. Well, sir, what chance have I?" - -"I cannot tell," said Goldsmith. "Miss Horneck has never told me that -she loved any man." - -"Then I have still a chance?" - -"Nay, sir; girls do not usually confide the story of their attachments -to their fathers--no, nor to their elder brothers. But if you wish to -consider your chances with any lady, Colonel Gwyn, I would venture to -advise you to go and stand in front of a looking-glass and ask yourself -if you are the manner of man to whom a young lady would be likely to -become attached. Add to the effect of your personality--which I think is -great, sir--the glamour that surrounds the profession in which you have -won distinction, and you will be able to judge for yourself whether your -suit would be likely to be refused by the majority of young ladies." - -"You flatter me, Dr. Goldsmith. But, assuming for a moment that there is -some force in your words, I protest that they do not reassure me. Miss -Horneck, sir, is not the lady to be carried away by the considerations -that would prevail in the eyes of others of her sex." - -"You have learned something of Miss Horneck, at any rate, Colonel Gwyn." - -"I think I have, sir. When I think of her, I feel despondent. Does the -man exist who would be worthy of her love?" - -"He does not, Colonel Gwyn. But that is no reason why she may not love -some man. Does a woman only give her love to one who is worthy of it? It -is fortunate for men that that is not the way with women. - -"It is fortunate; and in that reflection, sir, I find my greatest -consolation at the present moment. I am not a bad man, Dr. -Goldsmith--not as men go--there is in my lifetime nothing that I have -cause to be ashamed of; but, I repeat, when I think of her sweetness, -her purity, her tenderness, I am overcome with a sense of my own -presumption in aspiring to win her. You think me presumptuous in this -matter, I am convinced, sir." - -"I do--I do. I know Mary Horneck." - -"I give you my word that I am better satisfied with your agreement with -me in this respect than I should be if you were to flatter me. Allow me -to thank you for your great courtesy to me, sir. You have not sent me -away without hope, and I trust that I may assume, Dr. Goldsmith, that -I have your good wishes in this matter, which I hold to be vital to my -happiness." - -"Colonel Gwyn, my wishes--my prayers to Heaven are that Mary Horneck may -be happy." - -"And I ask for nothing more, sir. There is my hand on it." - -Oliver Goldsmith took the hand that he but dimly saw stretched out to -him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -Never for a moment had Goldsmith felt jealous of the younger men -who were understood to be admirers of the Jessamy Bride. He had made -humourous verses on some of them, Henry Bunbury had supplied comic -illustrations, and Mary and her sister had had their laugh. He could not -even now feel jealous of Colonel Gwyn, though he knew that he was a more -eligible suitor than the majority whom he had met from time to time at -the Hornecks' house. He knew that since Colonel Gwyn had appeared the -girl had no thoughts to give to love and suitors. If Gwyn were to go -to her immediately and offer himself as a suitor he would meet with a -disappointment. - -Yes; at the moment he had no reason to feel jealous of the man who -had just left him. On the contrary, he felt that he had a right to be -exultant at the thought that it was he--he--Oliver Goldsmith--who had -been entrusted by Mary Horneck with her secret--with the duty of saving -her from the scoundrel who was persecuting her. - -Colonel Gwyn was a soldier, and yet it was to him that this knight's -enterprise had fallen. - -He felt that he had every reason to be proud. He had been placed in a -position which was certainly quite new to him. He was to compass the -rescue of the maiden in distress; and had he not heard of innumerable -instances in which the reward of success in such, an undertaking was the -hand of the maiden? - -For half an hour he felt exultant. He had boldly faced an adverse fate -all his life; he had grappled with a cruel destiny; and, though the -struggle had lasted all his life, he had come out the conqueror. He had -become the most distinguished man of letters in England. As Professor -at the Royal Academy his superiority had been acknowledged by the most -eminent men of the period. And then, although he was plain of face and -awkward in manner--nearly as awkward, if far from being so offensive, as -Johnson--he had been appointed her own knight by the loveliest girl in -England. He felt that he had reason to exult. - -But then the reaction came. He thought of himself as compared with -Colonel Gwyn--he thought of himself as a suitor by the side of Colonel -Gwyn. What would the world say of a girl who would choose him in -preference to Colonel Gwyn? He had told Gwyn to survey himself in a -mirror in order to learn what chance he would have of being accepted -as the lover of a lovely girl. Was he willing to apply the same test to -himself? - -He had not the courage to glance toward even the small glass which he -had--a glass which could reflect only a small portion of his plainness. - -He remained seated in his chair for a long time, being saved from -complete despair only by the reflection that it was he who was entrusted -with the task of freeing Mary Horneck from the enemy who had planned her -destruction. This was his one agreeable reflection, and after a time it, -too, became tempered by the thought that all his task was still before -him: he had taken no step toward saving her. - -He started up, called for a lamp, and proceeded to dress himself for the -evening. He would dine at a coffee house in the neighbourhood of Covent -Garden Theatre, and visit Mrs. Abington in the green room while his -play--in which she did not appear--was being acted on the stage. - -He was unfortunate enough to meet Boswell in the coffee house, so that -his design of thinking out, while at dinner, the course which he should -pursue in regard to the actress--how far he would be safe in confiding -in her--was frustrated. - -The little Scotchman was in great grief: Johnson had actually quarrelled -with him--well, not exactly quarrelled, for it required two to make -a quarel, and Boswell had steadily refused to contribute to such -a disaster. Johnson, however, was so overwhelming a personality in -Boswell's eyes he could almost make a quarrel without the assistance of -a second person. - -"Psha! Sir," said Goldsmith, "you know as little of Dr. Johnson as you -do of the Irish nation and their characteristics." - -"Perhaps that is so, but I felt that I was getting to know him," said -Boswell. "But now all is over; he will never see me again." - -"Nay, man, cannot you perceive that he is only assuming this attitude in -order to give you a chance of knowing him better?" said Goldsmith. - -"For the life of me I cannot see how that could be," cried Boswell after -a contemplative pause. - -"Why, sir, you must perceive that he wishes to impress you with a -consciousness of his generosity." - -"What, by quarrelling with me and declaring that he would never see me -again?" - -"No, not in that way, though I believe there are some people who would -feel that it was an act of generosity on Dr. Johnson's part to remain -secluded for a space in order to give the rest of the world a chance of -talking together." - -"What does it matter about the rest of the world, sir?" - -"Not much, I suppose I should say, since he means me to be his -biographer." - -Boswell, of course, utterly failed to appreciate the sly tone in which -the Irishman spoke, and took him up quite seriously. - -"Is it possible that he has been in communication with you, Dr. -Goldsmith?" he cried anxiously. - -"I will not divulge Dr. Johnson's secrets, sir," replied Goldsmith, with -an affectation of the manner of the man who a short time before had said -that Shakespeare was pompous. - -"Now you are imitating him," said Boswell. "But I perceive that he has -told you of our quarrel--our misunderstanding. It arose through you, -sir." - -"Through me, sir?" - -"Through the visit of your relative, the Dean, after we had dined at the -Crown and Anchor. You see, he bound me down to promise him to tell no -one of that unhappy occurrence, sir; and yet he heard that Garrick has -lately been mimicking the Dean--yes, down to his very words, at the -Reynolds's, and so he came to the conclusion that Garrick was made -acquainted with the whole story by me. He sent for me yesterday, and -upbraided me for half an hour." - -"To whom did you give an account of the affair, sir?" - -"To no human being, sir." - -"Oh, come now, you must have given it to some one." - -"To no one, sir--that is, no one from whom Garrick could possibly have -had the story." - -"Ah, I knew, and so did Johnson, that it would be out of the question to -expect that you would hold your tongue on so interesting a secret. Well, -perhaps this will be a lesson to you in the future. I must not fail -to make an entire chapter of this in my biography of our great friend. -Perhaps you would do me the favour to write down a clear and as nearly -accurate an account as your pride will allow of your quarrel with the -Doctor, sir. Such an account would be an amazing assistance to posterity -in forming an estimate of the character of Johnson." - -"Ah, sir, am I not sufficiently humiliated by the reflection that my -friendly relations with the man whom I revere more than any living human -being are irretrievably ruptured? You will not add to the poignancy of -that reflection by asking me to write down an account of our quarrel in -order to perpetuate so deplorable an incident?" - -"Sir, I perceive that you are as yet ignorant of the duties of the true -biographer. You seem to think that a biographer has a right to pick -and choose the incidents with which he has to deal--that he may, if he -please, omit the mention of any occurrence that may tend to show his -hero or his hero's friends in an unfavourable light. Sir, I tell you -frankly that your notions of biography are as erroneous as they are -mischievous. Mr. Boswell, I am a more conscientious man, and so, sir, I -insist on your writing down while they are still fresh in your mind the -very words that passed between you and Dr. Johnson on this matter, and -you will also furnish me with a list of the persons--if you have not -sufficient paper at your lodgings for the purpose, you can order a ream -at the stationer's at the corner--to whom you gave an account of the -humiliation of Dr. Johnson by the clergyman who claimed relationship -with me, but who was an impostor. Come, Mr. Boswell, be a man, sir; do -not seek to avoid so obvious a duty." - -Boswell looked at him, but, as usual, failed to detect the least gleam -of a smile on his face. - -He rose from the table and walked out of the coffee house without a -word. - -"Thank heaven I have got rid of that Peeping Tom," muttered Goldsmith. -"If I had acted otherwise in regard to him I should not have been out of -hearing of his rasping tongue until midnight." - -(The very next morning a letter from Boswell was brought to him. It told -him that he had sought Johnson the previous evening, and had obtained -his forgiveness. "You were right, sir," the letter concluded. "Dr. -Johnson has still further impressed me with a sense of his generosity.") - -But as soon as Boswell had been got rid of Goldsmith hastened to -the playhouse in order to consult with the lady who--through long -practice--was, he believed, the most ably qualified of her sex to give -him advice as to the best way of getting the better of a scoundrel. It -was only when he was entering the green room that he recollected he had -not yet made up his mind as to the exact limitations he should put upon -his confidence with Mrs. Abington. - -The beautiful actress was standing in one of those picturesque attitudes -which she loved to assume, at one end of the long room. The second act -only of "She Stoops to Conquer" had been reached, and as she did not -appear in the comedy, she had no need to begin dressing for the next -piece. She wore a favourite dress of hers--one which had taken the town -by storm a few months before, and which had been imitated by every lady -of quality who had more respect for fashion than for herself. It was -a negligently flowing gown of some soft but heavy fabric, very low and -loose about the neck and shoulders. - -"Ha, my little hero," cried the lady when Goldsmith approached and made -his bow, first to a group of players who stood near the door, and then -to Mrs. Abington. "Ha, my little hero, whom have you been drubbing last? -Oh, lud! to think of your beating a critic! Your courage sets us all -a-dying of envy. How we should love to pommel some of our critics! There -was a rumour last night that the man had died, Dr. Goldsmith." - -"The fellow would not pay such a tribute to my powers, depend on't, -madam," said Goldsmith. - -"Not if he could avoid it, I am certain," said she. "Faith, sir, -you gave him a pretty fair drubbing, anyhow.' Twas the talk of the -playhouse, I give you my word. Some vastly pretty things were said about -you, Dr. Goldsmith. It would turn your head if I were to repeat them -all. For instance, a gentleman in this very room last night said that it -was the first case that had come under his notice of a doctor's making -an attempt upon a man's life, except through the legitimate professional -channel." - -"If all the pretty things that were spoken were no prettier than that, -Mrs. Abington, you will not turn my head," said Goldsmith. "Though, for -that matter, I vow that to effect such a purpose you only need to stand -before me in that dress--ay, or any other." - -"Oh, sir, I protest that I cannot stand before such a fusillade of -compliment--I sink under it, sir--thus," and she made an exquisite -courtesy. "Talk of turning heads! do you fancy that actresses' heads are -as immovable as their hearts, Dr. Goldsmith?" - -"I trust that their hearts are less so, madam, for just now I am -extremely anxious that the heart of the most beautiful and most -accomplished should be moved," said Goldsmith. - -"You have only to give me your word that you have written as good a -comedy as 'She Stoops to Conquer,' with a better part for me in it than -that of Miss Hardcastle." - -"I have the design of one in my head, madam." - -"Then, faith, sir,'tis lucky that I did not say anything to turn your -head. Dr. Goldsmith, my heart is moved already. See how easy it is for a -great author to effect his object where a poor actress is concerned. And -you have begun the comedy, sir?" - -"I cannot begin it until I get rid of a certain tragedy that is in the -air. I want your assistance in that direction." - -"What! Do you mistake the farce of drubbing a critic for a tragedy, Dr. -Goldsmith?" - -"Psha, madam! What do you take me for? Even if I were as poor a critic -as Kenrick I could still discriminate between one and t' other. Can you -give me half an hour of your time, Mrs. Abington?" - -"With all pleasure, sir. We shall sit down. You wear a tragedy face, Dr. -Goldsmith." - -"I need to do so, madam, as I think you will allow when you hear all I -have to tell you." - -"Oh, lud! You frighten me. Pray begin, sir." - -"How shall I begin? Have you ever had to encounter the devil, madam?" - -"Frequently, sir. Alas! I fear that I have not always prevailed against -him as successfully as you did in your encounter with one of his -family--a critic. Your story promises to be more interesting than your -face suggested." - -"I have to encounter a devil, Mrs. Abington, and I come to you for -help." - -"Then you must tell me if your devil is male or female. If the former I -think I can promise you my help; if the latter, do not count on me. When -the foul fiend assumes the form of an angel of light--which I take to be -the way St. Paul meant to convey the idea of a woman--he is too powerful -for me, I frankly confess." - -"Mine is a male fiend." - -"Not the manager of a theatre--another form of the same hue?" - -"Nay, dear madam, there are degrees of blackness." - -"Ah, yes; positive bad, comparative Baddeley, superlative Colman." - -"If I could compose a phrase like that, Mrs. Abington, I should be the -greatest wit in London, and ruin my life going from coffee house to -coffee house repeating it." - -"Pray do not tell Mrs. Baddeley that I made it, sir." - -"How could I, madam, when you have just told me that a she-devil was -more than you could cope with?" - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -And now, sir, to face the particulars--to proceed from the fancy -embroidery of wit to the solid fabric of fact--who or what is the -aggressive demon that you want exorcised?" - -"His name is Jackson--he calls himself Captain Jackson," replied Oliver. -He had not made up his mind how much he should tell of Mary Horneck's -story. He blamed Boswell for interrupting his consideration of this -point after he had dined; though it is doubtful if he would have made -any substantial advance in that direction even if the unhappy Scotchman -had not thrust himself and his grievance upon him. - -"Jackson--Captain Jackson!" cried the actress. "Why, Dr. Goldsmith, this -is a very little fiend that you ask me to help you to destroy. Surely, -sir, he can be crushed without my assistance. One does not ask for a -battering-ram to overturn a house of cards--one does not requisition a -park of artillery to demolish a sparrow." - -"Nay, but if a blunderbuss be not handy, one should avail oneself of -the power of a piece of ordnance," said Goldsmith. "The truth is, madam, -that in this matter I represent only the blunder of the blunderbuss." - -"If you drift into wit, sir, we shall never get on. I know 'tis hard for -you to avoid it; but time is flying. What has this Captain Jackson been -doing that he must be sacrificed? You must be straight with me." - -"I'm afraid it has actually come to that. Well, Mrs. Abington, in brief, -there is a lady in the question." - -"Oh! you need scarce dwell on so inevitable an incident as that; I was -waiting for the lady." - -"She is the most charming of her sex, madam." - -"I never knew one that wasn't. Don't waste time over anything that may -be taken for granted." - -"Unhappily she was all unacquainted with the wickedness of men." - -"I wonder in what part of the world she lived--certainly not in London." - -"Staying with a relation in the country this fellow Jackson appeared -upon the scene----" - -"Ah! the most ancient story that the world knows: Innocence, the garden, -the serpent. Alas! sir, there is no return to the Garden of Innocence, -even though the serpent be slaughtered." - -"Pardon me, Mrs. Abington"--Goldsmith spoke slowly and gravely--"pardon -me. This real story is not so commonplace as that of my Olivia. Destiny -has more resources than the most imaginative composer of fiction." - -In as direct a fashion as possible he told the actress the pitiful story -of how Mary Horneck was imposed upon by the glamour of the man who let -it be understood that he was a hero, only incapacitated by a wound from -taking any further part in the campaign against the rebels in America; -and how he refused to return her the letters which she had written to -him, but had threatened to print them in such a way as would give them -the appearance of having been written by a guilty woman. - -"The lady is prostrated with grief," he said, concluding his story. "The -very contemplation of the possibility of her letters being printed is -killing her, and I am convinced that she would not survive the shame of -knowing that the scoundrel had carried out his infamous threat." - -"'Tis a sad story indeed," said Mrs. Abington. "The man is as bad as -bad can be. He claimed acquaintance with me on that famous night at the -Pantheon, though I must confess that I had only a vague recollection of -meeting him before his regiment was ordered across the Atlantic to quell -the rebellion in the plantations. Only two days ago I heard that he had -been drummed out of the army, and that he had sunk to the lowest point -possible for a man to fall to in this world. But surely you know -that all the fellow wants is to levy what was termed on the border of -Scotland 'blackmail' upon the unhappy girl. 'Tis merely a question of -guineas, Dr. Goldsmith. You perceive that? You are a man?" - -"That was indeed my first belief; but, on consideration, I have come to -think that he is fiend enough to aim only at the ruin of the girl," said -Goldsmith. - -"Psha! sir, I believe not in this high standard of crime. I believe not -in the self-sacrifice of such fellows for the sake of their principles," -cried the lady. "Go to the fellow with your guineas and shake them in -a bag under his nose, and you shall quickly see how soon he will forego -the dramatic elements in his attitude, and make an ignoble grab at the -coins." - -"You may be right," said he. "But whence are the guineas to come, pray?" - -"Surely the lady's friends will not see her lost for the sake of a -couple of hundred pounds." - -"Nay; but her aim is to keep the matter from the ears of her friends! -She would be overcome with shame were it to reach their ears that she -had written letters of affection to such a man." - -"She must be a singularly unpractical young lady, Dr. Goldsmith." - -"If she had not been more than innocent would she, think you, have -allowed herself to be imposed on by a stranger?" - -"Alas, sir, if there were no ladies like her in the world, you gentlemen -who delight us with your works of fiction would have to rely solely on -your imagination; and that means going to another world. But to return -to the matter before us; you wish to obtain possession of the letters? -How do you suggest that I can help you to accomplish that purpose?" - -"Why, madam, it is you to whom I come for suggestions. I saw the man in -conversation with you first at the Pantheon, and then in this very room. -It occurred to me that perhaps--it might be possible--in short, Mrs. -Abington, that you might know of some way by which the scoundrel could -be entrapped." - -"You compliment me, sir. You think that the entrapping of unwary -men--and of wary--is what nature and art have fitted me for--nature and -practice?" - -"I cannot conceive a higher compliment being paid to a woman, dear -madam. But, in truth, I came to you because you are the only lady -with whom I am acquainted who with a kind heart combines the highest -intelligence. That is why you are our greatest actress. The highest -intelligence is valueless on the stage unless it is associated with a -heart that beats in sympathy with the sorrow and becomes exultant with -the joy of others. That is why I regard myself as more than fortunate in -having your promise to accept a part in my next comedy." - -Mrs. Abington smiled as she saw through the very transparent art of the -author, reminding her that she would have her reward if she helped him -out of his difficulty. - -"I can understand how ladies look on you with great favour, sir," said -the actress. "Yes, in spite of your being--being--ah--innocent--a poet, -and of possessing other disqualifications, you are a delightful man, Dr. -Goldsmith; and by heaven, sir, I shall do what I can to--to--well, shall -we say to put you in a position of earning the lady's gratitude?" - -"That is the position I long for, dear madam." - -"Yes, but only to have the privilege of foregoing your claim. I know -you, Dr. Goldsmith. Well, supposing you come to see me here in a day or -two--that will give both of us a chance of still further considering the -possibility of successfully entrapping our friend the Captain. I believe -it was the lady who suggested the trap to you; you, being a man, were -doubtless for running your enemy through the vitals or for cutting his -throat without the delay of a moment." - -"Your judgment is unerring, Mrs. Abington." - -"Ah, you see, it is the birds that have been in the trap who know most -about it. Besides, does not our dear dead friend Will Shakespeare say, -'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps'?" - -"Those are his words, madam, though at this moment I cannot quite -perceive their bearing." - -"Oh, lud! Why, dear sir, Cupid's mother's daughters resemble their -little step-brother in being fond of a change of weapons, and you, sir, -I perceive, have been the victim of a dart. Now, I must hasten to dress -for my part or there will be what Mr. Daly of Smock Alley, Dublin, used -to term 'ructions.'" - -She gave him her hand with a delightful smile and hurried off, but not -before he had bowed over her hand, imprinting on it a clumsy but very -effective kiss. - -He remained in the theatre until the close of the performance; for -he was not so utterly devoid of guile as not to know that if he had -departed without witnessing Mrs. Abington in the second piece she would -have regarded him as far from civil. Seeing him in a side box, however, -that clever lady perceived that he had taste as well as tact. She felt -that it was a pleasure to do anything for such a man--especially as he -was a writer of plays. It would be an additional pleasure to her if she -could so interpret a character in a play of his that the play should be -the most notable success of the season. - -As Goldsmith strolled back to his chambers he felt that he had made some -progress in the enterprise with which he had been entrusted. He did not -feel elated, but only tranquilly confident that his judgment had not -been at fault when it suer-gested to him the propriety of consulting -with Mrs. Abington. This was the first time that propriety and Mrs. -Abington were associated. - -The next day he got a message that the success of his play was -consolidated by a "command" performance at which the whole of his -Majesty's Court would attend. This news elated him, not only because -it meant the complete success of the play and the overthrow of the -sentimentalists who were still harping upon the "low" elements of -certain scenes, but also because he accepted it as an incident of good -augury. He felt certain that Mrs. Abington would have discovered a plan -by which he should be able to get possession of the letters. - -When he went to her after the lapse of a few days, he found that she had -not been unmindful of his interests. - -"The fellow had the effrontery to stand beside my chair in the Mall -yesterday," said she, "but I tolerated him--nay, I encouraged him--not -for your sake, mind; I do not want you to fancy that you interest me, -but for the sake of the unhappy girl who was so nearly making a shocking -fool of herself. Only one girl interests me more than she who nearly -makes a fool of herself, and that is she who actually makes the fool of -herself." - -"Alas! alas! the latter is more widely represented in this evil world, -Mrs. Abing ton," said Oliver, so gravely that the actress roared with -laughter. - -"You have too fine a comedy face to be sentimental, Dr. Goldsmith," she -said. "But to business. I tell you I even smiled upon the gentleman, for -I have found that the traps which are netted with silk are invariably -the most effective." - -"You have found that by your experience of traps?" said Goldsmith. "The -smile is the silken net?" - -"Even so," said she, giving an excellent example of the fatal mesh. "Ah, -Dr. Goldsmith, you would do well to avoid the woman who smiles on you." - -"Alas! madam, the caution is thrown away upon me; she smiles not on me, -but at me." - -"Thank heaven for that, sir. No harm will come to you through being -smiled at. How I stray from my text! Well, sir, the wretch, in response -to the encouragement of my smile, had the effrontery to ask me for my -private address, upon which I smiled again. Ah, sir, 'tis diverting when -the fly begins to lure on the spider." - -"'Tis vastly diverting, madam, I doubt not--to the fly." - -"Ay, and to the friends of the spider. But we shall let that pass. -Sir, to be brief, I did not let the gentleman know that I had a private -address, but I invited him to partake of supper with me on the next -Thursday night." - -"Heavens! madam, you do not mean to tell me that your interest on my -behalf----" - -"Is sufficiently great to lead me to sup with a spider? Sir, I say that -I am only interested in my sister-fly--would she be angry if she were to -hear that such a woman as I even thought of her as a sister?" - -There was a note of pathos in the question, which did not fall unnoticed -upon Goldsmith's ear. - -"Madam," said he, "she is a Christian woman." - -"Ah, Dr. Goldsmith," said the actress, "a very small amount of Christian -charity is thought sufficient for the equipment of a Christian woman. -Let that pass, however; what I want of you is to join us at supper on -Thursday night. It is to take place in the Shakespeare tavern round -the corner, and, of course, in a private room; but I do not want you -to appear boldly, as if I had invited you beforehand to partake of my -hospitality. You must come into the room when we have begun, carrying -with you a roll of manuscript, which you must tell me contains a scene -of your new comedy, upon which we are daily in consultation, mind you." - -"I shall not fail to recollect," said Goldsmith. "Why, 'tis like the -argument of a comedy, Mrs. Abingdon; I protest I never invented one more -elaborate. I rather fear to enter upon it." - -"Nay, you must be in no trepidation, sir," said the lady. "I think I -know the powers of the various members of the cast of this little drama -of mine, so you need not think that you will be put into a part which -you will not be able to play to perfection." - -"You are giving me a lesson in playwriting. Pray continue the argument. -When I enter with the imaginary scene of my new piece, you will, I -trust, ask me to remain to supper; you see I grudge the gentleman the -pleasure of your society for even an hour." - -"I will ask you to join us at the table, and then--well, then I have -a notion that between us we should have no great difficulty making our -friend drink a sufficient quantity of wine to cause him to make known -all his secrets to us, even as to where he keeps those precious letters -of his." - -Oliver's face did not exhibit any expression that the actress could -possibly interpret as a flattering tribute to her ingenuity--the fact -being that he was greatly disappointed at the result of her contriving. -Her design was on a level of ingenuity with that which might occur to a -romantic school miss. Of course the idea upon which it was founded had -formed the basis of more than one comedy--he had a notion that if these -comedies had not been written Mrs. Abing ton's scheme would not have -been so clearly defined. - -She perceived the expression on his face and rightly interpreted it. - -"What, sir!" she cried. "Do you fail to perceive the singular ingenuity -of my scheme? Nay, you must remember that 'tis my first attempt--not at -scheming, to be sure, but at inventing a design for a play." - -"I would not shrink from making use of your design if I were writing a -play, dear lady," said he. "But then, you see, it would be in my power -to make my villain speak at the right moments and hold his peace at the -right moments. It would also be in my power to make him confess all that -was necessary for the situation. But alas! madam, it makes me sometimes -quite hopeless of Nature to find how frequently she disregards the most -ordinary precepts of art." - -"Psha! sir," said the actress. "Nothing in this world is certain. I am -a poor moralist, but I recognise the fact, and make it the guide of my -life. At the same time I have noticed that, although one's carefully -arranged plans are daily thrown into terrible disorder by the -slovenliness of the actors to whom we assign certain parts and certain -dialogue, yet in the end nature makes even a more satisfactory drama -out of the ruins of our schemes than we originally designed. So, in this -case, sir, I am not without hope that even though our gentleman's lips -remain sealed--nay, even though our gentleman remain sober--a great -calamity--we may still be able to accomplish our purpose. You will keep -your ears open and I shall keep my eyes open, and it will be strange if -between us we cannot get the better of so commonplace a scoundrel." - -"I place myself unreservedly in your hands, madam," said Oliver; "and I -can only repeat what you have said so well--namely, that even the most -clumsy of our schemes--which this one of yours certainly is not--may -become the basis of a most ingenious drama, designed and carried out by -that singularly adroit playwright, Destiny. And so I shall not fail you -on Thursday evening." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -Goldsmith for the next few days felt very ill at ease. He had a -consciousness of having wasted a good deal of valuable time waiting upon -Mrs. Abington and discussing with her the possibility of accomplishing -the purpose which he had at heart; for he could not but perceive how -shallow was the scheme which she had devised for the undoing of Mary -Horneck's enemy. He felt that it would, after all, have been better for -him to place himself in the hands of the fencing-master whom Baretti had -promised to find out for him, and to do his best to run the scoundrel -through the body, than to waste his time listening to the crude scheme -concocted by Mrs. Abington, in close imitation of some third-class -playwright. - -He felt, however, that he had committed himself to the actress and her -scheme. It would be impossible for him to draw back after agreeing to -join her at supper on the Thursday night. But this fact did not prevent -his exercising his imagination with a view to find out some new plan -for obtaining possession of the letters. Thursday came, however, without -seeing him any further advanced in this direction than he had been when -he had first gone to the actress, and he began to feel that hopelessness -which takes the form of hoping for the intervention of some accident -to effect what ingenuity has failed to accomplish-Mrs. Abington had -suggested the possibility of such an accident taking place--in fact, she -seemed to rely rather upon the possibility of such an occurrence than -upon the ingenuity of her own scheme; and Oliver could not but think -that she was right in this respect. He had a considerable experience -of life and its vicissitudes, and he knew that when destiny was in a -jesting mood the most judicious and cunningly devised scheme may be -overturned by an accident apparently no less trivial than the raising of -a hand, the fluttering of a piece of lace, or the cry of a baby. - -He had known of a horse's casting a shoe preventing a runaway match and -a vast amount of consequent misery, and he had heard of a shower of rain -causing a confirmed woman hater to take shelter in a doorway, where he -met a young woman who changed--for a time--all his ideas of the sex. As -he recalled these and other freaks of fate, he could not but feel that -Mrs. Abington was fully justified in her confidence in accident as a -factor in all human problems. But he was quite aware that hoping for an -accident is only another form of despair. - -In the course of the day appointed by Mrs. Abington for her supper he -met Baretti, and reminded him of the promise he had made to find an -Italian fencing master and send him to Brick Court. - -"What!" cried Baretti. "Have you another affair on your hands in -addition to that in which you have already been engaged? Psha! sir. You -do not need to be a swordsman in order to flog a bookseller." - -"I do not look forward to fighting booksellers," said Goldsmith. "They -have stepped between me and starvation more than once." - -"Would any one of them have taken that step unless he was pretty certain -to make money by his philanthropy?" asked Baretti in his usual cynical -way. - -"I cannot say," replied Goldsmith. "I don't think that I can lay claim -to the mortifying reflection that I have enriched any bookseller. At any -rate, I do not mean ever to beat another." - -"'Tis, then, a critic whom you mean to attack? If you have made up your -mind to kill a critic, I shall make it a point to find you the best -swordsman in Europe," said Baretti. - -"Do so, my friend," said Goldsmith; "and when I succeed in killing a -critic, you shall have the first and second fingers of his right hand as -a memento." - -"I shall look for them--yes, in five years, for it will certainly take -that time to make you expert with a sword," said the Italian. "And, -meantime, you may yourself be cut to pieces by even so indifferent a -fighter as Kenrick." - -"In such a case I promise to bequeath to you whatever bones of mine you -may take a fancy to have." - -"And I shall regard them with great veneration, being the relics of a -martyr--a man who did not fear to fight with dragons and other unclean -beasts. You may look for a visit from a skilful countryman of mine -within a week; only let me pray of you to be guided by his advice. If he -should say that it is wiser for you to beware the entrance to a quarrel, -as your poet has it, you will do well to accept his advice. I do not -want a poet's bones for my reliquary, though from all that I can hear -one of our friends would have no objection to a limb or two." - -"And who may that friend be?" - -"You should be able to guess, sir. What! have you not been negotiating -with the booksellers for a life of Dr. Johnson?" - -"Not I, sir. But, if I have been doing so, what then?" - -"What then? Why, then you may count upon the eternal enmity of the -little Scotchman whom you once described not as a cur but only a bur. -Sir, Boswell robbed of his Johnson would be worse than--than----" - -"A lioness robbed of her whelps?" - -"Well, better say a she-bear robbed of her cubs, only that Johnson is -the bear and Boswell the cub. Boswell has been going about saying that -you had boasted to him of your intention to become Johnson's biographer; -and the best of the matter is that Johnson has entered with great spirit -into the jest and has kept his poor Bossy on thistles--reminiscent of -his native land--ever since." - -Goldsmith laughed, and told Baretti how he had occasion to get rid of -Boswell, and had done so by pretending that he meant to write a life of -Johnson. Baretti laughed and went on to describe how, on the previous -evening, Garrick had drawn on Boswell until the latter had imitated all -the animals in the farmyard, while narrating, for the thousandth time, -his first appearance in the pit of Drury Lane. Boswell had felt quite -flattered, Baretti said, when Garrick, making a judicial speech, which -every one present except Boswell perceived to be a fine piece of comedy, -said he felt constrained to reverse the judgment of the man in the pit -who had shouted: "Stick to the coo, mon!" On the whole, Garrick said, he -thought that, while Boswell's imitation of the cow was most admirable in -many respects, yet for naturalness it was his opinion--whatever it might -be worth--that the voice of the ass was that which Boswell was most -successful in attempting. - -Goldsmith knew that even Garrick's broadest buffoonery was on occasions -accepted by Boswell with all seriousness, and he had no hesitation in -believing Baretti's account of the party on the previous evening. - -He went to Mrs. Abington's room at the theatre early in the night to -inquire if she had made any change in her plans respecting the supper, -and he found that the lady had come to think as poorly of the scheme -which she had invented as he did. She had even abandoned her idea of -inducing the man to confess, when in a state of intoxication, where he -was in the habit of keeping the letters. - -"These fellows are sometimes desperately suspicious when in their cups," -said she; "and I fear that at the first hint of our purpose he may -become dumb, no matter how boldly he may have been talking previously. -If he suspects that you have a desire to obtain the letters, you may say -farewell to the chance of worming anything out of him regarding them." - -"What then is to be gained by our supping with him?" said Goldsmith. - -"Why, you are brought into contact with him," she replied. "You will -then be in a position, if you cultivate a friendship with him, to take -him unawares upon some occasion, and so effect your purpose. Great? -heavens, sir! one cannot expect to take a man by storm, so to speak--one -cannot hope to meet a clever scoundrel for half an hour-in the evening, -and then walk away with all his secrets. You may have to be with this -fellow every day for a month or two before you get a chance of putting -the letters into your pocket." - -"I'll hope for better luck than that," said Oliver. - -"Oh, with good luck one can accomplish anything," said she. "But good -luck is just one of the things that cannot be arranged for even by the -cleverest people." - -"That is where men are at a disadvantage in striving with destiny," -said Goldsmith. "But I think that any man who succeeds in having Mrs. -Abington as his ally must be regarded as the most fortunate of his sex." - -"Ah, sir, wait for another month before you compliment me," said she. - -"Madam," said he, "I am not complimenting you, but myself. I will take -your advice and reserve my compliments to you for--well, no, not a -month; if I can put them off for a week I shall feel that I have done -very well." - -As he made his bow and left her, he could not help feeling more strongly -that he had greatly overrated the advantages to be derived from an -alliance with Mrs. Abington when his object was to get the better of -an adroit scoundrel. He had heard--nay, he had written--of the wiles of -women, and yet the first time that he had an opportunity of testing a -woman's wiles he found that he had been far too generous in his estimate -of their value. - -It was with no little trepidation that he went to the Shakespeare -tavern at supper time and inquired for Mrs. Abington. He had a roll -of manuscript in his hand, according to agreement, and he desired the -waiter to inform the lady that he would not keep her for long. He was -very fluent up to this point; but he was uncertain how he would behave -when he found himself face to face with the man who had made the life of -Mary Horneck miserable. He wondered if he would be able to restrain his -impulse to fly at the scoundrel's throat. - -When, however, the waiter returned with a message from Mrs. Abington -that she would see Dr. Goldsmith in the supper room, and he ascended -the stairs to that apartment, he felt quite at his ease. He had nerved -himself to play a part, and he was convinced that the rôle was not -beyond his powers. - -Mrs. Abington, at the moment of his entrance, was lying back in her -chair laughing, apparently at a story which was being told to her by her -_vis-à-vis_, for he was leaning across the table, with his elbow resting -upon it and one expressive finger upraised to give emphasis to the -points of his narrative. - -When Goldsmith appeared, the actress nodded to him familiarly, -pleasantly, but did not allow her attention to be diverted from the -story which Captain Jackson was telling to her. Goldsmith paused with -his fingers still on the handle of the door. He knew that the most -inopportune entrance that a man can make upon another is when the other -is in the act of telling a story to an appreciative audience--say, a -beautiful actress in a gown that allows her neck and shoulders to be -seen to the greatest advantage and does not interfere with the ebb -and flow of that roseate tide, with its gracious ripples and delicate -wimplings, rising and falling between the porcelain of her throat and -the curve of the ivory of her shoulders. - -The man did not think it worth his while to turn around in recognition -of Goldsmith's entrance; he finished his story and received Mrs. -Abington's tribute of a laugh as a matter of course. Then he turned -his head round as the visitor ventured to take a step or two toward -the table, bowing profusely--rather too profusely for the part he was -playing, the artistic perception of the actress told her. - -"Ha, my little author!" cried the man at the table with the swagger of a -patron. - -"You are true to the tradition of the craft of scribblers--the best time -for putting in an appearance is when supper has just been served." - -"Ah, sir," said Goldsmith, "we poor devils are forced to wait upon the -convenience of our betters." - -"Strike me dumb, sir, if 'tis not a pity you do not await their -convenience in an ante-room--ay, or the kitchen. I have heard that the -scribe and the cook usually become the best of friends. You poets write -best of broken hearts when you are sustained by broken victuals." - -"For shame, Captain!" cried Mrs Abington. "Dr. Goldsmith is a man as -well as a poet. He has broken heads before now." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -Captain Jackson laughed heartily at so quaint an idea, throwing himself -back in his chair and pointing a contemptuous thumb at Oliver, who had -advanced to the side of the actress, assuming the deprecatory smile of -the bookseller's hack. He played the part very indifferently, the lady -perceived. - -"Faith, my dear," laughed the Captain, "I would fain believe that he is -a terrible person for a poet, for, by the Lord, he nearly had his head -broke by me on the first night that you went to the Pantheon; and I -swear that I never crack a skull unless it be that of a person who is -accustomed to spread terror around." - -"Some poets' skulls, sir, are not so easily cracked," said Mrs. -Abington. - -"Nay, my dear madam," cried her _vis-à-vis_, "you must pardon me for -saying that I do not think you express your meaning with any great -exactness. I take it that you mean, madam, that on the well known -kitchen principle that cracked objects last longer than others, a -poet's pate, being cracked originally, survives the assaults that would -overcome a sound head." - -"I meant nothing like that, Captain," said Mrs. Abington. Then she -turned to Goldsmith, who stood by, fingering his roll of manuscript. -"Come, Dr. Goldsmith," she cried, "seat yourself by me, and partake of -supper. I vow that I will not even glance at that act of your new play -which I perceive you have brought to me, until we have supped." - -"Nay, madam," stuttered Goldsmith; "I have already had my humble meal; -still----" - -He glanced from the dishes on the table to Captain Jackson, who gave a -hoarse laugh, crying-- - -"Ha, I wondered if the traditions of the trade were about to be violated -by our most admirable Doctor. I thought it likely that he would allow -himself to be persuaded. But I swear that he has no regard for the -romance which he preaches, or else he would not form the third at a -party. Has he never heard that the third in a party is the inevitable -kill-joy?" - -"You wrong my friend Dr. Goldsmith, Captain," said the actress in -smiling remonstrance that seemed to beg of him to take an indulgent view -of the poet's weakness. "You wrong him, sir. Dr. Goldsmith is a man of -parts. He is a wit as well as a poet, and he will not stay very long; -will you, Dr. Goldsmith?" - -She acted the part so well that but for the side glance which she cast -at him, Goldsmith might have believed her to be in earnest. For his own -part he was acting to perfection the rôle of the hack author who was -patronised till he found himself in the gutter. He could only smile in -a sickly way as he laid down his hat beside a chair over which Jackson's -cloak was flung, and placed in it the roll of manuscript, preparatory to -seating himself. - -"Madam, I am your servant," he murmured; "Sir, I am your most obedient -to command. I feel the honour of being permitted to sup in such -distinguished company." - -"And so you should, sir," cried Captain Jackson as the waiter bustled -about, laying a fresh plate and glass, "so you should. Your grand -patrons, my little friend, though they may make a pretence of saving you -from slaughter by taking your quarrel on their shoulders, are not likely -to feed you at their own table. Lord, how that piece of antiquity, -General Oglethorpe, swag gered across the porch at the Pantheon when I -had half a mind to chastise you for your clumsiness in almost knocking -me over! May I die, sir, if I wasn't at the brink of teaching the -General a lesson which he would have remembered to his dying hour--his -dying hour--that is to say, for exactly four minutes after I had drawn -upon him." - -"Ah, Dr. Goldsmith is fortunate in his friends," said Mrs. Abington. -"But I hope that in future, Captain, he may reckon on your sword being -drawn on his behalf, and not turned against him and his friends." - -"If you are his friend, my dear Mrs. Abington, he may count upon me, I -swear," cried the Captain bowing over the table. - -"Good," she said. "And so I call upon you to drink to his health--a -bumper, sir, a bumper!" - -The Captain showed no reluctance to pay the suggested compliment. With -an air of joviality he filled his large glass up to the brim and drained -it with a good-humoured, half-patronising motion in the direction of -Goldsmith. - -"Hang him!" he cried, when he had wiped his lips, "I bear Goldsmith no -malice for his clumsiness in the porch of the Pantheon. 'Sdeath, madam, -shall the man who led a company of his Majesty's regulars in charge -after charge upon the American rebels, refuse to drink to the health -of a little man who tinkles out his rhymes as the man at the raree show -does his bells? Strike me blind, deaf and dumb, if I am not magnanimous -to my heart's core. I'll drink his health again if you challenge me." - -"Nay, Captain," said the lady, "I'll be magnanimous, too, and refrain -from challenging you. I sadly fear that you have been drinking too many -healths during the day, sir." - -"What mean you by that, madam?" he cried. "Do you suggest that I cannot -carry my liquor with the best men at White's? If you were a man, and you -gave a hint in that direction, by the Lord, it would be the last that -you would have a chance of offering." - -"Nay, nay, sir! I meant not that," said the actress hastily. "I will -prove to you that I meant it not by challenging you to drink to Dr. -Goldsmith's new comedy." - -"Now you are very much my dear," said Jackson, half-emptying the brandy -decanter into his glass and adding only a thimbleful of water. "Yes, -your confidence in me wipes out the previous affront. 'Sblood, madam, -shall it be said that Dick Jackson, whose name made the American -rebels--curse 'em!--turn as green as their own coats--shall it be -said that Dick Jackson, of whom the rebel Colonel--Washington his -name is--George Washington"--he had considerable difficulty over the -name--"is accustomed to say to this day, 'Give me a hundred men--not -men, but lions, like that devil Dick Jackson, and I'll sweep his -Majesty's forces into the Potomac'--shall it be said that--that--what -the devil was I about to say--shall it be said?--never mind--here's to -the health of Colonel Washington!" - -"Nay, sir, we cannot drink to one of the King's enemies," said Mrs. -Abington, rising. "'Twere scandalous, indeed, to do so in this place; -and, sir, you still wear the King's uniform." - -"The devil take the King's uniform!" shouted the man. "The devils of -rebels are taking a good many coats of that uniform, and let me tell -you, madam, that--nay, you must not leave the table until the toast is -drank----" Mrs. Abington having risen, had walked across the room and -seated herself on the chair over which Captain Jackson had flung his -cloak. - -"Hold, sir," cried Goldsmith, dropping his knife and fork with a clatter -upon his plate that made the other man give a little jump. "Hold, sir, I -perceive that you are on the side of freedom, and I would feel honoured -by your permission to drink the toast that you propose. Here's success -to the cause that will triumph in America." Jackson, who was standing at -the table with his glass in his hand, stared at him with the smile of a -half-intoxicated man. He had just enough intelligence remaining to make -him aware that there was something ambiguous in Goldsmith's toast. - -"It sounds all right," he muttered as if he were trying to convince -himself that his suspicions of ambiguity were groundless. "It sounds all -right, and yet, strike me dizzy! if it wouldn't work both ways! Ha, my -little poet," he continued. "I'm glad to see that you are a man. Drink, -sir--drink to the success of the cause in America." Goldsmith got upon -his feet and raised his glass--it contained only a light wine. - -"Success to it!" he cried, and he watched Captain Jackson drain his -third tumbler of brandy. - -"Hark ye, my little poet!" whispered the latter very huskily, lurching -across the table, and failing to notice that his hostess had not -returned to her place. "Hark ye, sir! Cornwallis thought himself a -general of generals. He thought when he courtmartialled me and turned -me out of the regiment, sending me back to England in a foul hulk from -Boston port, that he had got rid of me. He'll find out that he was -mistaken, sir, and that one of these days----Mum's the word, mind you! -If you open your lips to any human being about this, I'll cut you to -pieces. I'll flay you alive! Washington is no better than Cornwallis, -let me tell you. What message did he send me when he heard that I was -ready to blow Cornwallis's brains out and march my company across the -Potomac? I ask you, sir, man to man--though a poet isn't quite a -man--but that's my generosity. Said Washy--Washy--Wishy--Washy---- -Washington: 'Cornwallis's brains have been such valuable allies to the -colonists, Colonel Washington would regard as his enemy any man who -would make the attempt to curtail their capacity for blundering.' That's -the message I got from Washington, curse him! But the Colonel isn't -everybody. Mark me, my friend--whatever your name is--I've got -letters--letters----" - -"Yes, yes, you have letters--where?" cried Goldsmith, in the -confidential whisper that the other had assumed. - -The man who was leaning across the table stared at him hazily, and -then across his face there came the cunning look of the more than -half-intoxicated. He straightened himself as well as he could in his -chair, and then swayed limply backward and forward, laughing. - -"Letters--oh, yes--plenty of letters--but where?--where?--that's my own -matter--a secret," he murmured in vague tones. "The government would -give a guinea or two for my letters--one of them came from Mount Vernon -itself, Mr.--whatever your name maybe--and if you went to Mr. Secretary -and said to him, 'Mr. Secretary'"--he pronounced the word "Secrary"--"'I -know that Dick Jackson is a rebel,' and Mr. Secretary says, 'Where are -the letters to prove it?' where would you be, my clever friend? No, sir, -my brains are not like Cornwallis's, drunk or sober. Hallo, where's the -lady?" - -He seemed suddenly to recollect where he was. He straightened himself as -well as he could, and looked sleepily across the room. - -"I'm here," cried Mrs. Abington, leaving the chair, across the back of -which Jackson's coat was thrown. "I am here, sir; but I protest I shall -not take my place at the table again while treason is in the air." - -"Treason, madam? Who talks of treason?" cried the man with a lurch -forward and a wave of the hand. "Madam, I'm shocked--quite shocked! I -wear the King's coat, though that cloak is my own--my own, and all that -it contains--all that----" - -His voice died away in a drunken fashion as he stared across the room at -his cloak. Goldsmith saw an expression of suspicion come over his face; -he saw him straighten himself and walk with an affectation of steadiness -that only emphasised his intoxicated lurches, to the chair where the -cloak lay. He saw him lift up the cloak and run his hand down the lining -until he came to a pocket. With eager eyes he saw him extract from the -pocket a leathern wallet, and with a sigh of relief slip it furtively -into the bosom of his long waistcoat, where, apparently, there was -another packet. - -Goldsmith glanced toward Mrs. Abington. She was sitting leaning over -her chair with a finger on her lips, and the same look of mischief that -Sir Joshua Reynolds transferred to his picture of her as "Miss Prue." -She gave a glance of smiling intelligence at Oliver, as Jackson laughed -coarsely, saying huskily-- - -"A handkerchief--I thought I had left my handkerchief in the pocket of -my cloak, and 'tis as well to make sure--that's my motto. And now, my -charmer, you will see that I'm not a man to dally with treason, for I'll -challenge you in a bumper to the King's most excellent Majesty. Fill up -your glass, madam; fill up yours, too, Mr.--Mr. Killjoy, we'll call -you, for what the devil made you show your ugly face here the fiend only -knows. Mrs. Baddeley and I are the best of good friends. Isn't that the -truth, sweet Mrs. Baddeley? Come, drink to my toast--whatever it may -be--or, by the Lord, I'll run you through the vitals!" - -Goldsmith hastened to pass the man the decanter with whatever brandy -remained in it, and in another instant the decanter was empty and the -man's glass was full. Goldsmith was on his feet with uplifted glass -before Jackson had managed to raise himself, by the aid of a heavy hand -on the table, into a standing attitude, murmuring-- - -"Drink, sir! drink to my lovely friend there, the voluptuous Mrs. -Baddeley. My dear Mrs. Baddeley, I have the honour to welcome you to my -table, and to drink to your health, dear madam." - -He swallowed the contents of the tumbler--his fourth since he had -entered the room--and the next instant he had fallen in a heap into his -chair, drenched by the contents of Mrs. Abington's glass. - -[Illustration: 0315] - -"That is how I accept your toast of Mrs. Baddeley, sir," she cried, -standing at the head of the table with the dripping glass still in her -hand. "You drunken sot! not to be able to distinguish between me and -Sophia Baddeley! I can stand the insult no longer. Take yourself out of -my room, sir!" - -She gave the broad ribbon of the bell such a pull as nearly brought -it down. Goldsmith having started up, stood with amazement on his face -watching her, while the other man also stared at her through his drunken -stupour, his jaw fallen. - -Not a word was spoken until the waiter entered the room. - -"Call a hackney coach immediately for that gentleman," said the actress, -pointing to the man who alone remained--for the best of reasons--seated. - -"A coach? Certainly, madam," said the waiter, withdrawing with a bow. - -"Dr. Goldsmith," resumed Mrs. Abington, "may I beg of you to have the -goodness to see that person to his lodgings and to pay the cost of the -hackney-coach? He is not entitled to that consideration, but I have -a wish to treat him more generously than he deserves. His address is -Whetstone Park, I think we may assume; and so I leave you, sir." - -* She walked from the room with her chin in the air, both of the men -watching her with such surprise as prevented either of them from -uttering a word. It was only when she had gone that it occurred to -Goldsmith that she was acting her part admirably--that she had set -herself to give him an opportunity of obtaining possession of the wallet -which she, as well as he, had seen Jackson transfer from the pocket -of his cloak to that of his waistcoat. Surely he should have no great -difficulty in extracting the bundle from the man's pocket when in the -coach. - -"They're full of their whimsies, these wenches," were the first words -spoken, with a free wave of an arm, by the man who had failed in -his repeated attempts to lift himself out of his chair. "What did I -say?--what did I do to cause that spitfire to behave like that? I feel -hurt, sir, more deeply hurt than I can express, at her behaviour. -What's her name--I'm not sure if she was Mrs. Abington or Mrs. Baddeley? -Anyhow, she insulted me grossly--me, sir--me, an officer who has charged -his Majesty's rebels in the plantations of Virginia, where the Potomac -flows down to the sea. But they're all alike. I could tell you a few -stories about them, sir, that would open your eyes, for I have been -their darling always." Here he began to sing a tavern song in a loud but -husky tone, for the brandy had done its work very effectively, and -he had now reached what might be called--somewhat paradoxically--the -high-water mark of intoxication. He was still singing when the waiter -re-entered the room to announce that a hackney carriage was waiting at -the door of the tavern. - -At the announcement the drunken man made a grab for a decanter and flung -it at the waiter's head. It missed that mark, however, and crashed among -the plates which were still on the table, and in a moment the landlord -and a couple of his barmen were in the room and on each side of Jackson. -He made a poor show of resistance when they pinioned his arms and pushed -him down the stairs and lifted him into the hackney-coach. The landlord -and his assistants were accustomed to deal with promptitude with such -persons, and they had shut the door of the coach before Goldsmith -reached the street. - -"Hold on, sir," he cried, "I am accompanying that gentleman to his -lodging." - -"Nay, Doctor," whispered the landlord, who was a friend of his, "the -fellow is a brawler--he will involve you in a quarrel before you reach -the Strand." - -"Nevertheless, I will go, my friend," said Oliver. "The lady has laid it -upon me as a duty, and I must obey her at all hazards." - -He got into the coach, and shouted out the address to the driver. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -The instant he had seated himself he found to his amazement that the -man beside him was fast asleep. To look at him lying in a heap on the -cushions one might have fancied that he had been sleeping for hours -rather than minutes, so composed was he. Even the jolting of the -starting coach made no impression upon him. - -Goldsmith perceived that the moment for which he had been longing had -arrived. He felt that if he meant to get the letters into his possession -he must act at once. - -He passed his hand over the man's waistcoat, and had no difficulty in -detecting the exact whereabouts of the packet which he coveted. All -he had to do was to unbutton the waistcoat, thrust his hand into the -pocket, and then leave the coach while it was still in motion. - -The moment that he touched the first button, however, the man shifted -his position, and awoke, putting his hand, as if mechanically, to his -breast to feel that the wallet was still there. Then he straightened -himself in some measure and began to mumble, apparently being quite -unaware of the fact that some one was seated beside him. - -"Dear madam, you do me great honour," he said, and then gave a little -hiccupping laugh. "Great honour, I swear; but if you were to offer me -all the guineas in the treasure chest of the regiment I would not give -you the plan of the fort. No, madam, I am a man of honour, and I hold -the documents for Colonel Washington. Oh, the fools that girls are to -put pen to paper! But if she was a fool she did not write the letters to -a fool. Oh, no, no! I would accept no price for them--no price whatever -except your own fair self. Come to me, my charmer, at sunset, and they -shall be yours; yes, with a hundred guineas, or I print them. Oh, Ned, -my lad, there's no honester way of living than by selling a wench her -own letters. No, no; Ned, I'll not leave 'em behind me in the drawer, -in case of accidents. I'll carry 'em about with me in case of accidents, -for I know how sharp you are, dear Ned; and so when I had 'em in the -pocket of my cloak I thought it as well to transfer 'em--in case of -accidents, Ned--to my waistcoat, sir. Ay, they're here! here, my friend! -and here they'll stay till Colonel Washington hands me over his dollars -for them." - -Then he slapped his breast, and laughed the horrible laugh of a drunken -man whose hallucination is that he is the shrewdest fellow alive. - -Goldsmith caught every word of his mumblings, and from the way he -referred to the letters, came to the conclusion that the scoundrel -had not only tried to levy blackmail on Mary Horneck, but had been -endeavouring to sell the secrets of the King's forces to the American -rebels. Goldsmith had, however, no doubt that the letters which he was -desirous of getting into his hands were those which the man had within -his waistcoat. His belief in this direction did not, however, assist him -to devise a plan for transferring the letters from the place where they -reposed to his own pocket. - -The coach jolted over the uneven roads on its way to the notorious -Whetstone Park, but all the jolting failed to prevent the operation of -the brandy which the man had drank, for once again he fell asleep, his -fingers remaining between the buttons of his waistcoat, so that it would -be quite impossible for even the most adroit pickpocket, which Goldsmith -could not claim to be, to open the garment. - -He felt the vexation of the moment very keenly. The thought that the -packet which he coveted was only a few inches from his hand, and yet -that it was as unattainable as though it were at the summit of Mont -Blanc, was maddening; but he felt that he would be foolish to make any -more attempts to effect his purpose. The man would be certain to awake, -and Goldsmith knew that, intoxicated though he was, he was strong enough -to cope with three men of his (Goldsmith's) physique. - -Gregory's Court, which led into Whetstone Park, was too narrow to admit -so broad a vehicle as a hackney-coach, so the driver pulled up at the -entrance in Holborn near the New Turnstile, just under an alehouse lamp. -Goldsmith was wondering if his obligation to Mrs. Abington's guest -did not end here, when the light of the lamp showed the man to be wide -awake, and he really seemed comparatively sober. It was only when he -spoke that he showed himself, by the huskiness of his voice, to be very -far from sober. - -"Good Lord!" he cried, "how do I come to be here? Who the devil may you -be, sirrah? Oh, I remember! You're the poet. She insulted me--grossly -insulted me--turned me out of the tavern. And you insulted me, too, you -rascal, coming with me in my coach, as if I was drunk, and needed you to -look after me. Get out, you scoundrel, or I'll crack your skull for you. -Can't you see that this is Gregory's Court?" - -Goldsmith eyed the ruffian for a moment. He was debating if it might -not be better to spring upon him, and make at least a straightforward -attempt to obtain the wallet. The result of his moment's consideration -of the question was to cause him to turn away from the fellow and open -the door. He was in the act of telling the driver that he would take the -coach on to the Temple, when Jackson stepped out, shaking the vehicle on -its leathern straps, and staggered a few yards in the direction of the -turnstile. At the same instant a man hastily emerged from the entrance -to the court, almost coming in collision with Jackson. - -"You cursed, clumsy lout!" shouted the latter, swinging, half-way round -as the man passed. In a second the stranger stopped, and faced the -other. - -"You low ruffian!" he said. "You cheated me last night, and left me -to sleep in the fields; but my money came to me to-day, and I've been -waiting for you. Take that, you scoundrel--and that--and that----" - -He struck Jackson a blow to right and left, and then one straight on the -forehead, which felled him to the ground. He gave the man a kick when he -fell, and then turned about and ran, for the watchman was coming up the -street, and half a dozen of the passers-by gave an alarm. - -Goldsmith shouted out, "Follow him--follow the murderer!" pointing -wildly in the direction taken by the stranger. - -In another instant he was leaning over the prostrate man, and making a -pretence to feel his heart. He tore open his waistcoat. Putting in his -hand, he quickly abstracted the wallet, and bending right over the -body in order to put his hand to the man's chest, he, with much more -adroitness than was necessary--for outside the sickly gleam of the lamp -all the street was in darkness--slipped the wallet into his other hand -and then under his coat. - -A few people had by this time been drawn to the spot by the alarm which -had been given, and some inquired if the man were dead, and if he had -been run through with a sword. - -"It was a knock-down blow," said Goldsmith, still leaning over the -prostrate man; "and being a doctor, I can honestly say that no great -harm has been done. The fellow is as drunk as if he had been soused in a -beer barrel. A dash of water in his face will go far to bring about his -recovery. Ah, he is recovering already." - -He had scarcely spoken before he felt himself thrown violently back, -almost knocking down two of the bystanders, for the man had risen to a -sitting posture, asking him, with an oath, as he flung him back, what he -meant by choking him. - -A roar of laughter came from the people in the street as Goldsmith -picked up his hat and straightened his sword, saying-- - -"Gentlemen, I think that a man who is strong enough to treat his -physician in that way has small need of his services. I thought the -fellow might be seriously hurt, but I have changed my mind on that point -recently; and so good-night. Souse him copiously with water should he -relapse. By a casual savour of him I should say that he is not used to -water." - -He re-entered the coach and told the driver to proceed to the Temple, -and as rapidly as possible, for he was afraid that the man, on -completely recovering from the effects of the blow that had stunned -him, would miss his wallet and endeavour to overtake the coach. He was -greatly relieved when he reached the lodge of his friend Ginger, the -head porter, and he paid the driver with a liberality that called down -upon him a torrent of thanks. - -As he went up the stairs to his chambers he could scarcely refrain from -cheering. In his hand he carried the leathern wallet, and he had no -doubt that it contained the letters which he hoped to place in the hands -of his dear Jessamy Bride, who, he felt, had alone understood him--had -alone trusted him with the discharge of a knightly task. - -He closed his oaken outer door and forced up the wick of the lamp in his -room. With trembling fingers by the light of its rays he unclasped the -wallet and extracted its contents. He devoured the pages with his eyes, -and then both wallet and papers fell from his hands. He dropped into a -chair with an exclamation of wonder and dismay. The papers which he had -taken from the wallet were those which, following the instructions of -Mrs. Abington, he had brought with him to the tavern, pretending that -they were the act of the comedy which he had to read to the actress! - -He remained for a long time in the chair into which he had fallen. He -was utterly stupefied. Apart from the shock of his disappointment, the -occurrence was so mysterious as to deprive him of the power of thought. -He could only gaze blankly down at the empty wallet and the papers, -covered with his own handwriting, which he had picked up from his own -desk before starting for the tavern. - -What did it all mean? How on earth had those papers found their way into -the wallet? - -Those were the questions which he had to face, but for which, after an -hour's consideration, he failed to find an answer. - -He recollected distinctly having seen the expression of suspicion come -over the man's face when he saw Mrs. Abington sitting on the chair over -which his cloak was hanging; and when she had returned to the table, -Jackson had staggered to the cloak, and running his hand down the lining -until he had found the pocket, furtively took from it the wallet, which -he transferred to the pocket on the inner side of his waistcoat. He had -had no time--at least, so Goldsmith thought--to put the sham act of the -play into the wallet; and yet he felt that the man must have done so -unseen by the others in the room, or how could the papers ever have been -in the wallet? - -Great heavens! The man must only have been shamming intoxication the -greater part of the night! He must have had so wide an experience of the -craft of men and the wiles of women as caused him to live in a condition -of constant suspicion of both men and women. He had clearly suspected -Mrs. Abington's invitation to supper, and had amused himself at the -expense of the actress and her other guest. He had led them both on, -and had fooled them to the top of his bent, just when they were fancying -that they were entrapping him. - -Goldsmith felt that, indeed, he at least had been a fool, and, as usual, -he had attained the summit of his foolishness just when he fancied he -was showing himself to be especially astute. He had chuckled over his -shrewdness in placing himself in the hands of a woman to the intent that -he might defeat the ends of the scoundrel who threatened Mary Horneck's -happiness, but now it was Jackson who was chuckling-Jackson, who had -doubtless been watching with amused interest the childish attempts made -by Mrs. Abington to entrap him. - -How glibly she had talked of entrapping him! She had even gone the -length of quoting Shakespeare; she was one of those people who fancy -that when they have quoted Shakespeare they have said the last word on -any subject. But when the time came for her to cease talking and begin -to act, she had failed. She had proved to him that he had been a fool to -place himself in her hands, hoping she would be able to help him. - -He laughed bitterly at his own folly. The consciousness of having failed -would have been bitter enough by itself, but now to it was added the -consciousness of having been laughed at by the man of whom he was trying -to get the better. - -What was there now left for him to do? Nothing except to go to Mary, -and tell her that she had been wrong in entrusting her cause to him. -She should have entrusted it to Colonel Gwyn, or some man who would -have been ready to help her and capable of helping her--some man with a -knowledge of men--some man of resource, not one who was a mere weaver of -fictions, who was incapable of dealing with men except on paper. Nothing -was left for him but to tell her this, and to see Colonel Gwyn achieve -success where he had achieved only the most miserable of failures. - -He felt that he was as foolish as a man who had built for himself a -house of cards, and had hoped to dwell in it happily for the rest of his -life, whereas the fabric had not survived the breath of the first breeze -that had swept down upon it. - -He felt that, after the example which he had just had of the diabolical -cunning of the man with whom he had been contesting, it would be worse -than useless for him to hope to be of any help to Mary Horneck. He had -already wasted more than a week of valuable time. He could, at least, -prevent any more being wasted by going to Mary and telling her how great -a mistake she had made in being over-generous to him. She should never -have made such a friend of him. Dr. Johnson had been right when he -said that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had taken advantage of the gracious -generosity of the girl and her family. He felt that it was his vanity -that had led him to undertake on Mary's behalf a task for which he was -utterly unsuited; and only the smallest consolation was allowed to him -in the reflection that his awakening had come before it was too late. He -had not been led away to confess to Mary all that was in his heart. She -had been saved the unhappiness which that confession would bring to -a nature so full of feeling as hers. And he had been saved the -mortification of the thought that he had caused her pain. - -The dawn was embroidering with its floss the early foliage of the trees -of the Temple before he went to his bed-room, and another hour had -passed before he fell asleep. - -He did not awake until the clock had chimed the hour of ten, and he -found that his man had already brought to the table at his bedside the -letters which had come for him in the morning. He turned them over with -but a languid amount of interest. There was a letter from Griffiths, the -bookseller; another from Garrick, relative to the play which Goldsmith -had promised him; a third, a fourth and a fifth were from men who begged -the loan of varying sums for varying periods. The sixth was apparently, -from its shape and bulk, a manuscript--one of the many which were -submitted to him by men who called him their brother-poet. He turned -it over, and perceived that it had not come through the post. That fact -convinced him that it was a manuscript, most probably an epic poem, or -perhaps a tragedy in verse, which the writer might think he could get -accepted at Drury Lane by reason of his friendship with Garrick. - -He let this parcel lie on the table until he had dressed, and only when -at the point of sitting down to breakfast did he break the seals. The -instant he had done so he gave a cry of surprise, for he found that -the parcel contained a number of letters addressed in Mary Horneck's -handwriting to a certain Captain Jackson at a house in the Devonshire -village where she had been staying the previous summer. - -On the topmost letter there was a scrap of paper, bearing a scrawl from -Mrs. Abing ton--the spelling as well as the writing was hers-- - -"'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.' These are a few -feathers pluckt from our hawke, hoping that they will be a feather in -the capp of dear Dr. Goldsmith." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -He was so greatly amazed he could only sit looking mutely at the -scattered letters on the table in front of him. He was even more amazed -at finding them there than he had been the night before at not finding -them in the wallet which he had taken from Jackson's waistcoat. He -thought he had arrived at a satisfactory explanation as to how he had -come to find within the wallet the sheets of manuscript which he had had -in his hand on entering the supper room; but how was he to account for -the appearance of the letters in this parcel which he had received from -Mrs. Abington? - -So perplexed was he that he failed for sometime to grasp the truth--to -appreciate what was meant by the appearance of those letters on his -table. But so soon as it dawned upon him that they meant safety and -happiness to Mary, he sprang from his seat and almost shouted for joy. -She was saved. He had checkmated the villain who had sought her ruin and -who had the means to accomplish it, too. It was his astuteness that had -caused him to go to Mrs. Abington and ask for her help in accomplishing -the task with which he had been entrusted. He had, after all, not been -mistaken in applying to a woman to help him to defeat the devilish -scheme of a pitiless ruffian, and Mary Horneck had not been mistaken -when she had singled him out to be her champion, though all men and most -women would have ridiculed the idea of his assuming the rôle of a -knight-errant. - -His elation at that moment was in proportion to his depression, his -despair, his humiliation when he had last been in his room. His nature -knew nothing but extremes. Before retiring to his chamber in the early -morning, he had felt that life contained nothing but misery for him; -but now he felt that a future of happiness was in store for him--his -imagination failed to set any limits to the possibility of his future -happiness. He laughed at the thought of how he had resolved to go to -Mary and advise her to intrust her cause to Colonel Gwyn. The thought of -Colonel Gwyn convulsed him just now. With all his means, could Colonel -Gwyn have accomplished all that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had accomplished? - -He doubted it. Colonel Gwyn might be a good sort of fellow in spite of -his formal manner, his army training, and his incapacity to see a jest, -but it was doubtful if he could have brought to a successful conclusion -so delicate an enterprise as that which he--Goldsmith--had accomplished. -Gwyn would most likely have scorned to apply to Mrs. Abington to help -him, and that was just where he would have made a huge mistake. Any man -who thought to get the better of the devil without the aid of a woman -was a fool. He felt more strongly convinced of the truth of this as he -stood with his back to the fire in his grate than he had been when he -had found the wallet containing only his own manuscript. The previous -half-hour had naturally changed his views of man and woman and -Providence and the world. - -When he had picked up the letters and locked them in his desk, he ate -some breakfast, wondering all the while by what means Mrs. Abington had -obtained those precious writings; and after giving the matter an hour's -thought, he came to the conclusion that she must have felt the wallet in -the pocket of the man's cloak when she had left the table pretending to -be shocked at the disloyal expressions of her guest--she must have -felt the wallet and have contrived to extract the letters from it, -substituting for them the sham act of the play which excused his -entrance to the supper-room. - -The more he thought over the matter, the more convinced he became that -the wily lady had effected her purpose in the way, he conjectured. He -recollected that she had been for a considerable time on the chair -with the cloak--much longer than was necessary for Jackson to drink the -treasonable toast; and when she returned to the table, it was only to -turn him out of the room upon a very shallow pretext. What a fool he had -been to fancy that she was in a genuine passion when she had flung her -glass of wine in the face of her guest because he had addressed her as -Mrs. Baddeley! - -He had been amazed at the anger displayed by her in regard to that -particular incident, but later he had thought it possible that she had -acted the part of a jealous woman to give him a better chance of getting -the wallet out of the man's waistcoat pocket. Now, however, he clearly -perceived that her anxiety was to get out of the room in order to place -the letters beyond the man's hands. - -Once again he laughed, saying out loud-- - -"Ah, I was right--a woman's wiles only are superior to the strategy of a -devil!" - -Then he became more contemplative. The most joyful hour of his life was -at hand. He asked himself how his dear Jessamy Bride would receive the -letters which he was about to take to her. He did not think of himself -in connection with her gratitude. He left himself altogether out of -consideration in this matter. He only thought of how the girl's face -would lighten--how the white roses which he had last seen on her cheeks -would change to red when he put the letters into her hand, and she felt -that she was safe. - -That was the reward for which he looked. He knew that he would feel -bitterly disappointed if he failed to see the change of the roses on -her face--if he failed to hear her fill the air with the music of her -laughter. And then--then she would be happy for evermore, and he would -be happy through witnessing her happiness. - -He finished dressing, and was in the act of going to his desk for -the letters, which he hoped she would soon hold in her hand, when his -servant announced two visitors. - -Signor Baretti, accompanied by a tall and very thin man, entered. -The former greeted Goldsmith, and introduced his friend, who was a -compatriot of his own, named Nicolo. - -"I have not forgotten the matter which you honoured me by placing in -my hands," said Baretti. "My friend Nicolo is a master of the art -of fencing as practised in Italy in the present day. He is under the -impression, singular though it may seem, that he spoke to you more than -once during your wanderings in Tuscany." - -"And now I am sure of it," said Nicolo in French. He explained that he -spoke French rather better than English. "Yes, I was a student at -Pisa when Dr. Goldsmith visited that city. I have no difficulty in -recognising him." - -"And I, for my part, have a conviction that I have seen your face, sir," -said Goldsmith, also speaking in French; "I cannot, however, recall the -circumstances of our first meeting. Can you supply the deficiency in my -memory, sir?" - -"There was a students' society that met at the Boccaleone," said Signor -Nicolo. - -"I recollect it distinctly; Figli della Torre, you called yourselves," -said Goldsmith quickly. "You were one of the orators--quite reckless, if -you will permit me to say so much." - -The man smiled somewhat grimly. - -"If he had not been utterly reckless he would not be in England to-day," -said Baretti. "Like myself, he is compelled to face your detestable -climate on account of some indiscreet references to the Italian -government, which he would certainly repeat to-morrow were he back -again." - -"It brings me back to Tuscany once more, to see your face, Signor -Nicolo," said Goldsmith. "Yes, though your Excellency had not so much of -a beard and mustacio when I saw you some years ago." - -"Nay, sir, nor was your Lordship's coat quite so admirable then as it is -now, if I am not too bold to make so free a comment, sir," said the man -with another grim smile. - -"You are not quite right, my friend," laughed Goldsmith; "for if my -memory serves me--and it does so usually on the matter of dress--I had -no coat whatsoever to my back--that was of no importance in Pisa, where -the air was full of patriotism." - -"The most dangerous epidemic that could occur in any country," said -Baretti. "There is no Black Death that has claimed so many victims. We -are examples--Nicolo and I. I am compelled to teach Italian to a -brewer's daughter, and Nicolo is willing to transform the most clumsy -Englishman--and there are a good number of them, too--into an expert -swordsman in twelve lessons--yes, if the pupil will but practise -sufficiently afterwards." - -"We need not talk of business just now," said Goldsmith. "I insist on -my old friends sharing a bottle of wine with me. I shall drink to -'patriotism,' since it is the means of sending to my poor room two such -excellent friends as the Signori Baretti and Nicolo." - -He rang the bell, and gave his servant directions to fetch a couple -of bottles of the old Madeira which Lord Clare had recently sent to -him--very recently, otherwise three bottles out of the dozen would not -have remained. - -The wine had scarcely been uncorked when the sound of a man's step was -heard upon the stairs, and in a moment Captain Jackson burst into the -room. - -"I have found you, you rascal!" he shouted, swaggering across the room -to where Goldsmith was seated. "Now, my good fellow, I give you just -one minute to restore to me those letters which you abstracted from my -pocket last night." - -"And I give you just one minute to leave my room, you drunken -blackguard," said Goldsmith, laying a hand on the arm of Signor Nicolo, -who was in the act of rising. "Come, sir," he continued, "I submitted -to your insults last night because I had a purpose to carry out; but I -promise you that I give you no such license in my own house. Take your -carcase away, sir; my friends have fastidious nostrils." - -Jackson's face became purple and then white. His lips receded from his -gums until his teeth were seen as the teeth of a wolf when it is too -cowardly to attack. - -"You cur!" he said through his set teeth. "I don't know what prevents me -from running you through the body." - -"Do you not? I do," said Goldsmith. He had taken the second bottle of -wine off the table, and was toying with it in his hands. - -"Come, sir," said the bully after a pause; "I don't wish to go to Sir -John Fielding for a warrant for your arrest for stealing my property, -but, by the Lord, if you don't hand over those letters to me now I will -not spare you. I shall have you taken into custody as a thief before an -hour has passed." - -"Go to Sir John, my friend, and tell him that Dick Jackson, American -spy, is anxious to hang himself, and mention that one Oliver Goldsmith -has at hand the rope that will rid the world of one of its greatest -scoundrels," said Goldsmith. - -Jackson took a step or two back, and put his hand to his sword. In a -second both Baretti and Nicolo had touched the hilts of their weapons. -The bully looked from the one to the other, and then laughed harshly. - -"My little poet," he said in a mocking voice, "you fancy that because -you have got a letter or two you have drawn my teeth. Let me tell you -for your information that I have something in my possession that I can -use as I meant to use the letters." - -"And I tell you that if you use it, whatever it is, by God I shall -kill you, were you thrice the scoundrel that you are!" cried Goldsmith, -leaping up. - -There was scarcely a pause before the whistle of the man's sword through -the air was heard; but Baretti gave Goldsmith a push that sent him -behind a chair, and then quietly interposed between him and Jackson. - -"Pardon me, sir," said he, bowing to Jackson, "but we cannot permit you -to stick an unarmed man. Your attempt to do so in our presence my friend -and I regard as a grave affront to us." - -"Then let one of you draw!" shouted the man. "I see that you are -Frenchmen, and I have cut the throat of a good many of your race. Draw, -sir, and I shall add you to the Frenchies that I have sent to hell." - -"Nay, sir, I wear spectacles, as you doubtless perceive," said Baretti. -"I do not wish my glasses to be smashed; but my friend here, though a -weaker man, may possibly not decline to fight with so contemptible a -ruffian as you undoubtedly are." - -He spoke a few words to Nicolo in Italian, and in a second the latter -had whisked out his sword and had stepped between Jackson and Baretti, -putting quietly aside the fierce lunge which the former made when -Baretti had turned partly round. - -"Briccone! assassin!" hissed Baretti. "You saw that he meant to kill me, -Nicolo," he said addressing his friend in their own tongue. - -"He shall pay for it," whispered Nicolo, pushing back a chair with his -foot until Goldsmith lifted it and several other pieces of furniture out -of the way, so as to make a clear space in the room. - -"Don't kill him, friend Nicolo," he cried. "We used to enjoy a sausage -or two in the old days at Pisa. You can make sausage-meat of a carcase -without absolutely killing the beast." - -The fencing-master smiled grimly, but spoke no word. - -Jackson seemed puzzled for a few moments, and Baretti roared with -laughter, watching him hang back. The laugh of the Italian--it was not -melodious--acted as a goad upon him. He rushed upon Nicolo, trying to -beat down his guard, but his antagonist did not yield a single inch. -He did not even cease to smile as he parried the attack. His expression -resembled that of an indulgent chess player when a lad who has airily -offered to play with him opens the game. - -After a few minutes' fencing, during which the Italian declined to -attack, Jackson drew back and lowered the point of his sword. - -"Take a chair, sir," said Baretti, grinning. "You will have need of one -before my friend has finished with you." - -Goldsmith said nothing. The man had grossly insulted him the evening -before, and he had made Mary Horneck wretched; but he could not taunt -him now that he was at the mercy of a master-swordsman. He watched the -man breathing hard, and then nerving himself for another attack upon the -Italian. - -Jackson's second attempt to get Nicolo within the range of his sword was -no more successful than his first. He was no despicable fencer, but -his antagonist could afford to play with him. The sound of his hard -breathing was a contrast to the only other sound in the room--the -grating of steel against steel. - -Then the smile upon the sallow face of the fencing-master seemed -gradually to vanish. He became more than serious--surely his expression -was one of apprehension. - -Goldsmith became somewhat excited. He grasped Baretti by the arm, as -one of Jackson's thrusts passed within half an inch of his antagonist's -shoulder, and for the first time Nicolo took a hasty step back, and in -doing so barely succeeded in protecting himself against a fierce lunge -of the other man. - -It was now Jackson's turn to laugh. He gave a contemptuous chuckle as -he pressed forward to follow up his advantage. He did not succeed in -touching Nicolo, though he went very close to him more than once, -and now it was plain that the Italian was greatly exhausted. He was -breathing hard, and the look of apprehension on his face had increased -until it had actually become one of terror. Jackson did not fail to -perceive this, and malignant triumph was in every feature of his face. -Any one could see that he felt confident of tiring out the visibly -fatigued Italian, and Goldsmith, with staring eyes, once again clutched -Baretti. - -Baretti's yellow skin became wrinkled up to the meeting place of his wig -and forehead in smiles. - -"I should like the third button of his coat for a memento, Sandrino," -said he. - -In an instant there was a quivering flash through the air, and the third -paste button off Jackson's coat indented the wall just above Baretti's -head and fell at his feet, a scrap of the satin of the coat flying -behind it like the little pennon on a lance. - -"Heavens!" whispered Goldsmith. - -"Ah, friend Nicolo was always a great humourist," said Baretti. "For -God's sake, Sandrino, throw them high into the air. The rush of that -last was like a bullet." - -Up to the ceiling flashed another button, and fell back upon the coat -from which it was torn. - -And still Nicolo fenced away with that look of apprehension still on his -face. - -"That is his fun," said Baretti. "Oh, body of Bacchus! A great -humourist!" - -The next button that Nicolo cutoff with the point of his sword he caught -in his left hand and threw to Goldsmith, who also caught it. - -The look of triumph vanished from Jackson's face. He drew back, but -his antagonist would not allow him to lower his sword, but followed -him round the room untiringly. He had ceased his pretence of breathing -heavily, but apparently his right arm was tired, for he had thrown his -sword into his left hand, and was now fencing from that side. - -Suddenly the air became filled with floating scraps of silk and satin. -They quivered to right and left, like butterflies settling down upon a -meadow; they fluttered about by the hundred, making a pretty spectacle. -Jackson's coat and waistcoat were in tatters, yet with such consummate -dexterity did the fencingmaster cut the pieces out of both garments that -Goldsmith utterly failed to see the swordplay that produced so amazing a -result. Nicolo seemed to be fencing pretty much as usual. - -And then a curious incident occurred, for the front part of one of the -man's pocket fell on the floor. - -With an oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap on the floor. -The pocked being cut away, a packet of letters, held against the lining -by a few threads of silk, became visible, and in another moment Nicolo -had spitted them on his sword, and laid them on the table in a single -flash. Goldsmith knew by the look that Jackson cast at them that they -were the batch of letters which he had received in the course of his -traffic with the American rebels. - -"Come, Sandrino," said Baretti, affecting to yawn. "Finish the rascal -off, and let us go to that excellent bottle of Madeira which awaits us. -Come, sir, the carrion is not worth more than you have given him; he has -kept us from our wine too long already." - -With a curiously tricky turn of the wrist, the master cut off the right -sleeve of the man's coat close to his shoulder, and drew it in a flash -over his sword. The disclosing of the man's naked arm and the hiding of -the greater part of his weapon were comical in the extreme; and with -an oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap upon the floor, -thoroughly exhausted. - -[Illustration: 0349] - -Baretti picked up the sword, broke the blade across his knee, and flung -the pieces into a corner, the tattered sleeve still entangled in the -guard. - -"John," shouted Goldsmith to his servant, who was not far off. (He had -witnessed the duel through the keyhole of the door until it became too -exciting, and then he had put his head into the room.) "John, give that -man your oldest coat. It shall never be said that I turned a man naked -out of my house." When John Eyles had left the room, Oliver turned to -the half-naked panting man. "You are possibly the most contemptible -bully and coward alive," said he. "You did not hesitate to try and -accomplish the ruin of the sweetest girl in the world, and you came here -with intent to murder me because I succeeded in saving her from your -clutches. If I let you go now, it is because I know that in these -letters, which I mean to keep, I have such evidence against you as will -hang you whenever I see fit to use it, and I promise you to use it if -you are in this country at the end of two days. Now, leave this house, -and thank my servant for giving you his coat, and this gentleman"--he -pointed to Nicolo--"for such a lesson in fencing as, I suppose, you -never before received." - -The man rose, painfully and laboriously, and took the coat with which -John Eyles returned. He looked at Goldsmith from head to foot. - -"You contemptible cur!" he said, "I have not yet done with you. You have -now stolen the second packet of letters; but, by the Lord, if one of -them passes out of your hands it will be avenged. I have friends in -pretty high places, let me tell you." - -"I do not doubt it," said Baretti. "The gallows is a high enough place -for you and your friends." - -The ruffian turned upon him in a fury. - -"Look to yourself, you foreign hound!" he said, his face becoming livid, -and his lips receding from his mouth so as to leave his wolf-fangs bare -as before. "Look to yourself. You broke my sword after luring me on to -be made a fool of for your sport. Look to yourself!" - -"Turn that rascal into the street, John," cried Goldsmith, and John -bustled forward. There was fighting in the air. If it came to blows he -flattered himself that he could give an interesting exhibition of his -powers--not quite so showy, perhaps, as that given by the Italian, but -one which he was certain was more English in its style. - -"No one shall lay a hand on me," said Jackson. "Do you fancy that I am -anxious to remain in such a company?" - -"Come, sir; you are in my charge, now," said John, hustling him to the -door. "Come--out with you--sharp!" - -In the room they heard the sound of the man descending the stairs slowly -and painfully. They became aware of his pause in the lobby below to put -on the coat which John had given to him, and a moment later they saw him -walk in the direction of the Temple lodge. - -Then Goldsmith turned to Signor Nicolo, who was examining one of the -prints that Hogarth had presented to his early friend, who had hung them -on his wall. - -"You came at an opportune moment, my friend," said he. "You have not -only saved my life, you have afforded me such entertainment as I never -have known before. Sir, you are certainly the greatest living master of -your art." - -"The best swordsman is the best patriot," said Baretti. - -"That is why so many of your countrymen live in England," said -Goldsmith. - -"Alas! yes," said Nicolo. "Happily you Englishmen are not good patriots, -or you would not be able to live in England." - -"I am not an Englishman," said Goldsmith. "I am an Irish patriot, and -therefore I find it more convenient to live out of Ireland. Perhaps it -is not good patriotism to say, as I do, 'Better to live in England than -to starve in Ireland.' And talking of starving, sirs, reminds me that my -dinner hour is nigh. What say you, Signor Nicolo? What say you, Baretti? -Will you honour me with your company to dinner at the Crown and Anchor -an hour hence? We shall chat over the old days at Pisa and the prospects -of the Figli della Torre, Signor Nicolo. We cannot stay here, for it -will take my servant and Mrs. Ginger a good two hours to sweep up the -fragments of that rascal's garments. Lord! what a patchwork quilt Dr. -Johnson's friend Mrs. Williams could make if she were nigh." - -"Patchwork should not only be made, it should be used by the blind," -said Baretti. "Touching the dinner you so hospitably propose, I have no -engagement for to-day, and I dare swear that Nicolo has none either." - -"He has taken part in one engagement, at least," said Goldsmith, - -"And I am now at your service," said the fencing-master. - -They went out together, Goldsmith with the precious letters in his -pocket--the second batch he put in the place of Mary Hor-neck's in his -desk--and, parting at Fleet street, they agreed to meet at the Crown and -Anchor in an hour. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -It was with a feeling of deep satisfaction, such as he had never before -known, that Goldsmith walked westward to Mrs. Horneck's house. All -the exhilaration that he had experienced by watching the extraordinary -exhibition of adroitness on the part of the fencingmaster remained with -him. The exhibition had, of course, been a trifle bizarre. It had more -than a suspicion of the art of the mountebank about it. For instance, -Nicolo's pretence of being overmatched early in the contest--breathing -hard and assuming a terrified expression--yielding his ground and -allowing his opponent almost to run him through--could only be regarded -as theatrical; while his tricks with the buttons and the letters, though -amazing, were akin to the devices of a rope-dancer. But this fact did -not prevent the whole scene from having an exhilarating effect upon -Goldsmith, more especially as it represented his repayment of the debt -which he owed to Jackson. - -And now to this feeling was added that of the greatest joy of his life -in having it in his power to remove from the sweetest girl in the world -the terror which she believed to be hanging over her head. He felt that -every step which he was taking westward was bringing him nearer to the -realisation of his longing-his longing to see the white roses on Mary's -cheeks change to red once more. - -It was a disappointment to him to learn that Mary had gone down to -Barton with the Bunburys. Her mother, who met him in the hall, told him -this with a grave face as she brought him into a parlour. - -"I think she expected you to call during the past ten days, Dr. -Goldsmith," said the lady. "I believe that she was more than a little -disappointed that you could not find time to come to her." - -"Was she, indeed? Did she really expect me to call?" he asked. This -fresh proof of the confidence which the Jessamy Bride reposed in him was -very dear to him. She had not merely entrusted him with her enterprise -on the chance of his being able to save her; she had had confidence in -his ability to save her, and had looked for his coming to tell her of -his success. - -"She seemed very anxious to see you," said Mrs. Horneck. "I fear, dear -Dr. Goldsmith, that my poor child has something on her mind. That is her -sister's idea also. And yet it is impossible that she should have any -secret trouble; she has not been out of our sight since her visit to -Devonshire last year. At that time she had, I believe, some silly, -girlish fancy--my brother wrote to me that there had been in his -neighbourhood a certain attractive man, an officer who had returned home -with a wound received in the war with the American rebels. But surely -she has got over that foolishness!" - -"Ah, yes. You may take my word for it, madam, she has got over that -foolishness," said Goldsmith. "You may take my word for it that when she -sees me the roses will return to her cheeks." - -"I do hope so," said Mrs. Horneck. "Yes, you could always contrive to -make her merry, Dr. Goldsmith. We have all missed you lately; we feared -that that disgraceful letter in the _Packet_ had affected you. That was -why my son called upon you at your rooms. I hope he assured you that -nothing it contained would interfere with our friendship." - -"That was very kind of you, my dear madam," said he; "but I have seen -Mary since that thing appeared." - -"To be sure you have. Did you not think that she looked very ill?" - -"Very ill indeed, madam; but I am ready to give you my assurance -that when I have been half an hour with her she will be on the way to -recovery. You have not, I fear, much confidence in my skill as a doctor -of medicine, and, to tell you the truth, whatever your confidence in -this direction may amount to, it is a great deal more than what I myself -have. Still, I think you will say something in my favour when you see -Mary's condition begin to improve from the moment we have a little chat -together." - -"That is wherein I have the amplest confidence in you, dear Dr. -Goldsmith. Your chat with her will do more for her than all the -medicine the most skilful of physicians could prescribe. It was a very -inopportune time for her to fall sick." - -"I think that all sicknesses are inopportune. But why Mary's?" - -"Well, I have good reason to believe, Dr. Goldsmith, that had she not -steadfastly refused to see a certain gentleman who has been greatly -attracted by her, I might now have some happy news to convey to you." - -"The gentleman's name is Colonel Gwyn, I think." - -He spoke in a low voice and after a long pause. - -"Ah, you have guessed it, then? You have perceived that the gentleman -was drawn toward her?" said the lady smiling. - -"I have every reason to believe in his sincerity," said Goldsmith. "And -you think that if Mary had been as well as she usually has been, she -would have listened to his proposals, madam?" - -"Why should she not have done so, sir?" said Mrs. Horneck. - -"Why not, indeed?" - -"Colonel Gwyn would be a very suitable match for her," said she. "He is, -to be sure, several years her senior; that, however, is nothing." - -"You think so--you think that a disparity in age should mean nothing in -such a case?" said Oliver, rather eagerly. - -"How could any one be so narrowminded as to think otherwise?" cried Mrs. -Horneck. "Whoever may think otherwise, sir, I certainly do not. I hope I -am too good a mother, Dr. Goldsmith. Nay, sir, I could not stand between -my daughter and happiness on such a pretext as a difference in years. -After all, Colonel Gwyn is but a year or two over thirty--thirty-seven, -I believe--but he does not look more than thirty-five." - -"No one more cordially agrees with you than myself on the point to which -you give emphasis, madam," said Goldsmith. "And you think that Mary will -see Colonel Gwyn when she returns?" - -"I hope so; and therefore I hope, dear sir, that you will exert yourself -so that the bloom will be brought back to her cheeks," said the lady. -"That is your duty, Doctor; remember that, I pray. You are to bring -back the bloom to her cheeks in order that Colonel Gwyn may be doubly -attracted to her." - -"I understand--I understand." - -He spoke slowly, gravely. - -"I knew you would help us," said Mrs. Horneck, "and so I hope that you -will lose no time in coming to us after Mary's return to-morrow. Your -Jessamy Bride will, I trust, be a real bride before many days have -passed." - -Yes, that was his duty: to help Mary to happiness. Not for him, not for -him was the bloom to be brought again to her cheeks--not for him, but -for another man. For him were the sleepless nights, the anxious days, -the hours of thought--all the anxiety and all the danger resulting from -facing an unscrupulous scoundrel. For another man was the joy of putting -his lips upon the delicate bloom of her cheeks, the joy of taking her -sweet form into his arms, of dwelling daily in her smiles, of being -for evermore beside her, of feeling hourly the pride of so priceless a -possession as her love. - -That was his thought as he walked along the Strand with bent head; and -yet, before he had reached the Crown and Anchor, he said-- - -"Even so; I am satisfied--I am satisfied." - -It chanced that Dr. Johnson was in the tavern with Steevens, and -Goldsmith persuaded both to join his party. He was glad that he -succeeded in doing so, for he had felt it was quite possible that -Baretti might inquire of him respecting the object of Jackson's visit to -Brick Court, and he could not well explain to the Italian the nature of -the enterprise which he had so successfully carried out by the aid -of Mrs. Abington. It was one thing to take Mrs. Abington into -his confidence, and quite another to confide in Baretti. He was -discriminating enough to be well aware of the fact that, while the -secret was perfectly safe in the keeping of the actress, it would be by -no means equally so if confided to Baretti, although some people might -laugh at him for entertaining an opinion so contrary to that which was -generally accepted by the world, Mrs. Abington being a woman and Baretti -a man. - -He had perceived long ago that Baretti was extremely anxious to learn -all about Jackson--that he was wondering how he, Goldsmith, should have -become mixed up in a matter which was apparently of imperial importance, -for at the mention of the American rebels Baretti had opened his eyes. -He was, therefore, glad that the talk at the table was so general as to -prevent any allusion being made to the incidents of the day. - -Dr. Johnson made Signor Nicolo acquainted with a few important facts -regarding the use of the sword and the limitations of that weapon, which -the Italian accepted with wonderful gravity; and when Goldsmith, on the -conversation drifting into the question of patriotism and its trials, -declared that a successful patriot was susceptible of being defined as a -man who loved his country for the benefit of himself, Dr. Johnson roared -out-- - -"Sir, that is very good. If Mr. Boswell were here--and indeed, sir, I am -glad that he is not--he would say that your definition was so good as to -make him certain you had stolen it from me." - -"Nay, sir,'tis not so good as to have been stolen from you," said -Goldsmith. - -"Sir," said Dr. Johnson, "I did not say that it was good enough to have -been stolen from me. I only said that it was good enough to make a very -foolish person suppose that it was stolen from me. No sensible person, -Dr. Goldsmith, would believe, first, that you would steal; secondly, -that you would steal from me; thirdly, that I would give you a chance of -stealing from me; and fourthly, that I would compose an apophthegm which -when it comes to be closely examined is not so good after all. Now, sir, -are you satisfied with the extent of my agreement with you?" - -"Sir, I am more than satisfied," said Goldsmith, while Nicolo, the -cunning master of fence, sat by with a puzzled look on his saffron face. -This was a kind of fencing of which he had had no previous experience. - -After dining Goldsmith made the excuse of being required at the theatre, -to leave his friends. He was anxious to return thanks to Mrs. Abington -for managing so adroitly to accomplish in a moment all that he had hoped -to do. - -He found the lady not in the green room, but in her dressing room; her -costume was not, however, the less fascinating, nor was her smile the -less subtle as she gave him her hand to kiss. He knelt on one knee, -holding her hand to his lips; he was too much overcome to be able to -speak, and she knew it. She did not mind how long he held her hand; she -was quite accustomed to such demonstrations, though few, she well knew, -were of equal sincerity to those of Oliver Goldsmith's. - -"Well, my poet," she said at last, "have you need of my services to -banish any more demons from the neighbourhood of your friends?" - -"I was right," he managed to say after another pause, "yes, I knew I was -not mistaken in you, my dear lady." - -"Yes; you knew that I was equal to combat the wiles of the craftiest -demon that ever undertook the slandering of a fair damsel," said -she. "Well, sir, you paid me a doubtful compliment--a more doubtful -compliment than the fair damsel paid to you in asking you to be her -champion. But you have not told me of your adventurous journey with our -friend in the hackney coach." - -"Nay," he cried, "it is you who have not yet told me by what means -you became possessed of the letters which I wanted--by what magic you -substituted for them the mock act of the comedy which I carried with me -into the supper room." - -"Psha, sir!" said she, "'twas a simple matter, after all. I gathered -from a remark the fellow made when laying his cloak across the chair, -that he had the letters in one of the pockets of that same cloak. He -gave me a hint that a certain Ned Cripps, who shares his lodging, is -not to be trusted, so that he was obliged to carry about with him every -document on which he places a value. Well, sir, my well known loyalty -naturally received a great shock when he offered to drink to the -American rebels, and you saw that I left the table hastily. A minute or -so sufficed me to discover the wallet with the letters; but then I -was at my wits' end to find something to occupy their place in the -receptacle. Happily my eye caught the roll of your manuscript, which lay -in your hat on the floor beneath the chair, and heigh! presto! the trick -was played. I had a sufficient appreciation of dramatic incident to keep -me hoping all the night that you would be able to get possession of the -wallet, believing it contained the letters for which you were in search. -Lord, sir! I tried to picture your face when you drew out your own -papers." The actress lay back on her couch and roared with laughter, -Goldsmith joining in quite pleasantly. - -"Ah!" he said; "I can fancy that I see at this moment the expression -which my face wore at the time. But the sequel to the story is the most -humourous. I succeeded last night in picking the fellow's pocket, but -he paid me a visit this afternoon with the intent of recovering what he -termed his property." - -"Oh, lud! Call you that humourous? How did you rid yourself of him?" - -At the story of the fight which had taken place in Brick Court, Mrs. -Abington laughed heartily after a few breathless moments. - -"By my faith, sir!" she cried; "I would give ten guineas to have been -there. But believe me, Dr. Goldsmith," she added a moment afterwards, -"you will live in great jeopardy so long as that fellow remains in the -town." - -"Nay, my dear," said he. "It was Baretti whom he threatened as he left -my room--not I. He knows that I have now in my possession such documents -as would hang him." - -"Why, is not that the very reason why he should make an attempt upon -your life?" cried the actress. "He may try to kill Baretti on a point -of sentiment, but assuredly he will do his best to slaughter you as a -matter of business." - -"Faith, madam, since you put it that way I do believe that there is -something in what you say," said Goldsmith. "So I will e'en take a -hackney-coach to the Temple and get the stalwart Ginger to escort me to -the very door of my chambers." - -"Do so, sir. I am awaiting with great interest the part which you have -yet to write for me in a comedy." - -"I swear to you that it will be the best part ever written by me, my -dear friend. You have earned my everlasting gratitude." - -"Ah! was the lady so grateful as all that?" cried the actress, looking -at him with one of those arch smiles of hers which even Sir Joshua -Reynolds could not quite translate to show the next century what manner -of woman was the first Lady Teazle, for the part of the capricious young -wife of the elderly Sir Peter was woven around the fascinating country -girl's smile of Mrs. Abington. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -Goldsmith kept his word. He took a hackney-coach to the Temple, and was -alert all the time he was driving lest Jackson and his friends might be -waiting to make an attack upon him. He reached his chambers without any -adventure, however, and on locking his doors, took out the second parcel -of letters and set himself to peruse their contents. - -He had no need to read them all--the first that came to his hand was -sufficient to make him aware of the nature of the correspondence. It was -perfectly plain that the man had been endeavouring to traffic with the -rebels, and it was equally certain that the rebel leaders had shown -themselves to be too honourable to take advantage of the offers which -he had made to them. If this correspondence had come into the hands of -Cornwallis he would have hanged the fellow on the nearest tree instead -of merely turning him out of his regiment and shipping him back to -England as a suspected traitor. - -As he locked the letters once again in his desk he felt that there was -indeed every reason to fear that Jackson would not rest until he had -obtained possession of such damning evidence of his guilt. He would -certainly either make the attempt to get back the letters, or leave the -country, in order to avoid the irretrievable ruin which would fall upon -him if any one of the packet went into the hands of a magistrate; and -Goldsmith was strongly of the belief that the man would adopt the former -course. - -Only for an instant, as he laid down the compromising document, did he -ask himself how it was possible that Mary Horneck should ever have -been so blind as to be attracted to such a man, and to believe in his -honesty. - -He knew enough of the nature of womankind to be aware of the glamour -which attaches to a soldier who has been wounded in fighting the enemies -of his country. If Mary had been less womanly than she showed herself -to be, he would not have loved her so well as he did. Her womanly -weaknesses were dear to him, and the painful evidence that he had of the -tenderness of her heart only made him feel that she was all the more a -woman, and therefore all the more to be loved. - -It was the afternoon of the next day before he set out once more for the -Hornecks. - -He meant to see Mary, and then go on to Sir Joshua Reynolds's to dine. -There was to be that night a meeting of the Royal Academy, which he -would attend with the president, after Sir Joshua's usual five o'clock -dinner. It occurred to him that, as Baretti would also most probably -be at the meeting, he would do well to make him acquainted with -the dangerous character of Jackson, so that Baretti might take due -precautions against any attack that the desperate man might be -induced to make upon him. No doubt Baretti would make a good point -in conversation with his friends of the notion of Oliver Goldsmith's -counselling caution to any one; but the latter was determined to give -the Italian his advice on this matter, whatever the consequences might -be. - -It so happened, however, that he was unable to carry out his intention -in full, for on visiting Mrs. Horneck, he learned that Mary would not -return from Barton until late that night, and at the meeting of the -Academy Baretti failed to put in an appearance. - -He mentioned to Sir Joshua that he had something of importance to -communicate to the Italian, and that he was somewhat uneasy at not -having a chance of carrying out his intention in this respect. - -"You would do well, then, to come to my house for supper," said -Reynolds. "I think it is very probable that Baretti will look in, if -only to apologise for his absence from the meeting. Miss Kauffman has -promised to come, and I have secured Johnson as well." - -Goldsmith agreed, and while Johnson and Angelica Kauffman walked in -front, he followed with Reynolds some distance behind--not so far, -however, as to be out of the range of Johnson's voice. Johnson was -engaged in a discourse with his sweet companion--he was particularly -fond of such companionship--on the dignity inseparable from a classic -style in painting, and the enormity of painting men and women in the -habiliments of their period and country. Angelica Kauffman was not a -painter who required any considerable amount of remonstrance from -her preceptors to keep her feet from straying in regard to classical -traditions. The artist who gave the purest Greek features and the Roman -toga alike to the Prodigal Son and King Edward III could not be said to -be capable of greatly erring from Dr. Johnson's precepts. - -All through supper the sage continued his discourse at intervals of -eating, giving his hearty commendation to Sir Joshua's conscientious -adherence to classical traditions, and shouting down Goldsmith's mild -suggestion that it might be possible to adhere to these traditions so -faithfully as to inculcate a certain artificiality of style which might -eventually prove detrimental to the best interests of art. - -"What, sir!" cried Johnson, rolling like a three-decker swinging at -anchor, and pursing out his lips, "would you contend that a member -of Parliament should be painted for posterity in his every-day -clothes--that the King should be depicted as an ordinary gentleman?" - -"Why, yes, sir, if the King were an ordinary gentleman," replied -Goldsmith. - -Whitefoord, who never could resist the chance of making a pun, whispered -to Oliver that in respect of some Kings there was more of the ordinary -than the gentleman about them, and when Miss Reynolds insisted on his -phrase being repeated to her, Johnson became grave. - -"Sir," he cried, turning once more to Goldsmith, "there is a very -flagrant example of what you would bring about. When a monarch, even -depicted in his robes and with the awe-inspiring insignia of his exalted -position, is not held to be beyond the violation of a punster, what -would he be if shown in ordinary garb? But you, sir, in your aims after -what you call the natural, would, I believe, consider seriously the -advisability of the epitaphs in Westminster Abbey being written in -English." - -"And why not, sir?" said Goldsmith; then, with a twinkle, he added, -"For my own part, sir, I hope that I may live to read my own epitaph in -Westminster Abbey written in English." - -Every one laughed, including--when the bull had been explained to -her--Angelica Kauffman. - -After supper Sir Joshua put his fair guest into her chair, shutting its -door with his own hands, and shortly afterwards Johnson and Whitefoord -went off together. But still Goldsmith, at the suggestion of Reynolds, -lingered in the hope that Baretti would call. He had probably been -detained at the house of a friend, Reynolds said, and if he should pass -Leicester Square on his way home, he would certainly call to explain the -reason of his absence from the meeting. - -When another half-hour had passed, however, Goldsmith rose and said that -as Sir Joshua's bed-time was at hand, it would be outrageous for him to -wait any longer. His host accompanied him to the hall, and Ralph helped -him on with his cloak. He was in the act of receiving his hat from the -hand of the servant when the hall-bell was rung with starling violence. -The ring was repeated before Ralph could take the few steps to the door. - -"If that is Baretti who rings, his business must be indeed urgent," said -Goldsmith. - -In another moment the door was opened, and the light of the lamp showed -the figure of Steevens in the porch. He hurried past Ralph, crying out -so as to reach the ear of Reynolds. - -"A dreadful thing has happened tonight, sir! Baretti was attacked by two -men in the Haymarket, and he killed one of them with his knife. He has -been arrested, and will be charged with murder before Sir John Fielding -in the morning. I heard of the terrible business just now, and lost no -time coming to you." - -"Merciful heaven!" cried Goldsmith. "I was waiting for Baretti in order -to warn him." - -"You could not have any reason for warning him against such an attack -as was made upon him," said Steevens. "It seems that the fellow whom -Baretti was unfortunate enough to kill was one of a very disreputable -gang well known to the constables. It was a Bow street runner who stated -what his name was." - -"And what was his name?" asked Reynolds. - -"Richard Jackson," replied Steevens. "Of course we never heard the name -before. The attack upon Baretti was the worst that could be imagined." - -"The world is undoubtedly rid of a great rascal," said Goldsmith. - -"Undoubtedly; but that fact will not save our friend from being hanged, -should a jury find him guilty," said Steevens. "We must make an effort -to avert so terrible a thing. That is why I came here now; I tried to -speak to Baretti, but the constables would not give me permission. They -carried my name to him, however, and he sent out a message asking me to -go without delay to Sir Joshua and you, as well as Dr. Johnson and Mr. -Garrick. He hopes you may find it convenient to attend before Sir John -Fielding at Bow street in the morning." - -"That we shall," said Sir Joshua. "He shall have the best legal advice -available in England; and, meantime, we shall go to him and tell him -that he may depend on our help, such as it is." - -The coach in which Steevens had come to Leicester Square was still -waiting, and in it they all drove to where Baretti was detained in -custody. The constables would not allow them to see the prisoner, but -they offered to convey to him any message which his friends might have, -and also to carry back to them his reply. - -Goldsmith was extremely anxious to get from Baretti's own lips an -account of the assault which had been made upon him; but he could -not induce the constables to allow him to go into his presence. They, -however, bore in his message to the effect that he might depend on the -help of all his friends in his emergency. - -Sir Joshua sent for the watchmen by whom the arrest had been effected, -and they stated that Baretti had been seized by the crowd--afar from -reputable crowd--so soon as it was known that a man had been stabbed, -and he had been handed over to the constables, while a surgeon examined -the man's wound, but was able to do nothing for him; he had expired in -the surgeon's hands. - -Baretti's statement made to the watch was that he was on his way to the -meeting of the Academy, and being very late, he was hurrying through -the Haymarket when a woman jostled him, and at the same instant two -men rushed out from the entrance to Jermyn street and attacked him with -heavy sticks. One of the men closed with him to prevent his drawing his -sword, but he succeeded in freeing one arm, and in defending himself -with the small fruit knife which he invariably carried about with him, -as was the custom in France and Italy, where fruit is the chief article -of diet, he had undoubtedly stabbed his assailant, and by a great -mischance he must have severed an artery. - -The Bow street runner who had seen the dead body told Reynolds and his -friends that he recognised the man as one Jackson, who had formerly held -a commission in the army, and had been serving in America, when, being -tried by court-martial for some irregularities, he had been sent to -England by Cornwallis. He had been living by his wits for some months, -and had recently joined a very disreputable gang, who occupied a house -in Whetstone Park. - -"So far from our friend having been guilty of a criminal offence, -it seems to me that he has rid the country of a vile rogue," said -Goldsmith. - -"If the jury take that view of the business they'll acquit the -gentleman," said the Bow street runner. "But I fancy the judge will tell -them that it's the business of the hangman only to rid the country of -its rogues." - -Goldsmith could not but perceive that the man had accurately defined the -view which the law was supposed to take of the question of getting rid -of the rogues, and his reflections as he drove to his chambers, having -parted from Sir Joshua Reynolds and Steevens, made him very unhappy. -He could not help feeling that Baretti was the victim of -his--Goldsmith's--want of consideration. What right had he, he asked -himself, to drag Baretti into a matter in which the Italian had no -concern? He felt that a man of the world would certainly have acted -with more discretion, and if anything happened to Baretti he would never -forgive himself. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -After a very restless night he hastened to Johnson, but found that -Johnson had already gone to Garrick's house, and at Garrick's house -Goldsmith learned that Johnson and Garrick had driven to Edmund Burke's; -so it was plain that Baretti's friends were losing no time in setting -about helping him. They all met in the Bow Street Police Court, and -Goldsmith found that Burke had already instructed a lawyer on behalf of -Baretti. His tender heart was greatly moved at the sight of Baretti -when the latter was brought into court, and placed in the dock, with a -constable on each side. But the prisoner himself appeared to be quite -collected, and seemed proud of the group of notable persons who had come -to show their friendship for him. He smiled at Reynolds and Goldsmith, -and, when the witnesses were being examined, polished the glasses of his -spectacles with the greatest composure. He appeared to be confident that -Sir John Fielding would allow him to go free when evidence was given -that Jackson had been a man of notoriously bad character, and he seemed -greatly surprised when the magistrate announced that he was returning -him for trial at the next sessions. - -Goldsmith asked Sir John Fielding for permission to accompany the -prisoner in the coach that was taking him to Newgate, and his request -was granted. - -He clasped Baretti's hand with tears in his eyes when they set out on -this melancholy drive, saying-- - -"My dear friend, I shall never forgive myself for having brought you to -this." - -"Psha, sir!" said Baretti. "'Tis not you, but the foolish laws of this -country that must be held accountable for the situation of the moment. -In what country except this could a thing so ridiculous occur? A gross -ruffian attacks me, and in the absence of any civil force for the -protection of the people, I am compelled to protect myself from his -violence. It so happens that instead of the fellow killing me, I by -accident kill him, and lo! a pigheaded magistrate sends me to be tried -for my life! Mother of God! that is what is called the course of justice -in this country! The course of idiocy it had much better be called!" - -"Do not be alarmed," said Goldsmith. "When you appear before a judge and -jury you will most certainly be acquitted. But can you forgive me for -being the cause of this great inconvenience to you?" - -"I can easily forgive you, having no reason to hold you in any way -responsible for this _contretemps_," said Baretti. "But I cannot forgive -that very foolish person who sat on the Bench at Bow street and failed -to perceive that my act had saved his constables and his hangman a -considerable amount of trouble! Heavens! that such carrion as the fellow -whom I killed should be regarded sacred--as sacred as though he were an -Archbishop! Body of Bacchus! was there ever a contention so ridiculous?" - -"You will only be inconvenienced for a week or two, my dear friend," -said Goldsmith. "It is quite impossible that you could be convicted--oh, -quite impossible. You shall have the best counsel available, and -Reynolds and Johnson and Beauclerk will speak for you." - -But Baretti declined to be pacified by such assurances. He continued -railing against England and English laws until the coach arrived at -Newgate. - -It was with a very sad heart that Goldsmith, when he was left alone -in the coach, gave directions to be driven to the Hor-necks' house -in Westminster. On leaving his chambers in the morning, he had been -uncertain whether it was right for him to go at once to Bow street or to -see Mary Horneck. He felt that he should relieve Mary from the distress -of mind from which she had suffered for so long, but he came to the -conclusion that he should let nothing come between him and his duty in -respect of the man who was suffering by reason of his friendship for -him, Goldsmith. Now, however, that he had discharged his duty so far as -he could in regard to Baretti, he lost no time in going to the Jessamy -Bride. - -Mrs. Horneck again met him in the hall. Her face was very grave, and the -signs of recent tears were visible on it. - -"Dear Dr. Goldsmith," she said, "I am in deep distress about Mary." - -"How so, madam?" he gasped, for a dreadful thought had suddenly come to -him. Had he arrived at this house only to hear that the girl was at the -point of death? - -"She returned from Barton last night, seeming even more depressed than -when she left town," said Mrs. Horneck. "But who could fancy that her -condition was so low as to be liable to such complete prostration as -was brought about by my son's announcement of this news about Signor -Baretti?" - -"It prostrated her?" - -"Why, when Charles read out an account of the unhappy affair which is -printed in one of the papers, Mary listened breathlessly, and when he -read out the name of the man who was killed, she sank from her chair -to the floor in a swoon, just as though the man had been one of her -friends, instead of one whom none of us could ever possibly have met." - -"And now?" - -"Now she is lying on the sofa in the drawingroom awaiting your coming -with strange impatience--I told her that you had been here yesterday and -also the day before. She has been talking very strangely since she awoke -from her faint--accusing herself of bringing her friends into trouble, -but evermore crying out, 'Why does he not come--why does he not come -to tell me all that there is to be told?' She meant you, dear Dr. -Goldsmith. She has somehow come to think of you as able to soothe her -in this curious imaginary distress, from which she is suffering quite as -acutely as if it were a real sorrow. Oh, I was quite overcome when I saw -the poor child lying as if she were dead before my eyes! Her condition -is the more sad, as I have reason to believe that Colonel Gwyn means to -call to-day." - -"Never mind Colonel Gwyn for the present, madam," said Goldsmith, "Will -you have the goodness to lead me to her room? Have I not told you that I -am confident that I can restore her to health?" - -"Ah, Dr. Goldsmith, if you could!--ah, if you only could! But alas, -alas!" - -He followed her upstairs to the drawingroom where he had had his last -interview with Mary. Even before the door was opened the sound of -sobbing within the room came to his ears. - -"Now, my dear child," said her mother with an affectation of -cheerfulness, "you see that Dr. Goldsmith has kept his word. He has come -to his Jessamy Bride." - -The girl started up, but the struggle she had to do so showed him most -pathetically how weak she was. - -"Ah, he is come he is come!" she cried. "Leave him with me, mother; he -has much to tell me." - -"Yes." said he; "I have much." - -Mrs. Horneck left the room after kissing the girl's forehead. - -She had hardly closed the door before Mary caught Goldsmith's hand -spasmodically in both her own--he felt how they were trembling-as she -cried-- - -"The terrible thing that has happened! He is dead--you know it, of -course? Oh, it is terrible--terrible! But the letters!--they will be -found upon him or at the place where he lived, and it will be impossible -to keep my secret longer. Will his friends--he had evil friends, I -know--will they print them, do you think? Ah, I see by your face that -you believe they will print the letters, and I shall be undone--undone." - -"My dear," he said, "you might be able to bear the worst news that I -could bring you; but will you be able to bear the best?" - -"The best! Ah, what is the best?" - -"It is more difficult to prepare for the best than for the worst, my -child. You are very weak, but you must not give way to your weakness." - -She stared at him with wistful, expectant eyes. Her hands were clasped -more tightly than ever upon his own. He saw that she was trying to -speak, but failing to utter a single word. - -He waited for a few moments and then drew out of his pocket the packet -of her letters, and gave it to her. She looked at it strangely for -certainly a minute. She could not realise the truth. She could only -gaze mutely at the packet. He perceived that that gradual dawning of the -truth upon her meant the saving of her life. He knew that she would not -now be overwhelmed with the joy of being saved. - -Then she gave a sudden cry. The letters dropped from her hand. She flung -her arms around his neck and kissed him again and again on the cheeks. -Quite as suddenly she ceased kissing him and laughed--not hysterically, -but joyously, as she sprang to her feet with scarcely an effort and -walked across the room to the window that looked upon the street. He -followed her with his eyes and saw her gazing out. Then she turned round -with another laugh that rippled through the room. How long was it since -he had heard her laugh in that way? - -She came toward him, and then he knew that he had had his reward, for -her cheeks that had been white were now glowing with the roses of June, -and her eyes that had been dim were sparkling with gladness. - -"Ah," she cried, putting out both her hands to him. "Ah, I knew that I -was right in telling you my secret, and in asking you to help me. I knew -that you would not fail me in my hour of need, and you shall be dear to -me for evermore for having helped me. There is no one in the world like -you, dear Oliver Goldsmith. I have always felt that--so good, so true, -so full of tenderness and that sweet simplicity which has made the -greatest and best people in the world love you, as I love you, dear, -dear friend! O, you are a friend to be trusted--a friend who would be -ready to die for his friend. Gratitude--you do not want gratitude. It is -well that you do not want gratitude, for what could gratitude say to you -for what you have done? You have saved me from death--from worse than -death--and I know that the thought that you have done so will be your -greatest reward. I will always be near you, that you may see me and feel -that I live only because you stretched out your kind hand and drew me -out of the deep waters--the waters that had well-nigh closed over my -head." - -He sat before her, looking up to the sweet face that looked down upon -him. His eyes were full of tears. The world had dealt hardly with him; -but he felt that his life had not been wholly barren of gladness, since -he had lived to see--even through the dimness of tears--so sweet a -face looking into his own with eyes full of the light of--was it the -gratitude of a girl? Was it the love of a woman? - -He could not speak. He could not even return the pressure of the -small hands that clasped his own with all the gracious pressure of the -tendrils of a climbing flower. - -"Have you nothing to say to me--no word to give me at this moment?" she -asked in a whisper, and her head was bent closer to his, and her fingers -seemed to him to tighten somewhat around his own. - -"What word?" said he. "Ah, my child, what word should come from such -a man as I to such a woman as you? No, I have no word. Such complete -happiness as is mine at this moment does not seek to find expression in -words. You have given me such happiness as I never hoped for in my -life. You have understood me--you alone, and that to such as I means -happiness." - -She dropped his hands so suddenly as almost to suggest that she had -flung them away from her. She took an impatient step or two in the -direction of the window. - -"You talk of my understanding you," she said in a voice that had a sob -in it. "Yes, but have you no thought of understanding me? Is it only a -man's nature that is worth trying to understand? Is a woman's not worthy -of a thought?" - -He started up and seemed about to stretch his arms out to her, but with -a sudden drawing in of his breath he put his hands behind his back and -locked the fingers of both together. - -Thus he stood looking at her while she had her face averted, not knowing -the struggle that was going on between the two powers that are ever in -the throes of conflict within the heart of a man who loves a woman -well enough to have no thought of himself--no thought except for her -happiness. - -"No," he said at last. "No, my dear, dear child; I have no word to say -to you! I fear to speak a word. The happiness that a man builds up for -himself may be destroyed by the utterance of one word. I wish to remain -happy--watching your happiness--in silence. Perhaps I may understand -you--I may understand something of the thought which gratitude suggests -to you." - -"Ah, gratitude!" said she in a tone that was sad even in its -scornfulness. She had not turned her head toward him. - -"Yes, I may understand something of your nature--the sweetest, the -tenderest that ever made a woman blessed; but I understand myself -better, and I know in what direction lies my happiness--in what -direction lies your happiness." - -"Ah! are you sure that they are two--that they are separate?" said she. -And now she moved her head slowly so that she was looking into his face. - -There was a long pause. She could not see the movement of his hands. He -still held them behind him. At last he said slowly-- - -"I am sure, my dear one. Ah, I am but too sure. Would to God there were -a chance of my being mistaken! Ah, dear, dear child, it is my lot to -look on happiness through another man's eyes. And, believe me, there -is more happiness in doing so than the world knows of. No, no! Do not -speak--for God's sake, do not speak to me! Do not say those words which -are trembling on your lips, for they mean unhappiness to both of us." - -She continued looking at him; then suddenly, with a little cry, she -turned away, and throwing herself down on the sofa, burst into tears, -with her face upon one of the arms, which her hands held tightly. - -After a time he went to her side and laid a hand upon her hair. - -She raised her head and looked up to him with streaming eyes. She put a -hand out to him, saying in a low but clear voice-- - -"You are right. Oh, I know you are right. I will not speak that -word; but I can never--never cease to think of you as the best--the -noblest--the truest of men. You have been my best friend--my only -friend--and there is no dearer name that a man can be called by a -woman." - -He bent his head and kissed her on the forehead, but spoke no word. - -A moment afterwards Mrs. Horneck entered the room. - -"Oh, mother, mother!" cried the girl, starting up, "I knew that I was -right--I knew that Dr. Goldsmith would be able to help me. Ah, I am a -new girl since he came to see me. I feel that I am well once more--that -I shall never be ill again! Oh, he is the best doctor in the world!" - -"Why, what a transformation there is already!" said her mother. "Ah, Dr. -Goldsmith was always my dear girl's friend!" - -"Friend--friend!" she said slowly, almost gravely. "Yes, he was always -my friend, and he will be so forever--my friend--our friend." - -"Always, always," said Mrs. Horneck. "I am doubly glad to find that you -have cast away your fit of melancholy, my dear, because Colonel Gwyn has -just called and expresses the deepest anxiety regarding your condition. -May I not ask him to come up in order that his mind may be relieved by -seeing you?" - -"No, no! I will not see Colonel Gwyn to-day," cried the girl. "Send him -away--send him away. I do not want to see him. I want to see no one but -our good friend Oliver Goldsmith. Ah, what did Colonel Gwyn ever do for -me that I should wish to see him?" - -"My dear Mary----" - -"Send him away, dear mother. I tell you that indeed I am not yet -sufficiently recovered to be able to have a visitor. Dr. Goldsmith has -not yet given me a good laugh, and till you come and find us laughing -together as we used to laugh in the old days, you cannot say that I am -myself again." - -"I will not do anything against your inclinations, child," said Mrs. -Horneck. "I will tell Colonel Gwyn to renew his visit to you next week." - -"Do, dear mother," cried the girl, laughing. "Say next week, or next -year, sweetest of mothers, or--best of all--say that he had better come -by and by, and then add, in the true style of Mr. Garrick, that 'by and -by is easily said.'" - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -As he went to his chambers to dress before going to dine with the -Dillys in the Poultry, Goldsmith was happier than he had been for years. -He had seen the light return to the face that he loved more than all -the faces in the world, and he had been strong enough to put aside the -temptation to hear her confess that she returned the love which he bore -her, but which he had never confessed to her. He felt happy to know that -the friendship which had been so great a consolation to him for several -years--the friendship for the family who had been so good and so -considerate to him--was the same now as it had always been. He felt -happy in the reflection that he had spoken no word that would tend to -jeopardise that friendship. He had seen enough of the world to be made -aware of the fact that there is no more potent destroyer of friendship -than love. He had put aside the temptation to speak a word of love; nay, -he had prevented her from speaking what he believed would be a word of -love, although the speaking of that word would have been the sweetest -sound that had ever fallen upon his ears. - -And that was how he came to feel happy. - -And yet, that same night, when he was sitting alone in his room, he -found a delight in adding to that bundle of manuscripts which he had -dedicated to her and which some weeks before he had designed to destroy. -He added poem after poem to the verses which Johnson had rightly -interpreted--verses pulsating with the love that was in his -heart--verses which Mary Horneck could not fail to interpret aright -should they ever come before her eyes. - -"But they shall never come before her eyes," he said. "Ah, never--never! -It is in my power to avert at least that unhappiness from her life." - -And yet before he went to sleep he had a thought that perhaps one day -she might read those verses of his--yes, perhaps one day. He wondered if -that day was far off or nigh. - -When he had been by her side, after Colonel Gwyn had left the house, -he had told her the story of the recovery of her letters; he did -not, however, think it necessary to tell her how the man had come to -entertain his animosity to Baretti; and she thus regarded the latter's -killing of Jackson as an accident. - -After the lapse of a day or two he began to think if it might not be -well for him to consult with Edmund Burke as to whether it would be -to the advantage of Baretti or otherwise to submit evidence as to the -threats made use of by Jackson in regard to Baretti. He thought that it -might be possible to do so without introducing the name of Mary Horneck. -But Burke, after hearing the story--no mention of the name of Mary -Horneck being made by Goldsmith--came to the conclusion that it would be -unwise to introduce at the trial any question of animosity on the part -of the man who had been killed, lest the jury might be led to infer--as, -indeed, they might have some sort of reason for doing-that the animosity -on Jackson's part meant animosity on Baretti's part. Burke considered -that a defence founded upon the plea of accident was the one which was -most likely to succeed in obtaining from a jury a verdict of acquittal. -If it could be shown that the man had attacked Baretti as impudently -as some of the witnesses for the Crown were ready to admit that he did, -Burke and his legal advisers thought that the prisoner had a good chance -of obtaining a verdict. - -The fact that neither Burke nor any one else spoke with confidence of -the acquittal had, however, a deep effect upon Goldsmith. His sanguine -nature had caused him from the first to feel certain of Baretti's -safety, and any one who reads nowadays an account of the celebrated -trial would undoubtedly be inclined to think that his feeling in this -matter was fully justified. That there should have been any suggestion -of premeditation in the unfortunate act of self-defence on the part of -Baretti seems amazing to a modern reader of the case as stated by -the Crown. But as Edmund Burke stated about that time in the House of -Commons, England was a gigantic shambles. The barest evidence against -a prisoner was considered sufficient to bring him to the gallows for an -offence which nowadays, if proved against him on unmistakable testimony, -would only entail his incarceration for a week. Women were hanged for -stealing bread to keep their children from that starvation which was the -result of the kidnapping of their husbands to serve in the navy; and -yet Burke's was the only influential voice that was lifted up against -a system in comparison with which slavery was not only tolerable, but -commendable. - -Baretti was indeed the only one of that famous circle of which Johnson -was the centre, who felt confident that he would be acquitted. For -all his railing against the detestable laws of the detestable -country--which, however, he found preferable to his own--he ridiculed -the possibility of his being found guilty. It was Johnson who considered -it within the bounds of his duty to make the Italian understand that, -however absurd was the notion of his being carted to the gallows, the -likelihood was that he would experience the feelings incidental to such -an excursion. - -He went full of this intention with Reynolds to visit the prisoner at -Newgate, and it may be taken for granted that he discharged his duty -with his usual emphasis. It is recorded, however, on the excellent -authority of Boswell, that Baretti was quite unmoved by the admonition -of the sage. - -It is also on authority of Boswell that we learn that Johnson was guilty -of what appears to us nowadays as a very gross breach of good taste -as well as of good feeling, when, on the question of the likelihood of -Baretti's failing to obtain a verdict being discussed, he declared that -if one of his friends were fairly hanged he should not suffer, but eat -his dinner just the same as usual. It is fortunate, however, that we -know something of the systems adopted by Johnson when pestered by the -idiotic insistence of certain trivial matters by Boswell, and the record -of Johnson's pretence to appear a callous man of the world probably -deceived no one in the world except the one man whom it was meant to -silence. - -But, however callous Dr. Johnson may have pretended to be--however -insincere Tom Davis the bookseller may--according to Johnson--have been, -there can be no doubt that poor Goldsmith was in great trepidation -until the trial was over. He gave evidence in favour of Baretti, though -Boswell, true to his detestation of the man against whom he entertained -an envy that showed itself every time he mentioned his name, declined -to mention this fact, taking care, however, that Johnson got full credit -for appearing in the witness-box with Burke, Garrick and Beauclerk. - -Baretti was acquitted, the jury being satisfied that, as the fruit-knife -was a weapon which was constantly carried by Frenchmen and Italians, -they might possibly go so far as to assume that it had not been bought -by the prisoner solely with the intention of murdering the man who had -attacked him in the Haymarket. The carrying of the fruit-knife seems -rather a strange turning-point of a case heard at a period when the law -permitted men to carry swords presumably for their own protection. - -Goldsmith's mind was set at ease by the acquittal of Baretti, and he -joined in the many attempts that were made to show the sympathy which -was felt--or, as Boswell would have us believe Johnson thought, was -simulated--by his friends for Baretti. He gave a dinner in honour of -the acquittal, inviting Johnson, Burke, Garrick, and a few others of the -circle, and he proposed the health of their guest, which, he said, had -not been so robust of late as to give all his friends an assurance -that he would live to a ripe old age. He also toasted the jury and the -counsel, as well as the turnkeys of Newgate and the usher of the Old -Bailey. - -When the trial was over, however, he showed that the strain to which he -had been subjected was too great for him. His health broke down, and he -was compelled to leave his chambers and hurry off to his cottage on the -Edgware Road, hoping to be benefitted by the change to the country, and -trusting also to be able to make some progress with the many works -which he had engaged himself to complete for the booksellers. He had, in -addition, his comedy to write for Garrick, and he was not unmindful of -his promise to give Mrs. Abington a part worthy of her acceptance. - -He returned at rare intervals to town, and never failed at such times -to see his Jessamy Bride, with whom he had resumed his old relations of -friendship. When she visited her sister at Barton she wrote to him in -her usual high spirits. Little Comedy also sent him letters full of the -fun in which she delighted to indulge with him, and he was never too -busy to reply in the same strain. The pleasant circle at Bun-bury's -country house wished to have him once again in their midst, to join in -their pranks, and to submit, as he did with such good will, to their -practical jests. - -He did not go to Barton. He had made up his mind that that was one of -the pleasures of life which he should forego. At Barton he knew that he -would see Mary day by day, and he could not trust himself to be near her -constantly and yet refrain from saying the words which would make both -of them miserable. He had conquered himself once, but he was not sure -that he would be as strong a second time. - -This perpetual struggle in which he was engaged--this constant endeavour -to crush out of his life the passion which alone made life endurable to -him, left him worn and weak, so it was not surprising that, when a coach -drove up to his cottage one day, after many months had passed, and Mrs. -Horneck stepped out, she was greatly shocked at the change which was -apparent in his appearance. - -"Good heaven, Dr. Goldsmith!" she cried when she entered his little -parlour, "you are killing yourself by your hard work. Sir Joshua said he -was extremely apprehensive in regard to your health the last time he saw -you, but were he to see you now, he would be not merely apprehensive but -despairing." - -"Nay, my dear madam," he said. "I am only suffering from a slight attack -of an old enemy of mine. I am not so strong as I used to be; but let me -assure you that I feel much better since you have been good enough to -give me an opportunity of seeing you at my humble home. When I caught -sight of you stepping out of the coach I received a great shock for a -moment; I feared that--ah, I cannot tell you all that I feared." - -"However shocked you were, dear Dr. Goldsmith, you were not so shocked -as I was when you appeared before me," said the lady. "Why, dear sir, -you are killing yourself. Oh, we must change all this. You have no one -here to give you the attention which your condition requires." - -"What, madam! Am not I a physician myself?" said the Doctor, making a -pitiful attempt to assume his old manner. - -"Ah, sir! every moment I am more shocked," said she. "I will take you in -hand. I came here to beg of you to go to Barton in my interests, but now -I will beg of you to go thither in your own." - -"To Barton? Oh, my dear madam----" - -"Nay, sir, I insist! Ah! I might have known you better than to fancy I -should easier prevail upon you by asking you to go to advance your own -interests rather than mine. You were always more ready to help others -than to help yourself." - -"How is it possible, dear lady, that you need my poor help?" - -"Ah! I knew the best way to interest you. Dear friend, I know of no one -who could be of the same help to us as you." - -"There is no one who would be more willing, madam." - -"You have proved it long ago, Dr. Goldsmith. When Mary had that -mysterious indisposition, was not her recovery due to you? She announced -that it was you, and you only, who had brought her back to life." - -"Ah! my dear Jessamy Bride was always generous. Surely she is not again -in need of my help." - -"It is for her sake I come to you to-day, Dr. Goldsmith. I am sure that -you are interested in her future--in the happiness which we all are -anxious to secure for her." - -"Happiness? What happiness, dear madam?" - -"I will tell you, sir. I look on you as one of our family--nay, I can -talk with you more confidentially than I can with my own son." - -"You have ever been indulgent to me, Mrs. Horneck." - -"And you have ever been generous, sir; that is why I am here to-day. -I know that Mary writes to you. I wonder if she has yet told you that -Colonel Gwyn made her an offer with my consent." - -"No; she has not told me that." - -He spoke slowly, rising from his chair, but endeavoring to restrain the -emotion which he felt. - -"It is not unlike Mary to treat the matter as if it were finally -settled, and so not worthy of another thought," said Mrs. Horneck. - -"Finally settled?" repeated Goldsmith. "Then she has accepted Colonel -Gwyn's proposal?" - -"On the contrary, sir, she rejected it," said the mother. - -He resumed his seat. Was the emotion which he experienced at that moment -one of gladness? - -"Yes, she rejected a suitor whom we all considered most eligible," said -the lady. "Colonel Gwyn is a man of good family, and his own character -is irreproachable. He is in every respect a most admirable man, and I am -convinced that my dear child's happiness would be assured with him--and -yet she sends him away from her." - -"That is possibly because she knows her own mind--her own heart, I -should rather say; and that heart the purest in the world." - -"Alas! she is but a girl." - -"Nay, to my mind, she is something more than a girl. No man that lives -is worthy of her." - -"That may be true, dear friend; but no girl would thank you to act too -rigidly on that assumption--an assumption which would condemn her to -live and die an old maid. Now, my dear Dr. Goldsmith, I want you to -take a practical and not a poetical view of a matter which so closely -concerns the future of one who is dear to me, and in whom I am sure you -take a great interest." - -"I would do anything for her happiness." - -"I know it. Well you have long been aware, I am sure, that she regards -you with the greatest respect and esteem--nay, if I may say it, with -affection as well." - -"Ah! affection--affection for me?" - -"You know it. If you were her brother she could not have a warmer regard -for you. And that is why I have come to you to-day to beg of you to -yield to the entreaties of your friends at Barton and pay them a visit. -Mary is there, and I hope you will see your way to use your influence -with her on behalf of Colonel Gwyn." - -"What! I, madam?" - -"Has my suggestion startled you? It should not have done so. I tell -you, my friend, there is no one to whom I could go in this way, saving -yourself. Indeed, there is no one else who would be worth going to, for -no one possesses the influence over her that you have always had. I am -convinced, Dr. Goldsmith, that she would listen to your persuasion -while turning a deaf ear to that of any one else. You will lend us your -influence, will you not, dear friend?" - -"I must have time to think--to think. How can I answer you at once in -this matter? Ah, you cannot know what my decision means to me." - -He had left his chair once more and was standing against the fireplace -looking into the empty grate. - -"You are wrong," she said in a low tone. "You are wrong; I know what is -in your thoughts--in your heart. You fear that if Mary were married she -would stand on a different footing in respect to you." - -"Ah! a different footing!" - -"I think that you are in error in that respect," said the lady. -"Marriage is not such a change as some people seem to fancy it is. Is -not Katherine the same to you now as she was before she married Charles -Bunbury?" - -He looked at her with a little smile upon his face. How little she knew -of what was in his heart! - -"Ah, yes, my dear Little Comedy is unchanged," said he. - -"And your Jessamy Bride would be equally unchanged," said Mrs. Horneck. - -"But where lies the need for her to marry at once?" he inquired. "If she -were in love with Colonel Gwyn there would be no reason why they should -not marry at once; but if she does not love him----" - -"Who can say that she does not love him?" cried the lady. "Oh, my dear -Dr. Goldsmith, a young woman is herself the worst judge in all the world -of whether or not she loves one particular man. I give you my word, sir, -I was married for five years before I knew that I loved my husband. When -I married him I know that I was under the impression that I actually -disliked him. Marriages are made in heaven, they say, and very properly, -for heaven only knows whether a woman really loves a man, and a man a -woman. Neither of the persons in the contract is capable of pronouncing -a just opinion on the subject." - -"I think that Mary should know what is in her own heart." - -"Alas! alas! I fear for her. It is because I fear for her I am desirous -of seeing her married to a good man--a man with whom her future -happiness would be assured. You have talked of her heart, my friend; -alas! that is just why I fear for her. I know how her heart dominates -her life and prevents her from exercising her judgment. A girl who is -ruled by her heart is in a perilous way. I wonder if she told you what -her uncle, with whom she was sojourning in Devonshire, told me about her -meeting a certain man there--my brother did not make me acquainted with -his name--and being so carried away with some plausible story he told -that she actually fancied herself in love with him--actually, until my -brother, learning that the man was a disreputable fellow, put a stop -to an affair that could only have had a disastrous ending. Ah! her -heart----" - -"Yes, she told me all that. Undoubtedly she is dominated by her heart." - -"That is, I repeat, why I tremble for her future. If she were to meet at -some time, when perhaps I might not be near her, another adventurer like -the fellow whom she met in Devonshire, who can say that she would not -fancy she loved him? What disaster might result! Dear friend, would you -desire to save her from the fate of your Olivia?" - -There was a long pause before he said-- - -"Madam, I will do as you ask me. I will go to Mary and endeavour to -point out to her that it is her duty to marry Colonel Gwyn." - -"I knew you would grant my request, my dear, dear friend," cried the -mother, catching his hand and pressing it. "But I would ask of you not -to put the proposal to her quite in that way. To suggest that a girl -with a heart should marry a particular man because her duty lies in that -direction would be foolishness itself. Duty? The word is abhorrent to -the ear of a young woman whose heart is ripe for love." - -"You are a woman." - -"I am one indeed; I know what are a woman's thoughts--her longings--her -hopes--and alas! her self-deceptions. A woman's heart--ah, Dr. -Goldsmith, you once put into a few lines the whole tragedy of a woman's -life. What experience was it urged you to write those lines?-- - - 'When lovely woman stoops to folly. - - And finds too late. . .' - -To think that one day, perhaps a child of mine should sing that song of -poor Olivia!" He did not tell her that Mary had already quoted the lines -in his hearing. He bowed his head, saying-- - -"I will go to her." - -"You will be saving her--ah, sir, will you not be saving yourself," -cried Mrs. Horneck. - -He started slightly. - -"Saving myself? What can your meaning be, Mrs. Horneck?" - -"I tell you I was shocked beyond measure when I entered this room and -saw you," she replied. "You are ill, sir; you are very ill, and -the change to the garden at Barton will do you good. You have been -neglecting yourself--yes, and some one who will nurse you back to life. -Oh, Barton is the place for you!" - -"There is no place I should like better to die at," said he. - -"To die at?" she said. "Nonsense, sir! you are I trust, far from death -still. Nay, you will find life, and not death, there. Life is there for -you." - -"Your daughter Mary is there," said he. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -He wrote that very evening, after Mrs. Horneck had taken her departure, -one of his merry letters to Katherine Bunbury, telling her that he had -resolved to yield gracefully to her entreaties to visit her, and meant -to leave for Barton the next day. When that letter was written he gave -himself up to his thoughts. - -All his thoughts were of Mary. He was going to place a barrier between -her and himself. He was going to give himself a chance of life by making -it impossible for him to love her. This writer of books had brought -himself to think that if Mary Horneck were to marry Colonel Gwyn he, -Oliver Goldsmith, would come to think of her as he thought of her -sister--with the affection which exists between good friends. - -While her mother had been talking to him about her and her loving heart, -he had suddenly become possessed of the truth: it was her sympathetic -heart that had led her to make the two mistakes of her life. First, she -had fancied that she loved the impostor whom she had met in Devonshire, -and then she had fancied that she loved him, Oliver Goldsmith. He knew -what she meant by the words which she had spoken in his presence. He -knew that if he had not been strong enough to answer her as he had done -that day, she would have told him that she loved him. - -Her mother was right. She was in great danger through her liability to -follow the promptings of her heart. If already she had made two such -mistakes as he had become aware of, into what disaster might not she be -led in the future? - -Yes; her mother was right. Safety for a girl with so tender a heart was -to be found only in marriage--marriage with such a man as Colonel Gwyn -undoubtedly was. He recollected the details of Colonel Gwyn's visit -to himself, and how favourably impressed he had been with the man. He -undoubtedly possessed every trait of character that goes to constitute a -good man and a good husband. Above all, he was devoted to Mary Horneck, -and there was no man who would be better able to keep her from the -dangers which surrounded her. - -Yes, he would go to Barton and carry out Mrs. Horneck's request. He -would, moreover, be careful to refrain from any mention of the word -duty, which would, the lady had declared, if introduced into his -argument, tend to frustrate his intention. - -He went down to Barton by coach the next day. He felt very ill indeed, -and he was not quite so confident as Mrs. Horneck that the result of his -visit would be to restore him to perfect health. His last thought -before leaving was that if Mary was made happy nothing else was worth a -moment's consideration. - -She met him with a chaise driven by Bunbury, at the cross roads, where -the coach set him down; and he could not fail to perceive that she was -even more shocked than her mother had been at his changed appearance. -While still on the top of the coach he saw her face lighted with -pleasure the instant she caught sight of him. She waved her hand toward -him, and Bunbury waved his whip. But the moment he had swung himself -painfully and laboriously to the ground, he saw the look of amazement -both on her face and on that of her brother-in-law. - -She was speechless, but it was not in the nature of Bunbury to be so. - -"Good Lord! Noll, what have you been doing to yourself?" he cried. "Why, -you're not like the same man. Is he, Mary?" - -Mary only shook her head. - -"I have been ill," said Oliver. "But I am better already, having seen -you both with your brown country faces. How is my Little Comedy? Is she -ready to give me another lesson in loo?" - -"She will give you what you need most, you may be certain," said -Bunbury, while the groom was strapping on his carpet-bag. "Oh! yes; we -will take care that you get rid of that student's face of yours," he -continued. "Yes, and those sunken eyes! Good Lord! what a wreck you are! -But we'll build you up again, never fear! Barton is the place for you -and such as you, my friend." - -"I tell you I am better already," cried Goldsmith; and then, as the -chaise drove off, he glanced at the girl sitting opposite to him. Her -face had become pale, her eyes were dim. She had spoken no word to him; -she was not even looking at him. She was gazing over the hedgerows and -the ploughed fields. - -Bunbury rattled away in unison with the rattling of the chaise along the -uneven road. He roared with laughter as he recalled some of the jests -which had been played upon Goldsmith when he had last been at Barton; -but though Oliver tried to smile in response, Mary was silent. When the -chaise arrived at the house, however, and Little Comedy welcomed her -guest at the great door, her high spirits triumphed over even the -depressing effect of her husband's artificial hilarity. She did not -betray the shock which she experienced on observing how greatly changed -was her friend since he had been with her and her sister at Ranelagh. -She met him with a laugh and a cry of "You have never come to us without -your scratch-wig? If you have forgot it, you will e'en have to go back -for it." - -The allusion to the merriment which had made the house noisy when he had -last been at Barton caused Oliver to brighten up somewhat; and later on, -at dinner, he yielded to the influence of Katherine Bun-bury's splendid -vitality. Other guests were at the table, and the genial chat quickly -became general. After dinner, he sang several of his Irish songs for -his friends in the drawing-room, Mary playing an accompaniment on the -harpsichord. Before he went to his bed-room he was ready to confess that -Mrs. Horneck had judged rightly what would be the effect upon himself of -his visit to the house he loved. He felt better--better than he had been -for months. - -In the morning he was pleased to find that Mary seemed to have recovered -her usual spirits. She walked round the grounds with him and her sister -after breakfast, and laughed without reservation at the latter's amusing -imitation, after the manner of Garrick, of Colonel Gwyn's declaration of -his passion, and of Mary's reply to him. She had caught very happily -the manner of the suitor, though of course she made a burlesque of -the scene, especially in assuming the fluttered demureness which she -declared she had good reason for knowing had frightened the lover so -greatly as to cause him to talk of the evil results of drinking tea, -when he had meant to talk about love. - -She had such a talent for this form of fun, and she put so much -character into her casual travesties of every one whom she sought to -imitate, she never gave offence, as a less adroit or less discriminating -person would be certain to have done. Mary laughed even more heartily -than Goldsmith at the account her sister gave of the imaginary scene. - -Goldsmith soon found that the proposal of Colonel Gwyn had passed into -the already long list of family jests, and he saw that he was expected -to understand the many allusions daily made to the incident of his -rejection. A new nickname had been found by her brother-in-law for Mary, -and of course Katherine quickly discovered one that was extremely -appropriate to Colonel Gwyn; and thus, with sly glances and -good-humoured mirth, the hours passed as they had always done in the -house which humoured mirth, the hours passed as they had always done -in the house which had ever been so delightful to at least one of the -guests. - -He could not help feeling, however, before his visit had reached its -fourth day, that the fact of their treating in this humourous fashion an -incident which Mrs. Horneck had charged him to treat very seriously was -extremely embarrassing to his mission. How was he to ask Mary to treat -as the most serious incident in her life the one which was every day -treated before her eyes with levity by her sister and her husband? - -And yet he felt daily the truth of what Mrs. Horneck had said to -him--that Mary's acceptance of Colonel Gwyn would be an assurance of her -future such as might not be so easily found again. He feared to think -what might be in store for a girl who had shown herself to be ruled only -by her own sympathetic heart. - -He resolved that he would speak to her without delay respecting Colonel -Gwyn; and though he was afraid that at first she might be disposed to -laugh at his attempt to put a more serious complexion upon her rejection -of the suitor whom her mother considered most eligible, he had no -doubt that he could bring her to regard the matter with some degree of -gravity. - -The opportunity for making an attempt in this direction occurred on the -afternoon of the fourth day of his visit. He found himself alone with -Mary in the still-room. She had just put on an apron in order to put new -covers on the jars of preserved walnuts. As she stood in the middle of -the many-scented room, surrounded by bottles of distilled waters and -jars of preserved fruits and great Worcester bowls of potpourri, with -bundles of sweet herbs and drying lavenders suspended from the ceiling, -Charles Bunbury, passing along the corridor with his dogs, glanced in. - -"What a housewife we have become!" he cried. "Quite right, my dear; the -head of the Gwyn household will need to be deft." - -Mary laughed, throwing a sprig of thyme at him, and Oliver spoke before -the dog's paws sounded on the polished oak of the staircase. - -"I am afraid, my Jessamy Bride," said he, "that I do not enter into the -spirit of this jest about Colonel Gwyn so heartily as your sister or her -husband." - -"'Tis foolish on their part," said she. "But Little Comedy is ever on -the watch for a subject for her jests, and Charles is an active -abettor of her in her folly. This particular jest is, I think, a trifle -threadbare by now." - -"Colonel Gwyn is a gentleman who deserves the respect of every one," -said he. - -"Indeed, I agree with you," she cried. "I agree with you heartily. I do -not know a man whom I respect more highly. Had I not every right to feel -flattered by his attention?" - -"No--no; you have no reason to feel flattered by the attention of any -man from the Prince down--or should I say up?" he replied. - -"'Twould be treason to say so," she laughed. "Well, let poor Colonel -Gwyn be. What a pity 'tis Sir Isaac Newton did not discover a new way -of treating walnuts for pickling! That discovery would have been more -valuable to us than his theory of gravitation, which, I hold, never -saved a poor woman a day's work." - -"I do not want to let Colonel Gwyn be," said he quietly. "On the -contrary, I came down here specially to talk of him." - -"Ah, I perceive that you have been speaking with my mother," said she, -continuing her work. - -"Mary, my dear, I have been thinking about you very earnestly of late," -said he. - -"Only of late!" she cried. "Ah! I flattered myself that I had some of -your thoughts long ago as well." - -"I have always thought of you with the truest affection, dear child. But -latterly you have never been out of my thoughts." She ceased her work -and looked towards him gratefully--attentively. He left his seat and -went to her side. - -"My sweet Jessamy Bride," said he, "I have thought of your future with -great uneasiness of heart. I feel towards you as--as--perhaps a father -might feel, or an elder brother. My happiness in the future is dependent -upon yours, and alas! I fear for you; the world is full of snares." - -"I know that," she quietly said. "Ah, you know that I have had some -experience of the snares. If you had not come to my help what shame -would have been mine!" - -"Dear child, there was no blame to be attached to you in that painful -affair," said he. "It was your tender heart that led you astray at -first, and thank God you have the same good heart in your bosom. But -alas! 'tis just the tenderness of your heart that makes me fear for -you." - -"Nay; it can become as steel upon occasions," said she. "Did not I send -Colonel Gwyn away from me?" - -"You were wrong to do so, my Mary," he said. "Colonel Gwyn is a good -man--he is a man with whom your future would be sure. He would be able -to shelter you from all dangers--from the dangers into which your own -heart may lead you again as it led you before." - -"You have come here to plead the cause of Colonel Gwyn?" said she. - -"Yes," he replied. "I believe him to be a good man. I believe that as -his wife you would be safe from all the dangers which surround such a -girl as you in the world." - -"Ah! my dear friend," she cried. "I have seen enough of the world to -know that a woman is not sheltered from the dangers of the world from -the day she marries. Nay, is it not often the case that the dangers only -begin to beset her on that day?" - -"Often--often. But it would not be so with you, dear child--at least, -not if you marry Colonel Gwyn." - -"Even if I do not love him? Ah! I fear that you have become a worldly -man all at once, Dr. Goldsmith. You counsel a poor weak girl from the -standpoint of her matchmaking mother." - -"Nay, God knows, my sweet Mary, what it costs me to speak to you in this -way. God knows how much sweeter it would be for me to be able to think -of you always as I think of you know--bound to no man--the dearest of -all my friends. I know it would be impossible for me to occupy the same -position as I now do in regard to you if you were married. Ah! I have -seen that there is no more potent divider of friendship than marriage." - -"And yet you urge upon me to marry Colonel Gwyn?" - -"Yes--yes--I say I do think it would mean the assurance of your--your -happiness--yes, happiness in the future." - -"Surely no man ever had so good a heart as you!" she cried. "You are -ready to sacrifice yourself--I mean you are ready to forego all the -pleasure which our meeting, as we have been in the habit of meeting for -the past four years, gives you, for the sake of seeing me on the way to -happiness--or what you fancy will be happiness." - -"I am ready, my dear child; you know what the sacrifice means to me." - -"I do," she said after a pause. "I do, because I know what it would mean -to me. But you shall not be called to make that sacrifice. I will not -marry Colonel Gwyn." - -"Nay--nay--do not speak so definitely," he said. - -"I will speak definitely," she cried. "Yes, the time is come for me to -speak definitely. I might agree to marry Colonel Gwyn in the hope of -being happy if I did not love some one else; but loving some one else -with all my heart, I dare not--oh! I dare not even entertain the thought -of marrying Colonel Gwyn." - -"You love some one else?" he said slowly, wonderingly. For a moment -there went through his mind the thought-- - -"_Her heart has led her astray once again._'" - -"I love some one else with all my heart and all my strength," she cried; -"I love one who is worthy of all the love of the best that lives in the -world. I love one who is cruel enough to wish to turn me away from his -heart, though that heart of his has known the secret of mine for long." - -Now he knew what she meant. He put his hands together before her, saying -in a hushed voice-- - -"Ah, child--child--spare me that pain--let me go from you." - -"Not till you hear me," she said. "Ah! cannot you perceive that I love -you--only you, Oliver Goldsmith?" - -"Hush--for God's sake!" he cried. - -"I will not hush," she said. "I will speak for love's sake--for the sake -of that love which I bear you--for the sake of that love which I know -you return." - -"Alas--alas!" - -"I know it. Is there any shame in such a girl as I am confessing her -love for such a man as you? I think that there is none. The shame before -heaven would be in my keeping silence--in marrying a man I do not love. -Ah! I have known you as no one else has known you. I have understood -your nature--so sweet--so simple--so great--so true. I thought last year -when you saved me from worse than death that the feeling which I had for -you might perhaps be gratitude; but now I have come to know the truth." - -He laid his hand on her arm, saying in a whisper-- - -"Stop--stop--for God's sake, stop! I--I--do not love you." - -She looked at him and laughed at first. But as his head fell, her laugh -died away. There was a long silence, during which she kept her eyes -fixed upon him, as he stood before her looking at the floor. - -"You do not love me?" she said in a slow whisper. "Will you say those -words again with your eyes looking into mine?" - -"Do not humiliate me further," he said. "Have some pity upon me." - -"No--no; pity is not for me," she said. "If you spoke the truth when you -said those words, speak it again now. Tell me again that you do not love -me." - -"You say you know me," he cried, "and yet you think it possible that -I could take advantage of this second mistake that your kind and -sympathetic heart has made for your own undoing. Look there--there--into -that glass, and see what a terrible mistake your heart has made." - -He pointed to a long, narrow mirror between the windows. It reflected an -exquisite face and figure by the side of a face on which long suffering -and struggle, long years of hardship and toil, had left their mark--a -figure attenuated by want and ill-health. - -"Look at that ludicrous contrast, my child," he said, "and you will see -what a mistake your heart has made. Have I not heard the jests which -have been made when we were walking together? Have I not noticed the -pain they gave you? Do you think me capable of increasing that pain in -the future? Do you think me capable of bringing upon your family, who -have been kinder than any living beings to me, the greatest misfortune -that could befall them? Nay, nay, my dear child; you cannot think that I -could be so base." - -"I will not think of anything except that I love the man who is best -worthy of being loved of all men in the world," said she. "Ah, sir, -cannot you perceive that your attitude toward me now but strengthens my -affection for you?" - -"Mary--Mary--this is madness!" - -"Listen to me," she said. "I feel that you return my affection; but I -will put you to the test. If you can look into my face and tell me that -you do not love me I will marry Colonel Gwyn." - -There was another pause before he said-- - -"Have I not spoken once? Why should you urge me on to so painful an -ordeal? Let me go--let me go." - -"Not until you answer me--not until I have proved you. Look into my -eyes, Oliver Goldsmith, and speak those words to me that you spoke just -now." - -"Ah, dear child----" - -"You cannot speak those words." There was another long silence. The -terrible struggle that was going on in the heart of that man whose words -are now so dear to the hearts of so many million men and women, was -maintained in silence. No one but himself could hear the tempter's voice -whispering to him to put his arms round the beautiful girl who stood -before him, and kiss her on her cheeks, which were now rosy with -expectation. - -He lifted up his head. His lips moved, He put out a hand to her a little -way, but with a moan he drew it back. Then he looked into her eyes, and -said slowly-- - -"It is the truth. I do not love you with the heart of a lover." - -"That is enough. Leave me! My heart is broken!" - -She fell into a chair, and covered her face with her hands. - -He looked at her for a moment; then, with a cry of agony, he went out of -the room--out of the house. - -In his heart, as he wandered on to the high road, there was not much -of the exaltation of a man who knows that he has overcome an unworthy -impulse. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -When he did not return toward night Charles Bunbury and his wife became -alarmed. He had only taken his hat and cloak from the hall as he went -out; he had left no line to tell them that he did not mean to return. - -Bunbury questioned Mary about him. Had he not been with her in the -still-room, he inquired. - -She told him the truth--as much of the truth as she could tell. - -"I am afraid that his running away was due to me," she said. "If so, I -shall never forgive myself." - -"What can be your meaning, my dear?" he inquired. "I thought that you -and he had always been the closest friends." - -"If we had not been such friends we should never have quarreled," said -she. "You know that our mother has had her heart set upon my acceptance -of Colonel Gwyn. Well, she went to see Goldsmith at his cottage, and -begged of him to come to me with a view of inducing me to accept the -proposal of Colonel Gwyn." - -"I heard nothing of that," said he, with a look of astonishment. "And so -I suppose when he began to be urgent in his pleading you got annoyed and -said something that offended him." - -She held down her head. - -"You should be ashamed of yourself," said he "Have you not seen long ago -that that man is no more than a child in simplicity?" - -"I am ashamed of myself," said she. "I shall never forgive myself for my -harshness." - -"That will not bring him back," said her brother-in-law. "Oh! it is -always the best of friends who part in this fashion." - -Two days afterwards he told his wife that he was going to London. He had -so sincere an attachment for Goldsmith, his wife knew very well that he -felt that sudden departure of his very deeply, and that he would try and -induce him to return. - -But when Bunbury came back after the lapse of a couple of days, he came -back alone. His wife met him in the chaise when the coach came up. His -face was very grave. - -"I saw the poor fellow," he said. "I found him at his chambers in Brick -Court. He is very ill indeed." - -"What, too ill to be moved?" she cried. He shook his head. - -"Far too ill to be moved," he said. "I never saw a man in worse -condition. He declared, however, that he had often had as severe attacks -before now, and that he has no doubt he will recover. He sent his love -to you and to Mary. He hopes you will forgive him for his rudeness, he -says." - -"His rudeness! his rudeness!" said Katherine, her eyes streaming with -tears. "Oh, my poor friend--my poor friend!" She did not tell her sister -all that her husband had said to her. Mary was, of course, very anxious -to hear how Oliver was, but Katherine only said that Charles had seen -him and found him very ill. The doctor who was in attendance on him had -promised to write if he thought it advisable for him to have a change to -the country. - -The next morning the two sisters were sitting together when the -postboy's horn sounded. They started up simultaneously, awaiting a -letter from the doctor. - -No letter arrived, only a narrow parcel, clumsily sealed, addressed to -Miss Hor-neck in a strange handwriting. - -When she had broken the seals she gave a cry, for the packet contained -sheet after sheet in Goldsmith's hand--poems addressed to her--the -love-songs which his heart had been singing to her through the long -hopeless years. - -She glanced at one, then at another, and another, with beating heart. - -She started up, crying-- - -"Ah! I knew it, I knew it! He loves me--he loves me as I love him--only -his love is deep, while mine was shallow! Oh, my dear love--he loves me, -and now he is dying! Ah! I know that he is dying, or he would not have -sent me these; he would have sacrificed himself--nay, he has sacrificed -himself for me--for me!" - -She threw herself on a sofa and buried her face in her hands. - -"My dear--dear sister," said Katherine, "is it possible that -you--you----" - -"That I loved him, do you ask?" cried Mary, raising her head. "Yes, I -loved him--I love him still--I shall never love any one else, and I am -going to him to tell him so. Ah! God will be good--God will be good. My -love shall live until I go to him." - -"My poor child!" said her sister. "I could never have guessed your -secret. Come away. We will go to him together." - -They left by the coach that day, and early the next morning they went -together to Brick Court. - -A woman weeping met them at the foot of the stairs. They recognised Mrs. -Abington. - -"Do not tell me that I am too late--for God's sake say that he still -lives!" cried Mary. - -The actress took her handkerchief from her eyes. - -She did not speak. She did not even shake her head. She only looked at -the girl, and the girl understood. - -She threw herself into her sister's arms. - -"He is dead!" she cried. "But, thank God, he did not die without knowing -that one woman in the world loved him truly for his own sake." - -"That surely is the best thought that a man can have, going into the -Presence," said Mrs. Abington. "Ah, my child, I am a wicked woman, but -I know that while you live your fondest reflection will be that the -thought of your love soothed the last hours of the truest man that ever -lived. Ah, there was none like him--a man of such sweet simplicity -that every word he spoke came from his heart. Let others talk about his -works; you and I love the man, for we know that he was greater and not -less than those works. And now he is in the presence of God, telling the -Son who on earth was born of a woman that he had all a woman's love." - -Mary put her arm about the neck of the actress, and kissed her. - -She went with her sister among the weeping men and women--he had been a -friend to all--up the stairs and into the darkened room. - -She threw herself on her knees beside the bed. - -THE END. - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JESSAMY BRIDE *** - -***** This file should be named 51951-8.txt or 51951-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/5/51951/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/51951-8.zip b/old/51951-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index ea1189c..0000000 --- a/old/51951-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51951-h.zip b/old/51951-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 6e3daed..0000000 --- a/old/51951-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51951-h/51951-h.htm b/old/51951-h/51951-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index d693eab..0000000 --- a/old/51951-h/51951-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11687 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title> - The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Jessamy Bride - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Illustrator: C. Allan Gilbert - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51951] -Last Updated: March 13, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JESSAMY BRIDE *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - THE JESSAMY BRIDE - </h1> - <h2> - By Frank Frankfort Moore - </h2> - <h4> - Author Of “The Impudent Comedian,” Etc. - </h4> - <h3> - With Pictures in Color by C. Allan Gilbert - </h3> - <h4> - New York - </h4> - <h4> - Duffield & Company - </h4> - <h3> - 1906 - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0008.jpg" alt="0008 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0008.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0009.jpg" alt="0009 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0009.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <h3> - THE JESSAMY BRIDE - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ir,” said Dr. - Johnson, “we have eaten an excellent dinner, we are a company of - intelligent men—although I allow that we should have difficulty in - proving that we are so if it became known that we sat down with a - Scotchman—and now pray do not mar the self-satisfaction which - intelligent men experience after dining, by making assertions based on - ignorance and maintained by sophistry.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, sir,” cried Goldsmith, “I doubt if the self-satisfaction of even the - most intelligent of men—whom I take to be myself—is interfered - with by any demonstration of an inferior intellect on the part of - another.” - </p> - <p> - Edmund Burke laughed, understanding the meaning of the twinkle in - Goldsmith's eye. Sir Joshua Reynolds, having reproduced—with some - care—that twinkle, turned the bell of his ear-trumpet with a smile - in the direction of Johnson; but Boswell and Garrick sat with solemn - faces. The former showed that he was more impressed than ever with the - conviction that Goldsmith was the most blatantly conceited of mankind, and - the latter—as Burke perceived in a moment—was solemn in - mimicry of Boswell's solemnity. When Johnson had given a roll or two on - his chair and had pursed out his lips in the act of speaking, Boswell - turned an eager face towards him, putting his left hand behind his ear so - that he might not lose a word that might fall from his oracle. Upon - Garrick's face was precisely the same expression, but it was his right - hand that he put behind his ear. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith and Burke laughed together at the marvellous imitation of the - Scotchman by the actor, and at exactly the same instant the conscious and - unconscious comedians on the other side of the table turned their heads in - the direction first of Goldsmith, then of Burke. Both faces were identical - as regards expression. It was the expression of a man who is greatly - grieved. Then, with the exactitude of two automatic figures worked by the - same machinery, they turned their heads again toward Johnson. - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” said Johnson, “your endeavour to evade the consequences of - maintaining a silly argument by thrusting forward a question touching upon - mankind in general, suggests an assumption on your part that my - intelligence is of an inferior order to your own, and that, sir, I cannot - permit to pass unrebuked.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir,” cried Boswell, eagerly, “I cannot believe that Dr. Goldsmith's - intention was so monstrous.” - </p> - <p> - “And the very fact of your believing that, sir, amounts almost to a - positive proof that the contrary is the case,” roared Johnson. - </p> - <p> - “Pray, sir, do not condemn me on such evidence,” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Men have been hanged on less,” remarked Burke. “But, to return to the - original matter, I should like to know upon what facts——” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, sir, to introduce facts into any controversy on a point of art would - indeed be a departure,” said Goldsmith solemnly. “I cannot countenance a - proceeding which threatens to strangle the imagination.” - </p> - <p> - “And you require yours to be particularly healthy just now, Doctor. Did - you not tell us that you were about to write a Natural History?” said - Garrick. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I remarked that I had got paid for doing so—that's not just - the same thing,” laughed Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, the money is in hand; the Natural History is left to the - imagination,” said Reynolds. “That is the most satisfactory arrangement.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, for the author,” said Burke. “Some time ago it was the book which - was in hand, and the payment was left to the imagination.” - </p> - <p> - “These sallies are all very well in their way,” said Garrick, “but their - brilliance tends to blind us to the real issue of the question that Dr. - Goldsmith introduced, which I take it was, Why should not acting be - included among the arts? As a matter of course, the question possesses no - more than a casual interest to any of the gentlemen present, with the - exception of Mr. Burke and myself. I am an actor and Mr. Burke is a - statesman—another branch of the same profession—and therefore - we are vitally concerned in the settlement of the question.” - </p> - <p> - “The matter never rose to the dignity of being a question, sir,” said - Johnson. “It must be apparent to the humblest intelligence—nay, even - to Boswell's—that acting is a trick, not a profession—a - diversion, not an art. I am ashamed of Dr. Goldsmith for having contended - to the contrary.” - </p> - <p> - “It must only have been in sport, sir,” said Boswell mildly. - </p> - <p> - “Sir, Dr. Goldsmith may have earned reprobation,” cried Johnson, “but he - has been guilty of nothing so heinous as to deserve the punishment of - having you as his advocate.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, sir, surely Mr. Boswell is the best one in the world to pronounce an - opinion as to what was said in sport, and what in earnest,” said - Goldsmith. “His fine sense of humour——” - </p> - <p> - “Sir, have you seen the picture which he got painted of himself on his - return from Corsica?” shouted Johnson. - </p> - <p> - “Gentlemen, these diversions may be well enough for you,” said Garrick, - “but in my ears they sound as the jests of the crowd must in the ears of a - wretch on his way to Tyburn. Think, sirs, of the position occupied by Mr. - Burke and myself at the present moment. Are we to be branded as outcasts - because we happen to be actors?” - </p> - <p> - “Undoubtedly you at least are, Davy,” cried Johnson. “And good enough for - you too, you rascal!” - </p> - <p> - “And, for my part, I would rather be an outcast with David Garrick than - become chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury,” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Goldsmith, let me tell you that it is unbecoming in you, who have - relations in the church, to make such an assertion,” said Johnson sternly. - “What, sir, does friendship occupy a place before religion, in your - estimation?” - </p> - <p> - “The Archbishop could easily get another chaplain, sir, but whither could - the stage look for another Garrick?” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Psha! Sir, the puppets which we saw last week in Panton street delighted - the town more than ever Mr. Garrick did,” cried Johnson; and when he - perceived that Garrick coloured at this sally of his, he lay back in his - chair and roared with laughter. - </p> - <p> - Reynolds took snuff. - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Goldsmith said he could act as adroitly as the best of the puppets—I - heard him myself,” said Boswell. - </p> - <p> - “That was only his vain boasting which you have so frequently noted with - that acuteness of observation that makes you the envy of our circle,” said - Burke. “You understand the Irish temperament perfectly, Mr. Boswell. But - to resort to the original point raised by Goldsmith; surely, Dr. Johnson, - you will allow that an actor of genius is at least on a level with a - musician of genius.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir, I will allow that he is on a level with a fiddler, if that will - satisfy you,” replied Johnson. - </p> - <p> - “Surely, sir, you must allow that Mr. Garrick's art is superior to that of - Signor Piozzi, whom we heard play at Dr. Burney's,” said Burke. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir; David Garrick has the good luck to be an Englishman, and Piozzi - the ill luck to be an Italian,” replied Johnson. “Sir, 't is no use - affecting to maintain that you regard acting as on a level with the arts. - I will not put an affront upon your intelligence by supposing that you - actually believe what your words would imply.” - </p> - <p> - “You can take your choice, Mr. Burke,” said Goldsmith: “whether you will - have the affront put upon your intelligence or your sincerity.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry that I am compelled to leave the company for a space, just as - there seems to be some chance of the argument becoming really interesting - to me personally,” said Garrick, rising; “but the fact is that I rashly - made an engagement for this hour. I shall be gone for perhaps twenty - minutes, and meantime you may be able to come to some agreement on a - matter which, I repeat, is one of vital importance to Mr. Burke and - myself; and so, sirs, farewell for the present.” - </p> - <p> - He gave one of those bows of his, to witness which was a liberal education - in the days when grace was an art, and left the room. - </p> - <p> - “If Mr. Garrick's bow does not prove my point, no argument that I can - bring forward will produce any impression upon you, sir,” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “The dog is well enough,” said Johnson; “but he has need to be kept in his - place, and I believe that there is no one whose attempts to keep him in - his place he will tolerate as he does mine.” - </p> - <p> - “And what do you suppose is Mr. Garrick's place, sir?” asked Goldsmith. - “Do you believe that if we were all to stand on one another's shoulders, - as certain acrobats do, with Garrick on the shoulder of the topmost man, - we should succeed in keeping him in his proper place?” - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” said Dr. Johnson, “your question is as ridiculous as anything you - have said to-night, and to say so much, sir, is, let me tell you, to say a - good deal.” - </p> - <p> - “What a pity it is that honest Goldsmith is so persistent in his attempts - to shine,” whispered Boswell to Burke. - </p> - <p> - “'Tis a great pity, truly, that a lark should try to make its voice heard - in the neighbourhood of a Niagara,” said Burke. - </p> - <p> - “Pray, sir, what is a Niagara?” asked Boswell. - </p> - <p> - “A Niagara?” said Burke. “Better ask Dr. Goldsmith; he alluded to it in - his latest poem. Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Boswell wishes to know what a Niagara - is.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” said Goldsmith, who had caught every word of the conversation in - undertone. “Sir, Niagara is the Dr. Johnson of the New World.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he conversation - took place in the Crown and Anchor tavern in the Strand, where the party - had just dined. Dr. Johnson had been quite as good company as usual. There - was a general feeling that he had rarely insulted Boswell so frequently in - the course of a single evening—but then, Boswell had rarely so laid - himself open to insult as he had upon this evening—and when he had - finished with the Scotchman, he turned his attention to Garrick, the - opportunity being afforded him by Oliver Goldsmith, who had been unguarded - enough to say a word or two regarding that which he termed “the art of - acting.” - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Goldsmith, I am ashamed of you, sir,” cried the great dictator. “Who - gave you the authority to add to the number of the arts 'the art of - acting'? We shall hear of the art of dancing next, and every tumbler who - kicks up the sawdust will have the right to call himself an artist. Madame - Violante, who gave Peggy Woffington her first lesson on the tight rope, - will rank with Miss Kauffman, the painter—nay, every poodle that - dances on its hind leg's in public will be an artist.” - </p> - <p> - It was in vain that Goldsmith endeavoured to show that the admission of - acting to the list of arts scarcely entailed such consequences as Johnson - asserted would be inevitable, if that admission were once made; it was in - vain that Garrick asked if the fact that painting was included among the - arts, caused sign painters to claim for themselves the standing of - artists; and, if not, why there was any reason to suppose that the - tumblers to whom Johnson had alluded would advance their claims to be on a - level with the highest interpreters of the emotions of humanity. Dr. - Johnson roared down every suggestion that was offered to him most - courteously by his friends. - </p> - <p> - Then, in the exuberance of his spirits, he insulted Boswell and told Burke - he did not know what he was talking about. In short, he was thoroughly - Johnsonian, and considered himself the best of company, and eminently - capable of pronouncing an opinion as to what were the elements of a - clubable man. - </p> - <p> - He had succeeded in driving one of his best friends out of the room, and - in reducing the others of the party to silence—all except Boswell, - who, as usual, tried to-start him upon a discussion of some subtle point - of theology. Boswell seemed invariably to have adopted this course after - he had been thoroughly insulted, and to have been, as a rule, very - successful in its practice: it usually led to his attaining to the - distinction of another rebuke for him to gloat over. - </p> - <p> - He now thought that the exact moment had come for him to find out what Dr. - Johnson thought on the subject of the immortality of the soul. - </p> - <p> - “Pray, sir,” said he, shifting his chair so as to get between Reynolds' - ear-trumpet and his oracle—his jealousy of Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet - was as great as his jealousy of Goldsmith. “Pray, sir, is there any - evidence among the ancient Egyptians that they believed that the soul of - man was imperishable?” - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” said Johnson, after a huge roll or two, “there is evidence that the - ancient Egyptians were in the habit of introducing a <i>memento mori</i> - at a feast, lest the partakers of the banquet should become too merry.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, sir?” said Boswell eagerly, as Johnson made a pause. - </p> - <p> - “Well, sir, we have no need to go to the trouble of introducing such an - object, since Scotchmen are so plentiful in London, and so ready to accept - the offer of a dinner,” said Johnson, quite in his pleasantest manner. - </p> - <p> - Boswell was more elated than the others of the company at this sally. He - felt that he, and he only, could succeed in drawing his best from Johnson. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, Dr. Johnson, you are too hard on the Scotch,” he murmured, but in no - deprecatory tone. He seemed to be under the impression that every one - present was envying him, and he smiled as if he felt that it was necessary - for him to accept with meekness the distinction of which he was the - recipient. - </p> - <p> - “Come, Goldy,” cried Johnson, turning his back upon Boswell, “you must not - be silent, or I will think that you feel aggrieved because I got the - better of you in the argument.” - </p> - <p> - “Argument, sir?” said Goldsmith. “I protest that I was not aware that any - argument was under consideration. You make short work of another's - argument, Doctor.” - </p> - <p> - “'T is due to the logical faculty which I have in common with Mr. Boswell, - sir,” said Johnson, with a twinkle. - </p> - <p> - “The logical faculty of the elephant when it lies down on its tormentor, - the wolf,” muttered Goldsmith, who had just acquired some curious facts - for his Animated Nature. - </p> - <p> - At that moment one of the tavern waiters entered the room with a message - to Goldsmith that his cousin, the Dean, had just arrived and was anxious - to obtain permission to join the party. - </p> - <p> - “My cousin, the Dean! What Dean'? What does the man mean?” said Goldsmith, - who appeared to be both surprised and confused. - </p> - <p> - “Why, sir,” said Boswell, “you have told us more than once that you had a - cousin who was a dignitary of the church.” - </p> - <p> - “Have I, indeed?” said Goldsmith. “Then I suppose, if I said so, this must - be the very man. A Dean, is he?” - </p> - <p> - “Sir, it is ill-mannered to keep even a curate waiting in the common room - of a tavern,” said Johnson, who was not the man to shrink from any sudden - addition to his audience of an evening. “If your relation were an - Archbishop, sir, this company would be worthy to receive him. Pray give - the order to show him into this room.” Goldsmith seemed lost in thought. - He gave a start when Johnson had spoken, and in no very certain tone told - the waiter to lead the clergyman up to the room. Oliver's face undoubtedly - wore an expression of greater curiosity than that of any of his friends, - before the waiter returned, followed by an elderly and somewhat undersized - clergyman wearing a full bottomed wig and the bands and apron of a - dignitary of the church. He walked stiffly, with an erect carriage that - gave a certain dignity to his short figure. His face was white, but his - eyebrows were extremely bushy. He had a slight squint in one eye. - </p> - <p> - The bow which he gave on entering the room was profuse but awkward. It - contrasted with the farewell salute of Garrick on leaving the table twenty - minutes before. Every one present, with the exception of Oliver, perceived - in a moment a family resemblance in the clergyman's bow to that with which - Goldsmith was accustomed to receive his friends. A little jerk which the - visitor gave in raising his head was laughably like a motion made by - Goldsmith, supplemental to his usual bow. - </p> - <p> - “Gentlemen,” said the visitor, with a wave of his hand, “I entreat of you - to be seated.” His voice and accent more than suggested Goldsmith's, - although he had only a suspicion of an Irish brogue. If Oliver had made an - attempt to disown his relationship, no one in the room would have regarded - him as sincere. “Nay, gentlemen, I insist,” continued the stranger; “you - embarrass me with your courtesy.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” said Johnson, “you will not find that any company over which I have - the honour to preside is found lacking in its duty to the church.” - </p> - <p> - “I am the humblest of its ministers, sir,” said the stranger, with a - deprecatory bow. Then he glanced round the room, and with an exclamation - of pleasure went towards Goldsmith. “Ah! I do not need to ask which of - this distinguished company is my cousin Nolly—I beg your pardon, - Oliver—ah, old times—old times!” He had caught Goldsmith's - hands in both his own and was looking into his face with a pathetic air. - Goldsmith seemed a little embarrassed. His smile was but the shadow of a - smile. The rest of the party averted their heads, for in the long silence - that followed the exclamation of the visitor, there was an element of - pathos. - </p> - <p> - Curiously enough, a sudden laugh came from Sir Joshua Reynolds, causing - all faces to be turned in his direction. An aspect of stern rebuke was now - worn by Dr. Johnson. The painter hastened to apologise. - </p> - <p> - “I ask your pardon, sir,” he said, gravely, “but—sir, I am a painter—my - name is Reynolds—and—well, sir, the family resemblance between - you and our dear friend Dr. Goldsmith—a resemblance that perhaps - only a painter's eye could detect—seemed to me so extraordinary as - you stood together, that——” - </p> - <p> - “Not another word, sir, I entreat of you,” cried the visitor. “My cousin - Oliver and I have not met for—how many years is it, Nolly? Not - eleven—no, it cannot be eleven—and yet——” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, sir,” said Oliver, “time is fugitive—very fugitive.” - </p> - <p> - He shook his head sadly. - </p> - <p> - “I am pleased to hear that you have acquired this knowledge, which the - wisdom of the ancients has crystallised in a phrase,” said the stranger. - “But you must present me to your friends, Noll—Oliver, I mean. You, - sir”—he turned to Reynolds—“have told me your name. Am I - fortunate enough to be face to face with Sir Joshua Reynolds? Oh, there - can be no doubt about it. Oliver dedicated his last poem to you. Sir, I am - your servant. And you, sir”—he turned to Burke—“I seem to have - seen your face somewhere—it is strangely familiar——” - </p> - <p> - “That gentleman is Mr. Burke, sir,” said Goldsmith. He was rapidly - recovering his embarrassment, and spoke with something of an air of pride, - as he made a gesture with his right hand towards Burke. The clergyman made - precisely the same gesture with his left hand, crying—— - </p> - <p> - “What, Mr. Edmund Burke, the friend of liberty—the friend of the - people?” - </p> - <p> - “The same, sir,” said Oliver. “He is, besides, the friend of Oliver - Goldsmith.” - </p> - <p> - “Then he is my friend also,” said the clergyman. “Sir, to be in a position - to shake you by the hand is the greatest privilege of my life.” - </p> - <p> - “You do me great honor, sir,” said Burke. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith was burning to draw the attention of his relative to Dr. - Johnson, who on his side was looking anything but pleased at being so far - neglected. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Burke, you are our countryman—Oliver's and mine—and I - know you are sound on the Royal Marriage Act. I should dearly like to have - a talk with you on that iniquitous measure. You opposed it, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “With all my power, sir,” said Burke. “Give me your hand again, sir. Mrs. - Luttrel was an honour to her sex, and it is she who confers an honour upon - the Duke of Cumberland, not the other way about.” - </p> - <p> - “You are with me, Mr. Burke? Eh, what is the matter, Cousin Noll? Why do - you work with your arm that way?” - </p> - <p> - “There are other gentlemen in the room, Mr. Dean,” said Oliver. - </p> - <p> - “They can wait,” cried Mr. Dean. “They are certain to be inferior to Mr. - Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds. If I should be wrong, they will not feel - mortified at what I have said.” - </p> - <p> - “This is Mr. Boswell, sir,” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Boswell—of where, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Boswell, of—of Scotland, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Scotland, the land where the clergymen write plays for the theatre. Your - clergymen might be better employed, Mr.—Mr.——” - </p> - <p> - “Boswell, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Boswell. Yes, I hope you will look into this matter should you ever - visit your country again—a remote possibility, from all that I can - learn of your countrymen.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, sir, since Mr. Home wrote his tragedy of 'Douglas'——” - began Boswell, but he was interrupted by the stranger. - </p> - <p> - “What, you would condone his offence?” he cried. “The fact of your having - a mind to do so shows that the clergy of your country are still sadly lax - in their duty, sir. They should have taught you better.” - </p> - <p> - “And this is Dr. Johnson, sir,” said Goldsmith in tones of triumph. - </p> - <p> - His relation sprang from his seat and advanced to the head of the table, - bowing profoundly. - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Johnson,” he cried, “I have long desired to meet you, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “I am your servant, Mr. Dean,” said Johnson, towering above him as he got—somewhat - awkwardly—upon his feet. “No gentleman of your cloth, sir—leaving - aside for the moment all consideration of the eminence in the church to - which you have attained—fails to obtain my respect.” - </p> - <p> - “I am glad of that, sir,” said the Dean. “It shows that you, though a - Non-conformist preacher, and, as I understand, abounding in zeal on behalf - of the cause of which you are so able an advocate, are not disposed to - relinquish the example of the great Wesley in his admiration for the - church.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” said Johnson, with great dignity, but with a scowl upon his face. - “Sir, you are the victim of an error as gross as it is unaccountable. I am - not a Non-conformist—on the contrary, I would give the rogues no - quarter.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” said the clergyman, with the air of one administering a rebuke to a - subordinate. “Sir, such intoleration is unworthy of an enlightened country - and an age of some culture. But I ask your pardon; finding you in the - company of distinguished gentlemen, I was, led to believe that you were - the great Dr. Johnson, the champion of the rights of conscience. I regret - that I was mistaken.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir!” cried Goldsmith, in great consternation—for Johnson was - rendered speechless through being placed in the position of the rebuked, - instead of occupying his accustomed place as the rebuker. “Sir, this is - the great Dr. Johnson—nay, there is no Dr. Johnson but one.” - </p> - <p> - “'Tis so like your good nature, Cousin Oliver, to take the side of the - weak,” said the clergyman, smiling. “Well, well, we will take the honest - gentleman's greatness for granted; and, indeed, he is great in one sense: - he is large enough to outweigh you and me put together in one scale. To - such greatness we would do well to bow.” - </p> - <p> - “Heavens, sir!” said Boswell in a whisper that had something of awe in it. - “Is it possible that you have never heard of Dr. Samuel Johnson?” - </p> - <p> - “Alas! sir,” said the stranger, “I am but a country parson. I cannot be - expected to know all the men who are called great in London. Of course, - Mr. Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds have a European reputation; but you, Mr.—Mr.—ah! - you see I have e'en forgot your worthy name, sir, though I doubt not you - are one of London's greatest. Pray, sir, what have you written that - entitles you to speak with such freedom in the presence of such gentlemen - as Mr. Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and—I add with pride—Oliver - Goldsmith?” - </p> - <p> - “I am the friend of Dr. Johnson, sir,” muttered Boswell. - </p> - <p> - “And he has doubtless greatness enough—avoirdupois—to serve - for both! Pray, Oliver, as the gentleman from Scotland is too modest to - speak for himself, tell me what he has written.” - </p> - <p> - “He has written many excellent works, sir, including an account of - Corsica,” said Goldsmith, with some stammering. - </p> - <p> - “And his friend, Dr. Johnson, has he attained to an equally dizzy altitude - in literature?” - </p> - <p> - “You are surely jesting, sir,” said Goldsmith. “The world is familiar with - Dr. Johnson's Dictionary.” - </p> - <p> - “Alas, I am but a country parson, as you know, Oliver, and I have no need - for a dictionary, having been moderately well educated. Has the work - appeared recently, Dr. Johnson?” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0037.jpg" alt="0037 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0037.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - But Dr. Johnson had turned his back upon the stranger, and had picked up a - volume which Tom Davies, the bookseller, had sent to him at the Crown and - Anchor, and had buried his face in its pages, bending it, as was his wont, - until the stitching had cracked, and the back was already loose. - </p> - <p> - “Your great friend, Noll, is no lover of books, or he would treat them - with greater tenderness,” said the clergyman. “I would fain hope that the - purchasers of his dictionary treat it more fairly than he does the work of - others. When did he bring out his dictionary?” - </p> - <p> - “Eighteen years ago,” said Oliver. - </p> - <p> - “And what books has he written within the intervening years?” - </p> - <p> - “He has been a constant writer, sir, and is the most highly esteemed of - our authors.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir, but give me a list of his books published within the past - eighteen years, so that I may repair my deplorable ignorance. You, cousin, - have written many works that the world would not willingly be without; and - I hear that you are about to add to that already honourable list; but your - friend—oh, you have deceived me, Oliver!—he is no true worker - in literature, or he would—nay, he could not, have remained idle all - these years. How does he obtain his means of living if he will not use his - pen?” - </p> - <p> - “He has a pension from the King, sir,” stuttered Oliver. “I tell you, sir, - he is the most learned man in Europe.” - </p> - <p> - “His is a sad case,” said the clergyman. “To refrain from administering to - him the rebuke which he deserves would be to neglect an obvious duty.” He - took a few steps towards Johnson and raised his head. Goldsmith fell into - a chair and buried his face in his hands; Boswell's jaw fell; Burke and - Reynolds looked by turns grave and amused. “Dr. Johnson,” said the - stranger, “I feel that it is my duty as a clergyman to urge upon you to - amend your way of life.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” shouted Johnson, “if you were not a clergyman I would say that you - were a very impertinent fellow!” - </p> - <p> - “Your way of receiving a rebuke which your conscience—if you have - one—tells you that you have earned, supplements in no small measure - the knowledge of your character which I have obtained since entering this - room, sir. You may be a man of some parts, Dr. Johnson, but you have - acknowledged yourself to be as intolerant in matters of religion as you - have proved yourself to be intolerant of rebuke, offered to you in a - friendly spirit. It seems to me that your habit is to browbeat your - friends into acquiescence with every dictum that comes from your lips, - though they are workers—not without honour—at that profession - of letters which you despise—nay, sir, do not interrupt me. If you - did not despise letters, you would not have allowed eighteen years of your - life to pass without printing at least as many books. Think you, sir, that - a pension was granted to you by the state to enable you to eat the bread - of idleness while your betters are starving in their garrets? Dr. Johnson, - if your name should go down to posterity, how do you think you will be - regarded by all discriminating men? Do you think that those tavern dinners - at which you sit at the head of the table and shout down all who differ - from you, will be placed to your credit to balance your love of idleness - and your intolerance? That is the question which I leave with you; I pray - you to consider it well; and so, sir, I take my leave of you. Gentlemen, - Cousin Oliver, farewell, sirs. I trust I have not spoken in vain.” - </p> - <p> - He made a general bow—an awkward bow—and walked with some - dignity to the door. Then he turned and bowed again before leaving the - room. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen he had - disappeared, the room was very silent. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly Goldsmith, who had remained sitting at the table with his face - buried in his hands, started up, crying out, “'Rasse-las, Prince of - Abyssinia'! How could I be so great a fool as to forget that he published - 'Rasselas' since the Dictionary?” He ran to the door and opened it, - calling downstairs: “'Rasselas, Prince of Abysinia'!” “Rasselas, Prince of - Abyssinia'!” - </p> - <p> - “Sir!” came the roar of Dr. Johnson. “Close that door and return to your - chair, if you desire to retain even the smallest amount of the respect - which your friends once had for you. Cease your bawling, sir, and behave - decently.” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith shut the door. - </p> - <p> - “I did you a gross injustice, sir,” said he, returning slowly to the - table. “I allowed that man to assume that you had published no book since - your Dictionary. The fact is, that I was so disturbed at the moment I - forgot your 'Rasselas.'” - </p> - <p> - “If you had mentioned that book, you would but have added to the force of - your relation's contention, Dr. Goldsmith,” said Johnson. “If I am - suspected of being an idle dog, the fact that I have printed a small - volume of no particular merit will not convince my accuser of my - industry.” - </p> - <p> - “Those who know you, sir,” cried Goldsmith, “do not need any evidence of - your industry. As for that man——” - </p> - <p> - “Let the man alone, sir,” thundered Johnson. - </p> - <p> - “Pray, why should he let the man alone, sir?” said Boswell. - </p> - <p> - “Because, in the first place, sir, the man is a clergyman, in rank next to - a Bishop; in the second place, he is a relative of Dr. Goldsmith's; and, - in the third place, he was justified in his remarks.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no, sir,” said Boswell. “We deny your generous plea of justification. - Idle! Think of the dedications which you have written even within the - year.” - </p> - <p> - “Psha! Sir, the more I think of them the—well, the less I think of - them, if you will allow me the paradox,” said Johnson. “Sir, the man is - right, and there's an end on't. Dr. Goldsmith, you will convey my - compliments to your cousin, and assure him of my good will. I can forgive - him for everything, sir, except his ignorance respecting my Dictionary. - Pray what is his name, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “His name, sir, his name?” faltered Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir, his name. Surely the man has a name,” said Johnson. - </p> - <p> - “His name, sir, is—is—God help me, sir, I know not what is his - name.” - </p> - <p> - “Nonsense, Dr. Goldsmith! He is your cousin and a Dean. Mr. Boswell tells - me that he has heard you refer to him in conversation; if you did so in a - spirit of boasting, you erred.” - </p> - <p> - For some moments Goldsmith was silent. Then, without looking up, he said - in a low tone: - </p> - <p> - “The man is no cousin of mine; I have no relative who is a Dean.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, you need not deny it,” cried Boswell. “You boasted of - him quite recently, and in the presence of Mr. Garrick, too.” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Boswell's ear is acute, Goldsmith,” said Burke with a smile. - </p> - <p> - “His ears are so long, sir, one is not surprised to find the unities of - nature are maintained when one hears his voice,” remarked Goldsmith in a - low tone. - </p> - <p> - “Here comes Mr. Garrick himself,” said Reynolds as the door was opened and - Garrick returned, bowing in his usual pleasant manner as he advanced to - the chair which he had vacated not more than half an hour before. “Mr. - Garrick is an impartial witness on this point.” - </p> - <p> - “Whatever he may be on some other points,” remarked Burke. - </p> - <p> - “Gentlemen,” said Garrick, “you seem to be somewhat less harmonious than - you were when I was compelled to hurry away to keep my appointment. May I - inquire the reason of the difference?” - </p> - <p> - “You may not, sir!” shouted Johnson, seeing that Boswell was burning to - acquaint Garrick with what had occurred. Johnson quickly perceived that it - would be well to keep the visit of the clergyman a secret, and he knew - that it would have no chance of remaining one for long if Garrick were to - hear of it. He could imagine Garrick burlesquing the whole scene for the - entertainment of the Burney girls or the Horneck family. He had heard more - than once of the diversion which his old pupil at Lichfield had created by - his mimicry of certain scenes in which he, Johnson, played an important - part. He had been congratulating himself upon the fortunate absence of the - actor during the visit of the clergyman. - </p> - <p> - “You may tell Mr. Garrick nothing, sir,” he repeated, as Garrick looked - with a blank expression of interrogation around the company. - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” said Boswell, “my veracity is called in question.” - </p> - <p> - “What is a question of your veracity, sir, in comparison with the issues - that have been in the balance during the past half-hour?” cried Johnson. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir, one question,” said Burke, seeing that Boswell had collapsed. - “Mr. Garrick—have you heard Dr. Goldsmith boast of having a Dean for - a relative?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, no, sir,” replied Garrick; “but I heard him say that he had a - brother who deserved to be a Dean.” - </p> - <p> - “And so I had,” cried Goldsmith. “Alas! I cannot say that I have now. My - poor brother died a country clergyman a few years ago.” - </p> - <p> - “I am a blind man so far as evidence bearing upon things seen is - concerned,” said Johnson; “but it seemed to me that some of the man's - gestures—nay, some of the tones of his voice as well—resembled - those of Dr. Goldsmith. I should like to know if any one at the table - noticed the similarity to which I allude.” - </p> - <p> - “I certainly noticed it,” cried Boswell eagerly. - </p> - <p> - “Your evidence is not admissible, sir,” said Johnson. “What does Sir - Joshua Reynolds say?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, sir,” said Reynolds with a laugh, and a glance towards Garrick, “I - confess that I noticed the resemblance and was struck by it, both as - regards the man's gestures and his voice. But I am as convinced that he - was no relation of Dr. Goldsmith's as I am of my own existence.” - </p> - <p> - “But if not, sir, how can you account for——” - </p> - <p> - Boswell's inquiry was promptly checked by Johnson. - </p> - <p> - “Be silent, sir,” he thundered. “If you have left your manners in Scotland - in an impulse of generosity, you have done a foolish thing, for the gift - was meagre out of all proportion to the needs of your country in that - respect. Sir, let me tell you that the last word has been spoken touching - this incident. I will consider any further reference to it in the light of - a personal affront.” - </p> - <p> - After a rather awkward pause, Garrick said: - </p> - <p> - “I begin to suspect that I have been more highly diverted during the past - half-hour than any of this company.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Davy,” said Johnson, “the accuracy of your suspicion is wholly - dependent on your disposition to be entertained. Where have you been, sir, - and of what nature was your diversion?” - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” said Garrick, “I have been with a poet.” - </p> - <p> - “So have we, sir—with the greatest poet alive—the author of - 'The Deserted Village'—and yet you enter to find us immoderately - glum,” said Johnson. He was anxious to show his friend Goldsmith that he - did not regard him as accountable for the visit of the clergyman whom he - quite believed to be Oliver's cousin, in spite of the repudiation of the - relationship by Goldsmith himself, and the asseveration of Reynolds. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, sir, mine was not a poet such as Dr. Goldsmith,” said Garrick. “Mine - was only a sort of poet.” - </p> - <p> - “And pray, sir, what is a sort of poet?” asked Boswell. - </p> - <p> - “A sort of poet, sir, is one who writes a sort of poetry,” replied - Garrick. - </p> - <p> - He then began a circumstantial account of how he had made an appointment - for the hour at which he had left his friends, with a gentleman who was - anxious to read to him some portions of a play which he had just written. - The meeting was to take place in a neighbouring coffee-house in the - Strand; but even though the distance which he had to traverse was short, - it had been the scene of more than one adventure, which, narrated by - Garrick, proved comical to an extraordinary degree. - </p> - <p> - “A few yards away I almost ran into the arms of a clergyman—he wore - the bands and apron of a Dean,” he continued, “not seeming to notice the - little start which his announcement caused in some directions. The man - grasped me by the arm,” he continued, “doubtless recognising me from my - portraits—for he said he had never seen me act—and then began - an harangue on the text of neglected opportunities. It seemed, however, - that he had no more apparent example of my sins in this direction than my - neglect to produce Dr. Goldsmith's 'Good-Natured Man.' Faith, gentlemen, - he took it quite as a family grievance.” Suddenly he paused, and looked - around the party; only Reynolds was laughing, all the rest were grave. A - thought seemed to strike the narrator. “What!” he cried, “it is not - possible that this was, after all, Dr. Goldsmith's cousin, the Dean, - regarding whom you interrogated me just now? If so,'tis an extraordinary - coincidence that I should have encountered him—unless—good - heavens, gentlemen! is it the case that he came here when I had thrown him - off?” - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” cried Oliver, “I affirm that no relation of mine, Dean or no Dean, - entered this room!” - </p> - <p> - “Then, sir, you may look to find him at your chambers in Brick Court on - your return,” said Garrick. “Oh, yes, Doctor!—a small man with the - family bow of the Goldsmiths—something like this.” He gave a comical - reproduction of the salutation of the clergyman. - </p> - <p> - “I tell you, sir, once and for all, that the man is no relation of mine,” - protested Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “And let that be the end of the matter,” declared Johnson, with no lack of - decisiveness in his voice. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, sir, I assure you I have no desire to meet the gentleman again,” - laughed Garrick. “I got rid of him by a feint, just as he was endeavouring - to force me to promise a production of a dramatic version of 'The Deserted - Village'—he said he had the version at his lodging, and meant to - read it to his cousin—I ask your pardon, sir, but he said 'cousin.'” - </p> - <p> - “Sir, let us have no more of this—cousin or no cousin,” roared - Johnson. - </p> - <p> - “That is my prayer, sir—I utter it with all my heart and soul,” said - Garrick. “It was about my poet I meant to speak—my poet and his - play. What think you of the South Seas and the visit of Lieutenant Cook as - the subject of a tragedy in blank verse, Dr. Johnson?” - </p> - <p> - “I think, Davy, that the subject represents so magnificent a scheme of - theatrical bankruptcy you would do well to hand it over to that scoundrel - Foote,” said Johnson pleasantly. He was by this time quite himself again, - and ready to pronounce an opinion on any question with that finality which - carried conviction with it—yes, to James Boswell. - </p> - <p> - For the next half-hour Garrick entertained his friends with the details of - his interview with the poet who—according to his account—had - designed the drama of “Otaheite” in order to afford Garrick an opportunity - of playing the part of a cannibal king, dressed mainly in feathers, and - beating time alternately with a club and a tomahawk, while he delivered a - series of blank verse soliloquies and apostrophes to Mars, Vulcan and - Diana. - </p> - <p> - “The monarch was especially devoted to Diana,” said Garrick. “My poet - explained that, being a hunter, he would naturally find it greatly to his - advantage to say a good word now and again for the chaste goddess; and - when I inquired how it was possible that his Majesty of Otaheite could - know anything about Diana, he said the Romans and the South Sea Islanders - were equally Pagans, and that, as such, they had equal rights in the Pagan - mythology; it would be monstrously unjust to assume that the Romans should - claim a monopoly of Diana.” - </p> - <p> - Boswell interrupted him to express the opinion that the poet's contention - was quite untenable, and Garrick said it was a great relief to his mind to - have so erudite a scholar as Boswell on his side in the argument, though - he admitted that he thought there was a good deal in the poet's argument. - </p> - <p> - He adroitly led on his victim to enter into a serious argument on the - question of the possibility of the Otaheitans having any definite notion - of the character and responsibilities assigned to Diana in the Roman - mythology; and after keeping the party in roars of laughter for half an - hour, he delighted Boswell by assuring him that his eloquence and the - force of his arguments had removed whatever misgivings he, Garrick, - originally had, that he was doing the poet an injustice in declining his - tragedy. - </p> - <p> - When the party were about to separate, Goldsmith drew Johnson apart—greatly - to the pique of Boswell—and said— - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Johnson, I have a great favour to ask of you, sir, and I hope you - will see your way to grant it, though I do not deserve any favour from - you.” - </p> - <p> - “You deserve no favour, Goldy,” said Johnson, laying his hand on the - little man's shoulder, “and therefore, sir, you make a man who grants you - one so well satisfied with himself he should regard himself your debtor. - Pray, sir, make me your debtor by giving me a chance of granting you a - favour.” - </p> - <p> - “You say everything better than any living man, sir,” cried Goldsmith. - “How long would it take me to compose so graceful a sentence, do you - suppose? You are the man whom I most highly respect, sir, and I am anxious - to obtain your permission to dedicate to you the comedy which I have - written and Mr. Colman is about to produce.” - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Goldsmith,” said Johnson, “we have been good friends for several - years now.” - </p> - <p> - “Long before Mr. Boswell came to town, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Undoubtedly, sir—long before you became recognised as the most - melodious of our poets—the most diverting of our play-writers. I - wrote the prologue to your first play, Goldy, and I'll stand sponsor for - your second—nay, sir, not only so, but I'll also go to see it, and - if it be damned, I'll drink punch with you all night and talk of my - tragedy of 'Irene,' which was also damned; there's my hand on it, Dr. - Goldsmith.” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith pressed the great hand with both of his own, and tears were in - his eyes and his voice as he said— - </p> - <p> - “Your generosity overpowers me, sir.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>oswell, who was - standing to one side watching—-his eyes full of curiosity and his - ears strained to catch by chance a word—the little scene that was - being enacted in a corner of the room, took good care that Johnson should - be in his charge going home. This walk to Johnson's house necessitated a - walk back to his own lodgings in Piccadilly; but this was nothing to - Boswell, who had every confidence in his own capability to extract from - his great patron some account of the secrets which had been exchanged in - the corner. - </p> - <p> - For once, however, he found himself unable to effect his object—nay, - when he began his operations with his accustomed lightness of touch, - Johnson turned upon him, saying— - </p> - <p> - “Sir, I observe what is your aim, and I take this opportunity to tell you - that if you make any further references, direct or indirect, to man, woman - or child, to the occurrences of this evening, you will cease to be a - friend of mine. I have been humiliated sufficiently by a stranger, who had - every right to speak as he did, but I refuse to be humiliated by you, - sir.” - </p> - <p> - Boswell expressed himself willing to give the amplest security for his - good behaviour. He had great hope of conferring upon his patron a month of - inconvenience in making a tour of the west coast of Scotland during the - summer. - </p> - <p> - The others of the party went northward by one of the streets off the - Strand into Coventry street, and thence toward Sir Joshua's house in - Leicester Square, Burke walking in front with his arm through Goldsmith's, - and Garrick some way behind with Reynolds. Goldsmith was very eloquent in - his references to the magnanimity of Johnson, who, he said, in spite of - the fact that he had been grossly insulted by an impostor calling himself - his, Goldsmith's, cousin, had consented to receive the dedication of the - new comedy. Burke, who understood the temperament of his countryman, felt - that he himself might surpass in eloquence even Oliver Goldsmith if he - took for his text the magnanimity of the author of “The Good Natured Man.” - He, however, refrained from the attempt to prove to his companion that - there were other ways by which a man could gain a reputation for - generosity than by permitting the most distinguished writer of the age to - dedicate a comedy to him. - </p> - <p> - Of the other couple Garrick was rattling away in the highest spirits, - quite regardless of the position of Reynolds's ear-trumpet. Reynolds was - as silent as Burke for a considerable time; but then, stopping at a corner - so as to allow Goldsmith and his companion to get out of ear-shot, he laid - his hand on Garrick's arm, laughing heartily as he said— - </p> - <p> - “You are a pretty rascal, David, to play such a trick upon your best - friends. You are a pretty rascal, and a great genius, Davy—the - greatest genius alive. There never has been such an actor as you, Davy, - and there never will be another such.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” said Garrick, with an overdone expression of embarrassment upon his - face, every gesture that he made corresponding. “Sir, I protest that you - are speaking in parables. I admit the genius, if you insist upon it, but - as for the rascality—well, it is possible, I suppose, to be both a - great genius and a great rascal; there was our friend Benvenuto, for - example, but——” - </p> - <p> - “Only a combination of genius and rascality could have hit upon such a - device as that bow which you made, Davy,” said Reynolds. “It presented - before my eyes a long vista of Goldsmiths—all made in the same - fashion as our friend on in front, and all striving—-and not - unsuccessfully, either—to maintain the family tradition of the - Goldsmith bow. And then your imitation of your imitation of the same - movement—how did we contain ourselves—Burke and I?” - </p> - <p> - “You fancy that Burke saw through the Dean, also?” said Garrick. - </p> - <p> - “I'm convinced that he did.” - </p> - <p> - “But he will not tell Johnson, I would fain hope.” - </p> - <p> - “You are very anxious that Johnson should not know how it was he was - tricked. But you do not mind how you pain a much more generous man.” - </p> - <p> - “You mean Goldsmith? Faith, sir, I do mind it greatly. If I were not - certain that he would forthwith hasten to tell Johnson, I would go to him - and confess all, asking his forgiveness. But he would tell Johnson and - never forgive me, so I'll e'en hold my tongue.” - </p> - <p> - “You will not lose a night's rest through brooding on Goldsmith's pain, - David.” - </p> - <p> - “It was an impulse of the moment that caused me to adopt that device, my - friend. Johnson is past all argument, sir. That sickening sycophant, - Boswell, may find happiness in being insulted by him, but there are others - who think that the Doctor has no more right than any ordinary man to offer - an affront to those whom the rest of the world respects.” - </p> - <p> - “He will allow no one but himself to attack you, Davy.” - </p> - <p> - “And by my soul, sir, I would rather that he allowed every one else to - attack me if he refrained from it himself. Where is the generosity of a - man who, with the force and influence of a dozen men, will not allow a bad - word to be said about you, but says himself more than the whole dozen - could say in as many years? Sir, do the pheasants, which our friend Mr. - Bunbury breeds so successfully, regard him as a pattern of generosity - because he won't let a dozen of his farmers have a shot at them, but - preserves them for his own unerring gun? By the Lord Harry, I would - rather, if I were a pheasant, be shot at by the blunderbusses of a dozen - yokels than by the fowling-piece of one good marksman, such as Bunbury. On - the same principle, I have no particular liking to be preserved to make - sport for the heavy broadsides that come from that literary three-decker, - Johnson.” - </p> - <p> - “I have sympathy with your contentions, David; but we all allow your old - schoolmaster a license which would be permitted to no one else.” - </p> - <p> - “That license is not a game license, Sir Joshua; and so I have made up my - mind that if he says anything more about the profession of an actor being - a degrading-one—about an actor being on the level with a fiddler—nay, - one of the puppets of Panton street, I will teach my old schoolmaster a - more useful lesson than he ever taught to me. I think it is probable that - he is at this very moment pondering upon those plain truths which were - told to him by the Dean.” - </p> - <p> - “And poor Goldsmith has been talking so incessantly and so earnestly to - Burke, I am convinced that he feels greatly pained as well as puzzled by - that inopportune visit of the clergyman who exhibited such striking - characteristics of the Goldsmith family.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, did I not bear testimony in his favour—declaring that he had - never alluded to a relation who was a Dean?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes; you did your best to place us all at our ease, sir. You were - magnanimous, David—as magnanimous as the surgeon who cuts off an - arm, plunges the stump into boiling pitch, and then gives the patient a - grain or two of opium to make him sleep. But I should not say a word: I - have seen you in your best part, Mr. Garrick, and I can give the heartiest - commendation to your powers as a comedian, while condemning with equal - force the immorality of the whole proceeding.” - </p> - <p> - They had now arrived at Reynolds's house in Leicester Square, Goldsmith - and Burke—the former still talking eagerly—having waited for - them to come up. - </p> - <p> - “Gentlemen,” said Reynolds, “you have all gone out of your accustomed way - to leave me at my own door. I insist on your entering to have some - refreshment. Mr. Burke, you will not refuse to enter and pronounce an - opinion as to the portrait at which I am engaged of the charming Lady - Betty Hamilton.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>O matre pulchra filia pulchrior</i>” said Goldsmith; but there was not - much aptness in the quotation, the mother of Lady Betty having been the - loveliest of the sisters Gunning, who had married first the Duke of - Hamilton, and, later, the Duke of Argyll. - </p> - <p> - Before they had rung the bell the hall door was opened by Sir Joshua's - servant, Ralph, and a young man, very elegantly dressed, was shown out by - the servant. - </p> - <p> - He at once recognised Sir Joshua and then Garrick. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, my dear Sir Joshua,” he cried, “I have to entreat your forgiveness - for having taken the liberty of going into your painting-room in your - absence.” - </p> - <p> - “Your Lordship has every claim upon my consideration,” said Sir Joshua. “I - cannot doubt which of my poor efforts drew you thither.” - </p> - <p> - “The fact is, Sir Joshua, I promised her Grace three days ago to see the - picture, and as I think it likely that I shall meet her tonight, I made a - point of coming hither. The Duchess of Argyll is not easily put aside when - she commences to catechise a poor man, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot hope, my Lord, that the picture of Lady Betty commended itself - to your Lordship's eye,” said Sir Joshua. - </p> - <p> - “The picture is a beauty, my dear Sir Joshua,” said the young man, but - with no great show of ardour. “It pleases me greatly. Your macaw is also a - beauty. A capital notion of painting a macaw on a pedestal by the side of - the lady, is it not, Mr. Garrick—two birds with the one stone, you - know?” - </p> - <p> - “True, sir,” said Garrick. “Lady Betty is a bird of Paradise.” - </p> - <p> - “That's as neatly said as if it were part of a play,” said the young man. - “Talking of plays, there is going to be a pretty comedy enacted at the - Pantheon to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “Is it not a mask?” said Garrick. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, finer sport even than that,” laughed the youth. “We are going to do - more for the drama in an hour, Mr. Garrick, than you have done in twenty - years, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “At the Pantheon, Lord Stanley?” inquired Garrick. - </p> - <p> - “Come to the Pantheon and you shall see all that there is to be seen,” - cried Lord Stanley. “Who are your friends? Have I had the honour to be - acquainted with them?” - </p> - <p> - “Your Lordship must have met Mr. Burke and Dr. Goldsmith,” said Garrick. - </p> - <p> - “I have often longed for that privilege,” said Lord Stanley, bowing in - reply to the salutation of the others. “Mr. Burke's speech on the Marriage - Bill was a fine effort, and Mr. Goldsmith's comedy has always been my - favourite. I hear that you are at present engaged upon another, Dr. - Goldsmith. That is good news, sir. Oh, 't were a great pity if so - distinguished a party missed the sport which is on foot tonight! Let me - invite you all to the Pantheon—here are tickets to the show. You - will give me a box at your theatre, Garrick, in exchange, on the night - when Mr. Goldsmith's new play is produced.” - </p> - <p> - “Alas, my Lord,” said Garrick, “that privilege will be in the hands of Mr. - Col-man.” - </p> - <p> - “What, at t' other house? Mr. Garrick, I'm ashamed of you. Nevertheless, - you will come to the comedy at the Pantheon to-night. I must hasten to act - my part. But we shall meet there, I trust.” - </p> - <p> - He bowed with his hat in his hand to the group, and hastened away with an - air of mystery. - </p> - <p> - “What does he mean?” asked Reynolds. - </p> - <p> - “That is what I have been asking myself,” replied Garrick. “By heavens, I - have it!” he cried after a pause of a few moments. “I have heard rumours - of what some of our young bloods swore to do, since the managers of the - Pantheon, in an outburst of virtuous indignation at the orgies of Vauxhall - and Ranelagh, issued their sheet of regulations prohibiting the entrance - of actresses to their rotunda. Lord Conway, I heard, was the leader of the - scheme, and it seems that this young Stanley is also one of the plot. Let - us hasten to witness the sport. I would not miss being-present for the - world.” - </p> - <p> - “I am not so eager,” said Sir Joshua. “I have my work to engage me early - in the morning, and I have lost all interest in such follies as seem to be - on foot.” - </p> - <p> - “I have not, thank heaven!” cried Garrick; “nor has Dr. Goldsmith, I'll - swear. As for Burke—well, being a member of Parliament, he is a - seasoned rascal; and so good-night to you, good Mr. President.” - </p> - <p> - “We need a frolic,” cried Goldsmith. “God knows we had a dull enough - dinner at the Crown and Anchor.” - </p> - <p> - “An Irishman and a frolic are like—well, let us say like Lady Betty - and your macaw, Sir Joshua,” said Burke. “They go together very - naturally.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ir Joshua entered - his house, and the others hastened northward to the Oxford road, where the - Pantheon had scarcely been opened more than a year for the entertainment - of the fashionable world—a more fashionable world, it was hoped, - than was in the habit of appearing at Ranelagh and Vauxhall. From a - hundred to a hundred and fifty years ago, rank and fashion sought their - entertainment almost exclusively at the Assembly Rooms when the weather - failed to allow of their meeting at the two great public gardens. But as - the government of the majority of these places invariably became lax—there - was only one Beau Nash who had the cleverness to perceive that an - autocracy was the only possible form of government for such assemblies—the - committee of the Pantheon determined to frame so strict a code of rules, - bearing upon the admission of visitors, as should, they believed, prevent - the place from falling to the low level of the gardens. - </p> - <p> - In addition to the charge of half-a-guinea for admission to the rotunda, - there were rules which gave the committee the option of practically - excluding any person whose presence they might regard as not tending to - maintain the high character of the Pantheon; and it was announced in the - most decisive way that upon no consideration would actresses be allowed to - enter. - </p> - <p> - The announcements made to this effect were regarded in some directions as - eminently salutary. They were applauded by all persons who were - sufficiently strict to prevent their wives or daughters from going to - those entertainments that possessed little or no supervision. Such persons - understood the world and the period so indifferently as to be optimists in - regard to the question of the possibility of combining Puritanism and - promiscuous entertainments terminating long after midnight. They hailed - the arrival of the time when innocent recreation would not be incompatible - with the display of the richest dresses or the most sumptuous figures. - </p> - <p> - But there was another, and a more numerous set, who were very cynical on - the subject of the regulation of beauty and fashion at the Pantheon. The - best of this set shrugged their shoulders, and expressed the belief that - the supervised entertainments would be vastly dull. The worst of them - published verses full of cheap sarcasm, and proper names with asterisks - artfully introduced in place of vowels, so as to evade the possibility of - actions for libel when their allusions were more than usually scandalous. - </p> - <p> - While the ladies of the committee were applauding one another and - declaring that neither threats nor sarcasms would prevail against their - resolution, an informal meeting was held at White's of the persons who - affirmed that they were more affected than any others by the carrying out - of the new regulations; and at the meeting they resolved to make the - management aware of the mistake into which they had fallen in endeavouring - to discriminate between the classes of their patrons. - </p> - <p> - When Garrick and his friends reached the Oxford road, as the thoroughfare - was then called, the result of this meeting was making itself felt. The - road was crowded with people who seemed waiting for something unusual to - occur, though of what form it was to assume no one seemed to be aware. The - crowd were at any rate good-humoured. They cheered heartily every coach - that rolled by bearing splendidly dressed ladies to the Pantheon and to - other and less public entertainments. They waved their hats over the - chairs which, similarly burdened, went swinging along between the bearers, - footmen walking on each side and link-boys running in advance, the glare - of their torches giving additional redness to the faces of the hot fellows - who had the chair-straps over their shoulders. Every now and again an - officer of the Guards would come in for the cheers of the people, and - occasionally a jostling match took place between some supercilious young - beau and the apprentices, through the midst of whom he attempted to force - his way. More than once swords flashed beneath the sickly illumination of - the lamps, but the drawers of the weapons regretted their impetuosity the - next minute, for they were quickly disarmed, either by the crowd closing - with them or jolting them into the kennel, which at no time was savoury. - Once, however, a tall young fellow, who had been struck by a stick, drew - his sword and stood against a lamp-post preparatory to charging the crowd. - It looked as if those who interfered with him would suffer, and a space - was soon cleared in front of him. At that instant, however, he was thrown - to the ground by the assault of a previously unseen foe: a boy dropped - upon him from the lamp-post and sent his sword flying, while the crowd - cheered and jeered in turn. - </p> - <p> - At intervals a roar would arise, and the people would part before the - frantic flight of a pickpocket, pursued and belaboured in his rush by a - dozen apprentices, who carried sticks and straps, and were well able to - use both. - </p> - <p> - But a few minutes after Garrick, Goldsmith and Burke reached the road, all - the energies of the crowds seemed to be directed upon one object, and - there was a cry of, “Here they come—here she comes—a cheer for - Mrs. Baddeley!” - </p> - <p> - “O Lord,” cried Garrick, “they have gone so far as to choose Sophia - Baddeley for their experiment!” - </p> - <p> - “Their notion clearly is not to do things by degrees,” said Goldsmith. - “They might have begun with a less conspicuous person than Mrs. Baddeley. - There are many gradations in colour between black and white.” - </p> - <p> - “But not between black and White's,” said Burke. “This notion is well - worthy of the wit of White's.” - </p> - <p> - “Sophia is not among the gradations that Goldsmith speaks of,” said - Garrick. “But whatever be the result of this jerk into prominence, it - cannot fail to increase her popularity at the playhouse.” - </p> - <p> - “That's the standpoint from which a good manager regards such a scene as - this,” said Burke. “Sophia will claim an extra twenty guineas a week after - to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “By my soul!” cried Goldsmith, “she looks as if she would give double that - sum to be safe at home in bed.” - </p> - <p> - The cheers of the crowd increased as the chair containing Mrs. Baddeley, - the actress, was borne along, the lady smiling in a half-hearted way - through her paint. On each side of the chair, but some short distance in - front, were four link-boys in various liveries, shining with gold and - silver lace. In place of footmen, however, there walked two rows of - gentlemen on each side of the chair. They were all splendidly dressed, and - they carried their swords drawn. At the head of the escort on one side was - the well known young Lord Conway, and at the other side Mr. Hanger, - equally well known as a leader of fashion. Lord Stanley was immediately - behind his friend Conway, and almost every other member of the lady's - escort was a young nobleman or the heir to a peerage. - </p> - <p> - The lines extended to a second chair, in which Mrs. Abington was seated, - smiling——“Very much more naturally than Mrs. Baddeley,” Burke - remarked. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes,” cried Goldsmith, “she was always the better actress. I am - fortunate in having her in my new comedy.” - </p> - <p> - “The Duchesses have become jealous of the sway of Mrs. Abington,” said - Garrick, alluding to the fact that the fashions in dress had been for - several years controlled by that lovely and accomplished actress. - </p> - <p> - “And young Lord Conway and his friends have become tired of the sway of - the Duchesses,” said Burke. - </p> - <p> - “My Lord Stanley looked as if he were pretty nigh weary of his Duchess's - sway,” said Garrick. “I wonder if he fancies that his joining that band - will emancipate him.” - </p> - <p> - “If so he is in error,” said Burke. “The Duchess of Argyll will never let - him out of her clutches till he is safely married to the Lady Betty.” - </p> - <p> - “Till then, do you say?” said Goldsmith. “Faith, sir, if he fancies he - will escape from her clutches by marrying her daughter he must have had a - very limited experience of life. Still, I think the lovely young lady is - most to be pitied. You heard the cold way he talked of her picture to - Reynolds.” - </p> - <p> - The engagement of Lord Stanley, the heir to the earldom of Derby, to Lady - Betty Hamilton, though not formally announced, was understood to be a <i>fait - accompli</i>; but there were rumours that the young man had of late been - making an effort to release himself—that it was only with difficulty - the Duchess managed to secure his attendance in public upon her daughter, - whose portrait was being painted by Reynolds. - </p> - <p> - The picturesque procession went slowly along amid the cheers of the - crowds, and certainly not without many expressions of familiarity and - friendliness toward the two ladies whose beauty of countenance and of - dress was made apparent by the flambeaux of the link-boys, which also - gleamed upon the thin blades of the ladies' escort. The actresses were - plainly more popular than the committee of the Pantheon. - </p> - <p> - It was only when the crowds were closing in on the end of the procession - that a voice cried— - </p> - <p> - “Woe unto them! Woe unto Aholah and Aholibah! Woe unto ye who follow them - to your own destruction! Turn back ere it be too late!” The discordant - note came from a Methodist preacher who considered the moment a seasonable - one for an admonition against the frivolities of the town. - </p> - <p> - The people did not seem to agree with him in this matter. They sent up a - shout of laughter, and half a dozen youths began a travesty of a Methodist - service, introducing all the hysterical cries and moans with which the - early followers of Wesley punctuated their prayers. In another direction a - ribald parody of a Methodist hymn was sung by women as well as men; but - above all the mockery the stern, strident voice of the preacher was heard. - </p> - <p> - “By my soul,” said Garrick, “that effect is strikingly dramatic. I should - like to find some one who would give me a play with such a scene.” - </p> - <p> - A good-looking young officer in the uniform of the Guards, who was in the - act of hurrying past where Garrick and his friends stood, turned suddenly - round. - </p> - <p> - “I'll take your order, sir,” he cried. “Only you will have to pay me - handsomely.” - </p> - <p> - “What, Captain Horneck? Is 't possible that you are a straggler from the - escort of the two ladies who are being feted to-night?” said Garrick. - </p> - <p> - “Hush, man, for Heaven's sake,” cried Captain Horneck—Goldsmith's - “Captain in lace.” - </p> - <p> - “If Mr. Burke had a suspicion that I was associated with such a rout he - would, as the guardian of my purse if not of my person, give notice to my - Lord Albemarle's trustees, and then the Lord only knows what would - happen.” Then he turned to Goldsmith. “Come along, Nolly, my friend,” he - cried, putting his arm through Oliver's; “if you want a scene for your new - comedy you will find it in the Pantheon to-night. You are not wearing the - peach-bloom coat, to be sure, but, Lord, sir! you are not to be resisted, - whatever you wear.” - </p> - <p> - “You, at any rate, are not to be resisted, my gallant Captain,” said - Goldsmith. “I have half a mind to see the sport when the ladies' chairs - stop at the porch of the Pantheon.” - </p> - <p> - “As a matter of course you will come,” said young Horneck. “Let us hasten - out of range of that howling. What a time for a fellow to begin to - preach!” - </p> - <p> - He hurried Oliver away, taking charge of him through the crowd with his - arm across his shoulder. Garrick and Burke followed as rapidly as they - could, and Charles Horneck explained to them, as well as to his companion, - that he would have been in the escort of the actress, but for the fact - that he was about to marry the orphan daughter of Lord Albemarle, and that - his mother had entreated him not to do anything that might jeopardise the - match. - </p> - <p> - “You are more discreet than Lord Stanley,” said Garrick. - </p> - <p> - “Nay,” said Goldsmith. “'Tis not a question of discretion, but of the - means to an end. Our Captain in lace fears that his joining the escort - would offend his charming bride, but Lord Stanley is only afraid that his - act in the same direction will not offend his Duchess.” - </p> - <p> - “You have hit the nail on the head, as usual, Nolly,” said the Captain. - “Poor Stanley is anxious to fly from his charmer through any loop-hole. - But he'll not succeed. Why, sir, I'll wager that if her daughter Betty and - the Duke were to die, her Grace would marry him herself.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, assuming that a third Duke was not forthcoming,” said Burke. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he party found, on - approaching the Pantheon, the advantage of being under the guidance of - Captain Horneck. Without his aid they would have had considerable - difficulty getting near the porch of the building, where the crowds were - most dense. The young guardsman, however, pushed his way quite - good-humouredly, but not the less effectively, through the people, and was - followed by Goldsmith, Garrick and Burke being a little way behind. But as - soon as the latter couple came within the light of the hundred lamps which - hung around the porch, they were recognised and cheered by the crowd, who - made a passage for them to the entrance just as Mrs. Baddeley's chair was - set down. - </p> - <p> - The doors had been hastily closed and half-a-dozen constables stationed in - front with their staves. The gentlemen of the escort formed in a line on - each side of her chair to the doors, and when the lady stepped out—she - could not be persuaded to do so for some time—and walked between the - ranks of her admirers, they took off their hats and lowered the points of - their swords, bowing to the ground with greater courtesy than they would - have shown to either of the royal Duchesses, who just at that period were - doing their best to obtain some recognition. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Baddeley had rehearsed the “business” of the part which she had to - play, but she was so nervous that she forgot her words on finding herself - confronted by the constables. She caught sight of Garrick standing at one - side of the door with his hat swept behind him as he bowed with exquisite - irony as she stopped short, and the force of habit was too much for her. - Forgetting that she was playing the part of a <i>grande dame</i>, she - turned in an agony of fright to Garrick, raising her hands—one - holding a lace handkerchief, the other a fan—crying— - </p> - <p> - “La! Mr. Garrick, I'm so fluttered that I've forgot my words. Where's the - prompter, sir? Pray, what am I to say now?” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, madam, I am not responsible for this production,” said Garrick - gravely, and there was a roar of laughter from the people around the - porch. - </p> - <p> - The young gentlemen who had their swords drawn were, however, extremely - serious. They began to perceive the possibility of their heroic plan - collapsing into a merry burlesque, and so young Mr. Hanger sprang to the - side of the lady. - </p> - <p> - “Madam,” he cried, “honour me by accepting my escort into the Pantheon. - What do you mean, sirrah, by shutting that door in the face of a lady - visitor?” he shouted to the liveried porter. - </p> - <p> - “Sir, we have orders from the management to permit no players to enter,” - replied the man. - </p> - <p> - “Nevertheless, you will permit this lady to enter,” said the young - gentleman. “Come, sir, open the doors without a moment's delay.” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot act contrary to my orders, sir,” replied the man. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, Mr. Hanger,” replied the frightened actress, “I wish not to be the - cause of a disturbance. Pray, sir, let me return to my chair.” - </p> - <p> - “Gentlemen,” cried Mr. Hanger to his friends, “I know that it is not your - will that we should come in active contest with the representatives of - authority; but am I right in assuming that it is your desire that our - honoured friend, Mrs. Baddeley, should enter the Pantheon?” When the cries - of assent came to an end he continued, “Then, sirs, the responsibility for - bloodshed rests with those who oppose us. Swords to the front! You will - touch no man with a point unless he oppose you. Should a constable assault - any of this company you will run him through without mercy. Now, - gentlemen.” - </p> - <p> - In an instant thirty sword-blades were radiating from the lady, and in - that fashion an advance was made upon the constables, who for a few - moments stood irresolute, but then—the points of a dozen swords were - within a yard of their breasts—lowered their staves and slipped - quietly aside. The porter, finding himself thus deserted, made no attempt - to withstand single-handed an attack converging upon the doors; he hastily - went through the porch, leaving the doors wide apart. - </p> - <p> - To the sound of roars of laughter and shouts of congratulation from the - thousands who blocked the road, Mrs. Baddeley and her escort walked - through the porch and on to the rotunda beyond, the swords being sheathed - at the entrance. - </p> - <p> - It seemed as if all the rank and fashion of the town had come to the - rotunda this night. Peeresses were on the raised dais by the score, some - of them laughing, others shaking their heads and doing their best to look - scandalised. Only one matron, however, felt it imperative to leave the - assembly and to take her daughters with her. She was a lady whose first - husband had divorced her, and her daughters were excessively plain, in - spite of their masks of paint and powder. - </p> - <p> - The Duchess of Argyll stood in the centre of the dais by the side of her - daughter, Lady Betty Hamilton, her figure as graceful as it had been - twenty years before, when she and her sister Maria, who became Countess of - Coventry, could not walk down the Mall unless under the protection of a - body of soldiers, so closely were they pressed by the fashionable mob - anxious to catch a glimpse of the beautiful Miss Gunnings. She had no - touch of carmine or powder to obscure the transparency of her complexion, - and her wonderful long eyelashes needed no darkening to add to their - silken effect. Her neck and shoulders were white, not with the cold - whiteness of snow, but with the pearl-like charm of the white rose. The - solid roundness of her arms, and the grace of every movement that she made - with them, added to the delight of those who looked upon that lovely - woman. - </p> - <p> - Her daughter had only a measure of her mother's charm. Her features were - small, and though her figure was pleasing, she suggested nothing of the - Duchess's elegance and distinction. - </p> - <p> - Both mother and daughter looked at first with scorn in their eyes at the - lady who stood at one of the doors of the rotunda, surrounded by her body - guard; but when they perceived that Lord Stanley was next to her, they - exchanged a few words, and the scorn left their eyes. The Duchess even - smiled at Lady Ancaster, who stood near her, and Lady Ancaster shrugged - her shoulders almost as naturally as if she had been a Frenchwoman. - </p> - <p> - Cynical people who had been watching the Duchess's change of countenance - also shrugged their shoulders (indifferently), saying— - </p> - <p> - “Her Grace will not be inexorable; the son-in-law upon whom she has set - her heart, and tried to set her daughter's heart as well, must not be - frightened away.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Horneck had gone up to his <i>fiancee</i>. - </p> - <p> - “You were not in that creature's train, I hope,” said the lady. - </p> - <p> - “I? Dear child, for what do you take me?” he said. “No, I certainly was - not in her train. I was with my friend Dr. Goldsmith.” - </p> - <p> - “If you had been among that woman's escort, I should never have forgiven - you the impropriety,” said she. - </p> - <p> - (She was inflexible as a girl, but before she had been married more than a - year she had run away with her husband's friend, Mr. Scawen.) - </p> - <p> - By this time Lord Conway had had an interview with the management, and now - returned with two of the gentlemen who comprised that body to where Mrs. - Baddeley was standing simpering among her admirers. - </p> - <p> - “Madam,” said Lord Conway, “these gentlemen are anxious to offer you their - sincere apologies for the conduct of their servants to-night, and to - express the hope that you and your friends will frequently honour them by - your patronage.” - </p> - <p> - And those were the very words uttered by the spokesman of the management, - with many humble bows, in the presence of the smiling actress. - </p> - <p> - “And now you can send for Mrs. Abing-ton,” said Lord Stanley. “She agreed - to wait in her chair until this matter was settled.” - </p> - <p> - “She can take very good care of herself,” said Mrs. Baddeley somewhat - curtly. Her fright had now vanished, and she was not disposed to underrate - the importance of her victory. She had no particular wish to divide the - honours attached to her position with another woman, much less with one - who was usually regarded as better-looking than herself. “Mrs. Abington is - a little timid, my Lord,” she continued; “she may not find herself quite - at home in this assembly.'Tis a monstrous fine place, to be sure; but for - my part, I think Vauxhall is richer and in better taste.” - </p> - <p> - But in spite of the indifference of Mrs. Baddeley, a message was conveyed - to Mrs. Abington, who had not left her chair, informing her of the honours - which were being done to the lady who had entered the room, and when this - news reached her she lost not a moment in hurrying through the porch to - the side of her sister actress. - </p> - <p> - And then a remarkable incident occurred, for the Duchess of Argyll and - Lady Ancaster stepped down from their dais and went to the two actresses, - offering them hands, and expressing the desire to see them frequently at - the assemblies in the rotunda. - </p> - <p> - The actresses made stage courtesies and returned thanks for the - condescension of the great ladies. The cynical ones laughed and shrugged - their shoulders once more. - </p> - <p> - Only Lord Stanley looked chagrined. He perceived that the Duchess was - disposed to regard his freak in the most liberal spirit, and he knew that - the point of view of the Duchess was the point of view of the Duchess's - daughter. He felt rather sad as he reflected upon the laxity of mothers - with daughters yet unmarried. Could it be that eligible suitors were - growing scarce? - </p> - <p> - Garrick was highly amused at the little scene that was being played under - his eyes; he considered himself a pretty fair judge of comedy, and he was - compelled to acknowledge that he had never witnessed any more highly - finished exhibition of this form of art. - </p> - <p> - His friend Goldsmith had not waited at the door for the arrival of Mrs. - Abington. He was not wearing any of the gorgeous costumes in which he - liked to appear at places of amusement, and so he did not intend to remain - in the rotunda for longer than a few minutes; he was only curious to see - what would be the result of the bold action of Lord Conway and his - friends. But when he was watching the act of condescension on the part of - the Duchess and the Countess, and had had his laugh with Burke, he heard a - merry voice behind him saying— - </p> - <p> - “Is Dr. Goldsmith a modern Marius, weeping over the ruin of the Pantheon?” - </p> - <p> - “Nay,” cried another voice, “Dr. Goldsmith is contemplating the writing of - a history of the attempted reformation of society in the eighteenth - century, through the agency of a Greek temple known as the Pantheon on the - Oxford road.” - </p> - <p> - He turned and stood face to face with two lovely laughing girls and a - handsome elder lady, who was pretending to look scandalised. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, my dear Jessamy Bride—and my sweet Little Comedy!” he cried, as - the girls caught each a hand of his. He had dropped his hat in the act of - making his bow to Mrs. Horneck, the mother of the two girls, Mary and - Katherine—the latter the wife of Mr. Bunbury. “Mrs. Horneck, madam, - I am your servant—and don't I look your servant, too,” he added, - remembering that he was not wearing his usual gala dress. - </p> - <p> - “You look always the same good friend,” said the lady. - </p> - <p> - “Nay,” laughed Mrs. Bunbury, “if he were your servant he would take care, - for the honour of the house, that he was splendidly dressed; it is not - that snuff-coloured suit we should have on him, but something gorgeous. - What would you say to a peach-bloom coat, Dr. Goldsmith?” - </p> - <p> - (His coat of this tint had become a family joke among the Hornecks and - Bun-burys.) - </p> - <p> - “Well, if the bloom remain on the peach it would be well enough in your - company, madam,” said Goldsmith, with a face of humorous gravity. “But a - peach with the bloom off would be more congenial to the Pantheon after - to-night.” He gave a glance in the direction of the group of actresses and - their admirers. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Horneck looked serious, her two daughters looked demurely down. - </p> - <p> - “The air is tainted,” said Goldsmith, solemnly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Mrs. Bunbury, with a charming mock demureness. “'T is as you - say: the Pantheon will soon become as amusing as Ranelagh.” - </p> - <p> - “I said not so, madam,” cried Goldsmith, shaking-his head. “As amusing—-amusing——” - </p> - <p> - “As Ranelagh. Those were your exact words, Doctor, I assure you,” - protested Little Comedy. “Were they not, Mary?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, undoubtedly those were his words—only he did not utter them,” - replied the Jessamy Bride. - </p> - <p> - “There, now, you will not surely deny your words in the face of two such - witnesses!” said Mrs. Bunbury. - </p> - <p> - “I could deny nothing to two such faces,” said Goldsmith, “even though one - of the faces is that of a little dunce who could talk of Marius weeping - over the Pantheon.” - </p> - <p> - “And why should not he weep over the Pantheon if he saw good cause for - it?” she inquired, with her chin in the air. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, why not indeed? Only he was never within reach of it, my dear,” said - Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Psha! I daresay Marius was no better than he need be,” cried the young - lady. - </p> - <p> - “Few men are even so good as it is necessary for them to be,” said Oliver. - </p> - <p> - “That depends upon their own views as to the need of being good,” remarked - Mary. - </p> - <p> - “And so I say that Marius most likely made many excursions to the Pantheon - without the knowledge of his biographer,” cried her sister, with an air of - worldly wisdom of which a recent bride was so well qualified to be an - exponent. - </p> - <p> - “'Twere vain to attempt to contend against such wisdom,” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, all things are possible, with a Professor of Ancient History to the - Royal Academy of Arts,” said a lady who had come up with Burke at that - moment—a small but very elegant lady with distinction in every - movement, and withal having eyes sparkling with humour. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith bowed low—again over his fallen hat, on the crown of which - Little Comedy set a very dainty foot with an aspect of the sweetest - unconsciousness. She was a tom-boy down to the sole of that dainty foot. - </p> - <p> - “In the presence of Mrs. Thrale,” Goldsmith began, but seeing the - ill-treatment to which his hat was subjected, he became confused, and the - compliment which he had been elaborating dwindled away in a murmur. - </p> - <p> - “Is it not the business of a professor to contend with wisdom, Dr. - Goldsmith?” said Mrs. Thrale. - </p> - <p> - “Madam, if you say that it is so, I will prove that you are wrong by - declining to argue out the matter with you,” said the Professor of Ancient - History. - </p> - <p> - Miss Horneck's face shone with appreciation of her dear friend's - quickness; but the lively Mrs. Thrale was, as usual, too much engrossed in - her own efforts to be brilliant to be able to pay any attention to the - words of so clumsy a person as Oliver Goldsmith, and one who, moreover, - declined to join with so many other distinguished persons in accepting her - patronage. - </p> - <p> - She found it to her advantage to launch into a series of sarcasms—most - of which had been said at least once before—at the expense of the - Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster, and finding that Goldsmith was more - busily, engaged in listening to Mrs. Bunbury's mock apologies for the - injury she had done to his hat than in attending to her <i>jeux d'esprit</i>, - she turned her back upon him, and gave Burke and Mrs. Horneck the benefit - of her remarks. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith continued taking part in the fun made by Little Comedy, pointing - out to her the details of his hat's disfigurement, when, suddenly turning - in the direction of Mary Horneck, who was standing behind her mother, the - jocular remark died on his lips. He saw the expression of dismay—worse - than dismay—which was on the girl's face as she gazed across the - rotunda. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VII. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith followed - the direction of her eyes and saw that their object was a man in the - uniform of an officer, who was chatting with Mrs. Abingdon. He was a - showily handsome man, though his face bore evidence of some dissipated - years, and there was an undoubted swagger in his bearing. - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile Goldsmith watched him. The man caught sight of Miss Horneck and - gave a slight start, his jaw falling for an instant—only for an - instant, however; then he recovered himself and made an elaborate bow to - the girl across the room. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith turned to Miss Horneck and perceived that her face had become - white; she returned very coldly the man's recognition, and only after the - lapse of some seconds. Goldsmith possessed naturally both delicacy of - feeling and tact. He did not allow the girl to see that he had been a - witness of a <i>rencontre</i> which evidently was painful to her; but he - spoke to her sister, who was amusing her husband by a scarcely noticeable - imitation of a certain great lady known to both of them; and, professing - himself woefully ignorant as to the <i>personnel</i> of the majority of - the people who were present, inquired first what was the name of a - gentleman wearing a star and talking to a group of apparently interested - ladies, and then of the officer whom he had seen make that elaborate bow. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Bunbury was able to tell him who was the gentleman with the star, but - after glancing casually at the other man, she shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “I have never seen him before,” she said. “I don't think he can be any one - in particular. The people whom we don't know are usually nobodies—until - we come to know them.” - </p> - <p> - “That is quite reasonable,” said he. “It is a distinction to become your - friend. It will be remembered in my favour when my efforts as Professor at - the Academy are forgotten.” - </p> - <p> - His last sentence was unheard, for Mrs. Bunbury was giving all her - attention to her sister, of whose face she had just caught a glimpse. - </p> - <p> - “Heavens, child!” she whispered to her, “what is the matter with you?” - </p> - <p> - “What should be the matter with me?” said Mary. “What, except—oh, - this place is stifling! And the managers boasted that it would be cool and - well ventilated at all times!” - </p> - <p> - “My dear girl, you'll be quite right when I take you into the air,” said - Bunbury. - </p> - <p> - “No, no; I do not need to leave the rotunda; I shall be myself in a - moment,” said the girl somewhat huskily and spasmodically. “For heaven's - sake don't stare so, child,” she added to her sister, making a pitiful - attempt to laugh. - </p> - <p> - “But, my dear——” began Mrs. Bunbury; she was interrupted by - Mary. - </p> - <p> - “Nay,” she cried, “I will not have our mother alarmed, and—well, - every one knows what a tongue Mrs. Thrale has. Oh, no; already the - faintness has passed away. What should one fear with a doctor in one's - company? Come, Dr. Goldsmith, you are a sensible person. You do not make a - fuss. Lend me your arm, if you please.” - </p> - <p> - “With all pleasure in life,” cried Oliver. - </p> - <p> - He offered her his arm, and she laid her hand upon it. He could feel how - greatly she was trembling. - </p> - <p> - When they had taken a few steps away Mary looked back at her sister and - Bunbury and smiled reassuringly at them. Her companion saw that, - immediately afterwards, her glance went in the direction of the officer - who had bowed to her. - </p> - <p> - “Take me up to one of the galleries, my dear friend,” she said. “Take me - somewhere—some place away from here—any place away from here.” - </p> - <p> - He brought her to an alcove off one of the galleries where only one sconce - with wax candles was alight. - </p> - <p> - “Why should you tremble, my dear girl?” said he. “What is there to be - afraid of? I am your friend—you know that I would die to save you - from the least trouble.” - </p> - <p> - “Trouble? Who said anything about trouble?” she cried. “I am in no trouble—only - for the trouble I am giving you, dear Goldsmith. And you did not come in - the bloom-tinted coat after all.” - </p> - <p> - He made no reply to her spasmodic utterances. The long silence was broken - only by the playing of the band, following Madame Agujari's song—the - hum of voices and laughter from the well-dressed mob in the rotunda and - around the galleries. - </p> - <p> - At last the girl put her hand again upon his arm, saying— - </p> - <p> - “I wonder what you think of this business, my dear friend—I wonder - what you think of your Jessamy Bride.” - </p> - <p> - “I think nothing but what is good of you, my dear,” said he tenderly. “But - if you can tell me of the matter that troubles you, I think I may be able - to make you see that it should not be a trouble to you for a moment. Why, - what can possibly have happened since we were all so merry in France - together?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing—nothing has happened—I give you my word upon it,” she - said. “Oh, I feel that you are altogether right. I have no cause to be - frightened—no cause to be troubled. Why, if it came to fighting, - have not I a brother? Ah, I had much better say nothing more. You could - not understand—psha! there is nothing to be understood, dear Dr. - Goldsmith; girls are foolish creatures.” - </p> - <p> - “Is it nothing to you that we have been friends so long, dear child?” said - he. “Is it not possible for you to let me have your confidence? Think if - it be possible, Mary. I am not a wise man where my own affairs are - concerned, but I feel that for others—for you, my dear—ah, - child, don't you know that if you share a secret trouble with another its - poignancy is blunted?” - </p> - <p> - “I have never had consolation except from you,” said the girl. “But this—this—oh, - my friend, by what means did you look into a woman's soul to enable you to - write those lines— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - 'When lovely woman stoops to folly, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And finds too late. . . '?” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - There was a long pause before he started up, with his hand pressed to his - forehead. He looked at her strangely for a moment, and then walked slowly - away from her with his head bent. Before he had taken more than a dozen - steps, however, he stopped, and, after another moment of indecision, - hastened back to her and offered her his hand, saying— - </p> - <p> - “I am but a man; I can think nothing of you but what is good.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said; “it is only a woman who can think everything that is evil - about a woman. It is not by men that women are deceived to their own - destruction, but by women.” - </p> - <p> - She sprang to her feet and laid her hand upon his arm once again. - </p> - <p> - “Let us go away,” she said. “I am sick of this place. There is no corner - of it that is not penetrated by the Agujari's singing. Was there ever any - singing so detestable? And they pay her fifty guineas a song! I would pay - fifty guineas to get out of earshot of the best of her efforts.” Her laugh - had a shrill note that caused it to sound very pitiful to the man who - heard it. - </p> - <p> - He spoke no word, but led her tenderly back to where her mother was - standing with Burke and her son. - </p> - <p> - “I do hope that you have not missed Agujari's last song,” said Mrs. - Horneck. “We have been entranced with its melody.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no; I have missed no note of it—no note. Was there ever - anything so delicious—so liquid-sweet? Is it not time that we went - homeward, mother? I do feel a little tired, in spite of the Agujari.” - </p> - <p> - “At what an admirable period we have arrived in the world's history!” said - Burke. “It is the young miss in these days who insists on her mother's - keeping good hours. How wise we are all growing!” - </p> - <p> - “Mary was always a wise little person,” said Mrs. Horneck. - </p> - <p> - “Wise? Oh, let us go home!” said the girl wearily. - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Goldsmith will, I am sure, direct our coach to be called,” said her - mother. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith bowed and pressed his way to the door, where he told the janitor - to call for Mrs. Horneck's coach. - </p> - <p> - He led Mary out of the rotunda, Burke having gone before with the elder - lady. Goldsmith did not fail to notice the look of apprehension on the - girl's face as her eyes wandered around the crowd in the porch. He could - hear the little sigh of relief that she gave after her scrutiny. - </p> - <p> - The coach had drawn up at the entrance, and the little party went out into - the region of flaring links and pitch-scented smoke. While Goldsmith was - in the act of helping Mary Horneck up the steps, he was furtively glancing - around, and before she had got into a position for seating herself by the - side of her mother, he dropped her hand in so clumsy a way that several of - the onlookers laughed. Then he retreated, bowing awkwardly, and, to crown - his stupidity, he turned round so rapidly and unexpectedly that he ran - violently full-tilt against a gentleman in uniform, who was hurrying to - the side of the chariot as if to take leave of the ladies. - </p> - <p> - The crowd roared as the officer lost his footing for a moment and - staggered among the loiterers in the porch, not recovering himself until - the vehicle had driven away. Even then Goldsmith, with disordered wig, was - barring the way to the coach, profusely apologising for his awkwardness. - </p> - <p> - “Curse you for a lout!” cried the officer. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith put his hat on his head. - </p> - <p> - “Look you, sir!” he said. “I have offered you my humblest apologies for - the accident. If you do not choose to accept them, you have but got to say - as much and I am at your service. My name is Goldsmith, sir—Oliver - Goldsmith—and my friend is Mr. Edmund Burke. I flatter myself that - we are both as well known and of as high repute as yourself, whoever you - may be.” - </p> - <p> - The onlookers in the porch laughed, those outside gave an encouraging - cheer, while the chairmen and linkmen, who were nearly all Irish, shouted - “Well done, your Honour! The little Doctor and Mr. Burke forever!” For - both Goldsmith and Burke were as popular with the mob as they were in - society. - </p> - <p> - While Goldsmith stood facing the scowling officer, an elderly gentleman, - in the uniform of a general and with his breast covered with orders, - stepped out from the side of the porch and shook Oliver by the hand. Then - he turned to his opponent, saying— - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Goldsmith is my friend, sir. If you have any quarrel with him you can - let me hear from you. I am General Oglethorpe.” - </p> - <p> - “Or if it suits you better, sir,” said another gentleman coming to - Goldsmith's side, “you can send your friend to my house. My name is Lord - Clare.” - </p> - <p> - “My Lord,” cried the man, bowing with a little swagger, “I have no quarrel - with Dr. Goldsmith. He has no warmer admirer than myself. If in the heat - of the moment I made use of any expression that one gentleman might not - make use of toward another, I ask Dr. Goldsmith's pardon. I have the - honour to wish your Lordship good-night.” - </p> - <p> - He bowed and made his exit. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VIII. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Goldsmith - reached his chambers in Brick Court, he found awaiting him a letter from - Colman, the lessee of Covent Garden Theatre, to let him know that Woodward - and Mrs. Abington had resigned their parts in his comedy which had been in - rehearsal for a week, and that he, Colman, felt they were right in doing - so, as the failure of the piece was so inevitable. He hoped that Dr. - Goldsmith would be discreet enough to sanction its withdrawal while its - withdrawal was still possible. - </p> - <p> - He read this letter—one of several which he had received from Colman - during the week prophesying disaster—without impatience, and threw - it aside without a further thought. He had no thought for anything save - the expression that had been on the face of Mary Horneck as she had spoken - his lines— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “When lovely woman stoops to folly, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And finds too late....” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “Too late——” She had not got beyond those words. Her voice had - broken, as he had often believed that his beloved Olivia's voice had - broken, when trying to sing her song in which a woman's despair is - enshrined for all ages. Her voice had broken, though not with the stress - of tears. It would not have been so full of despair if tears had been in - her eyes. Where there are tears there is hope. But her voice.... - </p> - <p> - What was he to believe? What was he to think regarding that sweet girl who - had, since the first day he had known her, treated him as no other human - being had ever treated him? The whole family of the Hornecks had shown - themselves to be his best friends. They insisted on his placing himself on - the most familiar footing in regard to their house, and when Little Comedy - married she maintained the pleasant intimacy with him which had begun at - Sir Joshua Reynolds's dinner-table. The days that he spent at the - Bunburys' house at Barton were among the pleasantest of his life. - </p> - <p> - But, fond though he was of Mrs. Bun-bury, her sister Mary, his “Jessamy - Bride,” drew him to her by a deeper and warmer affection. He had felt from - the first hour of meeting her that she understood his nature—that in - her he had at last found some one who could give him the sympathy which he - sought. More than once she had proved to him that she recognised the - greatness of his nature—his simplicity, his generosity, the - tenderness of his heart for all things that suffered, his trustfulness, - that caused him to be so frequently imposed upon, his intolerance of - hypocrisy and false sentiment, though false sentiment was the note of the - most successful productions of the day. Above all, he felt that she - recognised his true attitude in relation to English literature. If he was - compelled to work in uncongenial channels in order to earn his daily - bread, he himself never forgot what he owed to English literature. How - nobly he discharged this debt his “Traveller,” “The Vicar of Wakefield,” - “The Deserted Village,” and “The Good Natured Man” testified at intervals. - He felt that he was the truest poet, the sincerest dramatist, of the - period, and he never allowed the work which he was compelled to do for the - booksellers to turn him aside from his high aims. - </p> - <p> - It was because Mary Horneck proved to him daily that she understood what - his aims were he regarded her as different from all the rest of the world. - She did not talk to him of sympathising with him, but she understood him - and sympathised with him. - </p> - <p> - As he lay back in his chair now asking himself what he should think of - her, he recalled every day that he had passed in her company, from the - time of their first meeting at Reynolds's house until he had accompanied - her and her mother and sister on the tour through France. He remembered - how, the previous year, she had stirred his heart on returning from a long - visit to her native Devonshire by a clasp of the hand and a look of - gratitude, as she spoke the name of the book which he had sent to her with - a letter. “The Vicar of Wakefield” was the book, and she had said— - </p> - <p> - “You can never, never know what it has been to me—what it has done - for me.” Her eyes had at that time been full of tears of gratitude—of - affection, and the sound of her voice and the sight of her liquid eyes had - overcome him. He knew there was a bond between them that would not be - easily severed. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0105.jpg" alt="0105 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0105.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - But there were no tears in her eyes as she spoke the words of Olivia's - song. - </p> - <p> - What was he to think of her? - </p> - <p> - One moment she had been overflowing with girlish merriment, and then, on - glancing across the hall, her face had become pale and her mood had - changed from one of merriment to one of despair—the despair of a - bird that finds itself in the net of the fowler. - </p> - <p> - What was he to think of her? - </p> - <p> - He would not wrong her by a single thought. He thought no longer of her, - but of the man whose sudden appearance before her eyes had, he felt - certain, brought about her change of mood. - </p> - <p> - It was his certainty of feeling on this matter that had caused him to - guard her jealously from the approach of that man, and, when he saw him - going toward the coach, to prevent his further advance by the readiest - means in his power. He had had no time to elaborate any scheme to keep the - man away from Mary Horneck, and he had been forced to adopt the most - rudimentary scheme to carry out his purpose. - </p> - <p> - Well, he reflected upon the fact that if the scheme was rudimentary it had - proved extremely effective. He had kept the man apart from the girls, and - he only regretted that the man had been so easily led to regard the - occurrence as an accident. He would have dearly liked to run the man - through some vital part. - </p> - <p> - What was that man to Mary Horneck that she should be in terror at the very - sight of him? That was the question which presented itself to him, and his - too vivid imagination had no difficulty in suggesting a number of answers - to it, but through all he kept his word to her: he thought no ill of her. - He could not entertain a thought of her that was not wholly good. He felt - that her concern was on account of some one else who might be in the power - of that man. He knew how generous she was—how sympathetic. He had - told her some of his own troubles, and though he did so lightly, as was - his custom, she had been deeply affected on hearing of them. Might it not - then be that the trouble which affected her was not her own, but - another's? - </p> - <p> - Before he went to bed he had brought himself to take this view of the - incident of the evening, and he felt much easier in his mind. - </p> - <p> - Only he felt a twinge of regret when he reflected that the fellow whose - appearance had deprived Mary Horneck of an evening's pleasure had escaped - with no greater inconvenience than would be the result of an ordinary - shaking. His contempt for the man increased as he recalled how he had - declined to prolong the quarrel. If he had been anything of a man he would - have perceived that he was insulted, not by accident but design, and would - have been ready to fight. - </p> - <p> - Whatever might be the nature of Mary Horneck's trouble, the killing of the - man would be a step in the right direction. - </p> - <p> - It was not until his servant, John Eyles, had awakened him in the morning - that he recollected receiving a letter from Colman which contained some - unpleasant news. He could not at first remember the details of the news, - but he was certain that on receiving it he had a definite idea that it was - unpleasant. When he now read Colman's letter for the second time he found - that his recollection of his first impression was not at fault. It was - just his luck: no man was in the habit of writing more joyous letters or - receiving more depressing than Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - He hurried off to the theatre and found Colman in his most disagreeable - mood. The actor and actress who had resigned their parts were just those - to whom he was looking, Colman declared, to pull the play through. He - could not, however, blame them, he frankly admitted. They were, he said, - dependent for a livelihood upon their association with success on the - stage, and it could not be otherwise than prejudicial to their best - interests to be connected with a failure. - </p> - <p> - This was too much, even for the long suffering Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Is it not somewhat premature to talk of the failure of a play that has - not yet been produced, Mr. Colman?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “It might be in respect to most plays, sir,” replied Colman; “but in - regard to this particular play, I don't think that one need be afraid to - anticipate by a week or two the verdict of the playgoers. Two things in - this world are inevitable, sir: death and the damning of your comedy.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall try to bear both with fortitude,” said Goldsmith quietly, though - he was inwardly very indignant with the manager for his gratuitous - predictions of failure—predictions which from the first his attitude - in regard to the play had contributed to realise. “I should like to have a - talk with Mrs. Abington and Woodward,” he added. - </p> - <p> - “They are in the green room,” said the manager. “I must say that I was in - hope, Dr. Goldsmith, that your critical judgment of your own work would - enable you to see your way to withdraw it.” - </p> - <p> - “I decline to withdraw it, sir,” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “I have been a manager now for some years,” said Colman, “and, speaking - from the experience which I have gained at this theatre, I say without - hesitation that I never had a piece offered to me which promised so - complete a disaster as this, sir. Why, 'tis like no other comedy that was - ever wrote.” - </p> - <p> - “That is a feature which I think the playgoers will not be slow to - appreciate,” said Goldsmith. “Good Lord! Mr. Colman, cannot you see that - what the people want nowadays is a novelty?” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, sir; but there are novelties and novelties, and this novelty of yours - is not to their taste.'T is not a comedy of the pothouse that's the - novelty genteel people want in these days; and mark my words, sir, the - bringing on of that vulgar young boor—what's the fellow's name?—Lumpkin, - in his pothouse, and the unworthy sneers against the refinement and - sensibility of the period—the fellow who talks of his bear only - dancing to the genteelest of tunes—all this, Dr. Goldsmith, I pledge - you my word and reputation as a manager, will bring about an early fall of - the curtain.” - </p> - <p> - “An early fall of the curtain?” - </p> - <p> - “Even so, sir; for the people in the house will not permit another scene - beyond that of your pothouse to be set.” - </p> - <p> - “Let me tell you, Mr. Colman, that the Three Pigeons is an hostelry, not a - pothouse.” - </p> - <p> - “The playgoers will damn it if it were e'en a Bishop's palace.” - </p> - <p> - “Which you think most secure against such a fate. Nay, sir, let us not - apply the doctrine of predestination to a comedy. Men have gone mad - through believing that they had no chance of being saved from the Pit. - Pray let not us take so gloomy a view of the hereafter of our play.” - </p> - <p> - “Of <i>your</i> play, sir, by your leave. I have no mind to accept even a - share of its paternity, though I know that I cannot escape blame for - having anything to do with its production.” - </p> - <p> - “If you are so anxious to decline the responsibilities of a father in - respect to it, sir, I must beg that you will not feel called upon to act - with the cruelty of a step-father towards it.” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith bowed in his pleasantest manner as he left the manager's office - and went to the green room. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IX. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he attitude of - Colman in regard to the comedy was quite in keeping with the traditions of - the stage of the eighteenth century, nor was it so contrary to the - traditions of the nineteenth century. Colman, like the rest of his - profession—not even excepting Garrick—possessed only a small - amount of knowledge as to what playgoers desired to have presented to - them. Whatever successes he achieved were certainly not due to his own - acumen. He had no idea that audiences had grown tired of stilted blank - verse tragedies and comedies constructed on the most conventional lines, - with plentiful allusions to heathen deities, but a plentiful lack of human - nature. Such plays had succeeded in his hands previously, and he could see - no reason why he should substitute for them anything more natural. He had - no idea that playgoers were ready to hail with pleasure a comedy founded - upon scenes of everyday life, not upon the spurious sentimentality of an - artificial age. - </p> - <p> - He had produced “The Good Natured Man” some years before, and had made - money by the transaction. But the shrieks of the shallow critics who had - condemned the introduction of the low-life personages into that play were - still ringing in his ears; so, when he found that the leading - characteristics of these personages were not only introduced but actually - intensified in the new comedy, which the author had named provisionally - “The Mistakes of a Night,” he at first declined to have anything to do - with it. But, fortunately, Goldsmith had influential friends—friends - who, like Dr. Johnson and Bishop Percy, had recognised his genius when he - was living in a garret and before he had written anything beyond a few - desultory essays—and they brought all their influence to bear upon - the Covent Garden manager. He accepted the comedy, but laid it aside for - several months, and only grudgingly, at last, consented to put it in - rehearsal. - </p> - <p> - Daily, when Goldsmith attended the rehearsals, the manager did his best to - depreciate the piece, shaking his head over some scenes, shrugging his - shoulders over others, and asking the author if he actually meant to allow - certain portions of the dialogue to be spoken as he had written them. - </p> - <p> - This attitude would have discouraged a man less certain of his position - than Goldsmith. It did not discourage him, however, but its effect was - soon perceptible upon the members of the company. They rehearsed in a - half-hearted way, and accepted Goldsmith's suggestions with demur. - </p> - <p> - At the end of a week Gentleman Smith, who had been cast for Young Marlow, - threw up the part, and Colman inquired of Goldsmith if he was serious in - his intention to continue rehearsing the piece. In a moment Goldsmith - assured him that he meant to perform his part of the contract with the - manager, and that he would tolerate no backing out of that same contract - by the manager. At his friend Shuter's suggestion, the part was handed - over to Lee Lewes. - </p> - <p> - After this, it might at least have been expected that Colman would make - the best of what he believed to be a bad matter, and give the play every - chance of success. On the contrary, however, he was stupid even for the - manager of a theatre, and was at the pains to decry the play upon every - possible occasion. Having predicted failure for it, he seemed determined - to do his best to cause his prophecies to be realized. At rehearsal he - provoked Goldsmith almost beyond endurance by his sneers, and actually - encouraged the members of his own company in their frivolous complaints - regarding their dialogue. He spoke the truth to Goldsmith when he said he - was not surprised that Woodward and Mrs. Abington had thrown up their - parts: he would have been greatly surprised if they had continued - rehearsing. - </p> - <p> - When the unfortunate author now entered the green room, the buzz of - conversation which had been audible outside ceased in an instant. He knew - that he had formed the subject of the conversation, and he could not doubt - what was its nature. For a moment he was tempted to turn round and go back - to Colman in order to tell him that he would withdraw the play. The - temptation lasted but a moment, however: the spirit of determination which - had carried him through many difficulties—that spirit which Reynolds - appreciated and had embodied in his portrait—came to his aid. He - walked boldly into the green room and shook hands with both Woodward and - Mrs. Abington. - </p> - <p> - “I am greatly mortified at the news which I have just had from Mr. - Colman,” he said; “but I am sure that you have not taken this serious step - without due consideration, so I need say no more about it. Mr. Colman will - be unable to attend this rehearsal, but he is under an agreement with me - to produce my comedy within a certain period, and he will therefore - sanction any step I may take on his behalf. Mr. Quick will, I hope, honour - me by reading the part of Tony Lumpkin and Mrs. Bulk-ley that of Miss - Hardcastle, so that there need be no delay in the rehearsal.” - </p> - <p> - The members of the company were somewhat startled by the tone adopted by - the man who had previously been anything but fluent in his speech, and who - had submitted with patience to the sneers of the manager. They now began - to perceive something of the character of the man whose life had been a - fierce struggle with adversity, but who even in his wretched garret knew - what was due to himself and to his art, and did not hesitate to kick - downstairs the emissary from the government that offered him employment as - a libeller. - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” cried the impulsive Mrs. Bulkley, putting out her hand to him—“Sir, - you are not only a genius, you are a man as well, and it will not be my - fault if this comedy of yours does not turn out a success. You have been - badly treated, Dr. Goldsmith, and you have borne your ill-treatment nobly. - For myself, sir, I say that I shall be proud to appear in your piece.” - </p> - <p> - “Madam,” said Goldsmith, “you overwhelm me with your kindness. As for - ill-treatment, I have nothing to complain of so far as the ladies and - gentlemen of the company are concerned, and any one who ventures to assert - that I bear ill-will toward Mr. Woodward and Mrs. Abington I shall regard - as having put an affront upon me. Before a fortnight has passed I know - that they will be overcome by chagrin at their rejection of the - opportunity that was offered them of being associated with the success of - this play, for it will be a success, in spite of the untoward - circumstances incidental to its birth.” - </p> - <p> - He bowed several times around the company, and he did it so awkwardly that - he immediately gained the sympathy and good-will of all the actors: they - reflected how much better they could do it, and that, of course, caused - them to feel well disposed towards Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “You mean to give the comedy another name, sir, I think,” said Shuter, who - was cast for the part of Old Hardcastle. - </p> - <p> - “You may be sure that a name will be forthcoming,” said Goldsmith. “Lord, - sir, I am too good a Christian not to know that if an accident was to - happen to my bantling before it is christened it would be damned to a - certainty.” - </p> - <p> - The rehearsal this day was the most promising that had yet taken place. - Col-man did not put in an appearance, consequently the disheartening - influence of his presence was not felt. The broadly comical scenes were - acted with some spirit, and though it was quite apparent to Goldsmith that - none of the company believed that the play would be a success, yet the - members did not work, as they had worked hitherto, on the assumption that - its failure was inevitable. - </p> - <p> - On the whole, he left the theatre with a lighter heart than he had had - since the first rehearsal. It was not until he returned to his chambers to - dress for the evening that he recollected he had not yet arrived at a - wholly satisfactory solution of the question which had kept him awake - during the greater part of the night. - </p> - <p> - The words that Mary Horneck had spoken and the look there was in her eyes - at the same moment had yet to be explained. - </p> - <p> - He seated himself at his desk with his hand to his head, his elbow resting - on a sheet of paper placed ready for his pen. After half-an-hour's thought - his hand went mechanically to his tray of pens. Picking one up with a - sigh, he began to write. - </p> - <p> - Verse after verse appeared upon the paper—the love-song of a man who - feels that love is shut out from his life for evermore, but whose only - consolation in life is love. - </p> - <p> - After an hour's fluent writing he laid down the pen and once again rested - his head on his hand. He had not the courage to read what he had written. - His desk was full of such verses, written with unaffected sincerity when - every one around him was engaged in composing verses which were regarded - worthy of admiration only in proportion as they were artificial. - </p> - <p> - He wondered, as he sat there, what would be the result of his sending to - Mary Horneck one of those poems which his heart had sung to her. Would she - be shocked at his presumption in venturing to love her? Would his - delightful relations with her and her family be changed when it became - known that he had not been satisfied with the friendship which he had - enjoyed for some years, but had hoped for a response to his deeper - feeling? - </p> - <p> - His heart sank as he asked himself the question. - </p> - <p> - “How is it that I seem ridiculous as a lover even to myself?” he muttered. - “Why has God laid upon me the curse of being a poet? A poet is the - chronicler of the loves of others, but it is thought madness should he - himself look for the consolation of love. It is the irony of life that the - man who is most capable of deep feeling should be forced to live in - loneliness. How the world would pity a great painter who was struck blind—a - great orator struck dumb! But the poet shut out from love receives no pity—no - pity on earth—no pity in heaven.” - </p> - <p> - He bowed his head down to his hands, and remained in that attitude for an - hour. Then he suddenly sprang to his feet. He caught up the paper which he - had just covered with verses, and was in the act of tearing it. He did not - tear the sheet quite across, however; it fell from his hand to the desk - and lay there, a slight current of air from a window making the torn edge - rise and fall as though it lay upon the beating heart of a woman whose - lover was beside her—that was what the quivering motion suggested to - the poet who watched it. - </p> - <p> - “And I would have torn it in pieces and made a ruin of it!” he said. - “Alas! alas! for the poor torn, fluttering heart!” - </p> - <p> - He dressed himself and went out, but to none of his accustomed haunts, - where he would have been certain to meet with some of the distinguished - men who were rejoiced to be regarded as his friends. In his mood he knew - that friendship could afford him no solace. - </p> - <p> - He knew that to offer a man friendship when love is in his heart is like - giving a loaf of bread to one who is dying of thirst. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER X. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>or the next two - days Goldsmith was fully occupied making such changes in his play as were - suggested to him in the course of the rehearsals. The alterations were not - radical, but he felt that they would be improvements, and his judgment was - rarely at fault. Moreover, he was quick to perceive in what direction the - strong points and the weak points of the various members of the company - lay, and he had no hesitation in altering the dialogue so as to give them - a better chance of displaying their gifts. But not a line of what Colman - called the “pot-house scene” would he change, not a word of the scene - where the farm servants are being trained to wait at table would he allow - to be omitted. - </p> - <p> - Colman declined to appear upon the stage during the rehearsals. He seems - to have spent all his spare time walking from coffee house to coffee house - talking about the play, its vulgarity, and the certainty of the fate that - was in store for it. It would have been impossible, had he not adopted - this remarkable course, for the people of the town to become aware, as - they certainly did, what were his ideas regarding the comedy. When it was - produced with extraordinary success, the papers held the manager up to - ridicule daily for his false predictions, and every day a new set of - lampoons came from the coffee-house wits on the same subject. - </p> - <p> - But though the members of the company rehearsed the play loyally, some of - them were doubtful about the scene at the Three Pigeons, and did not - hesitate to express their fears to Goldsmith. They wondered if he might - not see his way to substitute for that scene one which could not possibly - be thought offensive by any section of playgoers. Was it not a pity, one - of them asked him, to run a chance of failure when it might be so easily - avoided? - </p> - <p> - To all of these remonstrances he had but one answer: the play must stand - or fall by the scenes which were regarded as ungenteel. He had written it, - he said, for the sake of expressing his convictions through the medium of - these particular scenes, and he was content to accept the verdict of the - playgoers on the point in question. Why he had brought on those scenes so - early in the play was that the playgoers might know not to expect a - sentimental piece, but one that was meant to introduce a natural school of - comedy, with no pretence to be anything but a copy of the manners of the - day, with no fine writing in the dialogue, but only the broadest and - heartiest fun. - </p> - <p> - “If the scenes are ungenteel,” said he, “it is because nature is made up - of ungenteel things. Your modern gentleman is, to my mind, much less - interesting than your ungenteel person; and I believe that Tony Lumpkin - when admirably represented, as he will be by Mr. Quick, will be a greater - favourite with all who come to the playhouse than the finest gentleman who - ever uttered an artificial sentiment to fall exquisitely on the ear of a - boarding-school miss. So, by my faith! I'll not interfere with his - romping.” - </p> - <p> - He was fluent and decisive on this point, as he was on every other point - on which he had made up his mind. He only stammered and stuttered when he - did not know what he was about to say, and this frequently arose from his - over-sensitiveness in regard to the feelings of others—a disability - which could never be laid to the charge of Dr. Johnson, who was, in - consequence, delightfully fluent. - </p> - <p> - On the evening of the third rehearsal of the play with the amended cast, - he went to Reynolds's house in Leicester Square to dine. He knew that the - Horneck family would be there, and he looked forward with some degree of - apprehension to his meeting with Mary. He felt that she might think he - looked for some explanation of her strange words spoken when he was by her - side at the Pantheon. But he wanted no explanation from her. The words - still lay as a burden upon his heart, but he felt that it would pain her - to attempt an explanation of them, and he was quite content that matters - should remain as they were. Whatever the words might have meant, it was - impossible that they could mean anything that might cause him to think of - her with less reverence and affection. - </p> - <p> - He arrived early at Reynolds's house, but it did not take him long to find - out that he was not the first arrival. From the large drawingroom there - came to his ears the sound of laughter—such laughter as caused him - to remark to the servant— - </p> - <p> - “I perceive that Mr. Garrick is already in the house, Ralph.” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Garrick has been here with the young ladies for the past half-hour, - sir,” replied Ralph. - </p> - <p> - “I shouldn't wonder if, on inquiry, it were found that he has been - entertaining them,” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - Ralph, who knew perfectly well what was the exact form that the - entertainment assumed, busied himself hanging up the visitor's hat. - </p> - <p> - The fact was that, for the previous quarter of an hour, Garrick had been - keeping Mary Horneck and her sister, and even Miss Reynolds, in fits of - laughter by his burlesque account of Goldsmith's interview with an - amanuensis who had been recommended to him with a view of saving him much - manual labour. Goldsmith had told him the story originally, and the - imagination of Garrick was quite equal to the duty of supplying all the - details necessary for the burlesque. He pretended to be the amanuensis - entering the room in which Goldsmith was supposed to be seated working - laboriously at his “Animated Nature.” - </p> - <p> - “Good morning, sir, good morning,” he cried, pretending to take off his - gloves and shake the dust off them with the most perfect self-possession, - previous to laying them in his hat on a chair. “Now mind you don't sit - there, Dr. Goldsmith,” he continued, raising a warning finger. A little - motion of his body, and the pert amanuensis, with his mincing ways, was - transformed into the awkward Goldsmith, shy and self-conscious in the - presence of a stranger, hastening with clumsy politeness to get him a - chair, and, of course, dragging forward the very one on which the man had - placed his hat. “Now, now, now, what are you about?”—once more - Garrick was the amanuensis. “Did not I warn you to be careful about that - chair, sir? Eh? I only told you not to sit in it? Sir, that excuse is a - mere quibble—a mere quibble. This must not occur again, or I shall - be forced to dismiss you, and where will you be then, my good sir? Now to - business, Doctor; but first you will tell your man to make me a cup of - chocolate—with milk, sir—plenty of milk, and two lumps of - sugar—plantation sugar, sir; I flatter myself that I am a patriot—none - of your foreign manufactures for me. And now that I think on't, your - laundress would do well to wash and iron my ruffles for me; and mind you - tell her to be careful of the one with the tear in it”—this shouted - half-way out of the door through which he had shown Goldsmith hurrying - with the ruffles and the order for the chocolate. Then came the monologue - of the amanuensis strolling about the room, passing his sneering remarks - at the furniture—opening a letter which had just come by post, and - reading it <i>sotto voce</i>. It was supposed to be from Filby, the - tailor, and to state that the field-marshal's uniform in which Dr. - Goldsmith meant to appear at the next masked ball at the Haymarket would - be ready in a few days, and to inquire if Dr. Goldsmith had made up his - mind as to the exact orders which he meant to wear, ending with a - compliment upon Dr. Goldsmith's good taste and discrimination in choosing - a costume which was so well adapted to his physique, and a humble - suggestion that it should be worn upon the occasion of the first - performance of the new comedy, when the writer hoped no objection would be - raised to the hanging of a board in front of the author's box with “Made - by Filby” printed on it. - </p> - <p> - Garrick's reading of the imaginary letter, stumbling over certain words—giving - an odd turn and a ludicrous misreading to a phrase here and there, and - finally his turning over the letter and mumbling a postscript alluding to - the length of time that had passed since the writer had received a payment - on account, could not have been surpassed. The effect of the comedy upon - the people in the room was immeasurably heightened by the entrance of - Goldsmith in the flesh, when Garrick, as the amanuensis, immediately - walked to him gravely with the scrap of paper which had done duty as the - letter, in his hand, asking him if what was written there in black and - white about the field-marshal's uniform was correct, and if he meant to - agree to Filby's request to wear it on the first night of the comedy. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith perceived that Garrick was giving an example of the impromptu - entertainment in which he delighted, and at once entered into the spirit - of the scene, saying-“Why, yes, sir; I have come to the conclusion that - more credit should be given to a man who has brought to a successful issue - a campaign against the prejudices and stupidities of the manager of a - playhouse than to the generalissimo of an army in the field, so why should - not I wear a field-marshal's uniform, sir?” - </p> - <p> - The laugh was against Garrick, which pleased him greatly, for he knew that - Goldsmith would feel that he was sharing in the entertainment, and would - not regard it as a burlesque upon himself personally. In an instant, - however, the actor had ceased to be the supercilious amanuensis, and - became David Garrick, crying— - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir, you are out of the play altogether. You are presuming to reply - to the amanuensis, which, I need scarcely tell a gentleman of your - experience, is a preposterous idea, and out of all consistency with - nature.” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith had shaken hands with all his friends, and being quite elated at - the success of his reply to the brilliant Garrick, did not mind much what - might follow. - </p> - <p> - At what did actually follow Goldsmith laughed as heartily as any one in - the room. - </p> - <p> - “Come, sir,” said the amanuensis, “we have no time to waste over empty - civilities. We have our 'Animated Nature' to proceed with; we cannot keep - the world waiting any longer; it matters not about the booksellers, 'tis - the world we think of. What is this?”—picking up an imaginary paper—“'The - derivation of the name of the elephant has taxed the ingeniousness of many - able writers, but there can be no doubt in the mind of any one who has - seen that noble creature, as I have, in its native woods, careering nimbly - from branch to branch of the largest trees in search of the butterflies, - which form its sole food, that the name elephant is but a corruption of - elegant, the movements of the animal being as singularly graceful as its - shape is in accordance with all accepted ideas of symmetry.' Sir, this is - mighty fine, but your style lacks animation. A writer on 'Animated Nature' - should be himself both animated and natural, as one who translates Buffon - should himself be a buffoon.” - </p> - <p> - In this strain of nonsense Garrick went on for the next ten minutes, - leading up to a simulated dispute between Goldsmith and his amanuensis as - to whether a dog lived on land or water. The dispute waxed warmer and - warmer, until at last blows were exchanged and the amanuensis kicked - Goldsmith through the door and down the stairs. The bumping of the - imaginary man from step to step was heard in the drawing-room, and then - the amanuensis entered, smiling and rubbing his hands as he remarked— - </p> - <p> - “The impertinent fellow! To presume to dictate to his amanuensis! Lord! - what's the world coming to when a common literary man presumes to dictate - to his amanuensis?” - </p> - <p> - Such buffoonery was what Garrick loved. At Dr. Burney's new house, around - the corner in St. Martin's street, he used to keep the household in roars - of laughter—as one delightful member of the household has recorded—over - his burlesque auctions of books, and his imitations of Dr. Johnson. - </p> - <p> - “And all this,” said Goldsmith, “came out of the paltry story which I told - him of how I hired an amanuensis, but found myself dumb the moment he sat - down to work, so that, after making a number of excuses which I knew he - saw through, I found it to my advantage to give the man a guinea and send - him away.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XI. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith was - delighted to find that the Jessamy Bride seemed free from care. He had - gone to Reynolds' in fear and trembling lest he should hear that she was - unable to join the party; but now he found her in as merry a mood as he - had ever known her to be in. He was seated by her side at dinner, and he - was glad to find that there was upon her no trace of the mysterious mood - that had spoiled his pleasure at the Pantheon. - </p> - <p> - She had, of course, heard of the troubles at the playhouse, and she told - him that nothing would induce her ever to speak to Colman, though she said - that she and Little Comedy, when they had first heard of the intention of - the manager to withdraw the piece, had resolved to go together to the - theatre and demand its immediate production on the finest scale possible. - </p> - <p> - “There's still great need for some one who will be able to influence - Colman in that respect,” said Goldsmith. “Only to-day, when I ventured to - talk of a fresh scene being painted, He told me that it was not his - intention to proceed to such expense for a piece that would not be played - for longer than a small portion of one evening.” - </p> - <p> - “The monster!” cried the girl. “I should like to talk to him as I feel - about this. What, is he mad enough to expect that playgoers will tolerate - his wretched old scenery in a new comedy? Oh, clearly he needs some one to - be near him who will speak plainly to him and tell him how contemptible he - is. Your friend Dr. Johnson should go to him. The occasion is one that - demands the powers of a man who has a whole dictionary at his back—yes, - Dr. Johnson should go to him and threaten that if he does not behave - handsomely he will, in his next edition of the Dictionary, define a - scoundrel as a playhouse manager who keeps an author in suspense for - months, and then produces his comedy so ungenerously as to make its - failure a certainty. But, no, your play will be the greater success on - account of its having to overcome all the obstacles which Mr. Colman has - placed in its way.” - </p> - <p> - “I know, dear child, that if it depended on your good will it would be the - greatest success of the century,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “And so it will be—oh, it must be! Little Comedy and I will—oh, - we shall insist on the playgoers liking it! We will sit in front of a box - and lead all the applause, and we will, besides, keep stern eyes fixed - upon any one who may have the bad taste to decline to follow us.” - </p> - <p> - “You are kindness itself, my dear; and meanwhile, if you would come to the - remaining rehearsals, and spend all your spare time thinking out a - suitable name for the play you would be conferring an additional favour - upon an ill-treated author.” - </p> - <p> - “I will do both, and it will be strange if I do not succeed in at least - one of the two enterprises—the first being the changing of the - mistakes of a manager into the success of a night, and the second the - changing of the 'Mistakes of a Night' into the success of a manager—ay, - and of an author as well.” - </p> - <p> - “Admirably spoke!” cried the author. “I have a mind to let the name 'The - Mistakes of a Night' stand, you have made such a pretty play upon it.” - </p> - <p> - “No, no; that is not the kind of play to fill the theatre,” said she. “Oh, - do not be afraid; it will be very strange if between us we cannot hit upon - a title that will deserve, if not a coronet, at least a wreath of laurel.” - Sir Joshua, who was sitting at the head of the table, not far away, had - put up his ear-trumpet between the courses, and caught a word or two of - the girl's sentence. - </p> - <p> - “I presume that you are still discussing the great title question,” said - he. “You need not do so. Have I not given you my assurance that 'The - Belle's Stratagem' is the best name that the play could receive?” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, that title Dr. Goldsmith holds to be one of the 'mistakes of a - Knight!'” said Mr. Bunbury in a low tone. He delighted in a pun, but did - not like too many people to hear him make one. - </p> - <p> - “'The Belle's Stratagem' I hold to be a good enough title until we get a - better,” said Goldsmith. “I have confidence in the ingenuity of Miss - Horneck to discover the better one.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, I protest if you do not take my title I shall go to the playhouse - and damn the play,” said Reynolds. “I have given it its proper name, and - if it appears in public under any other it will have earned the - reprobation of all honest folk who detest an <i>alias</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Then that name shall stand,” said Goldsmith. “I give you my word, Sir - Joshua, I would rather see my play succeed under your title than have it - damned under a title given to it by the next best man to you in England.” - </p> - <p> - “That is very well said, indeed,” remarked Sir Joshua. “It gives evidence - of a certain generosity of feeling on your part which all should respect.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Kauffman, who sat at Sir Joshua's right, smiled a trifle vaguely, for - she had not quite understood the drift of Goldsmith's phrase, but from the - other end of the table there came quite an outburst of laughter. Garrick - sat there with Mrs. Bunbury and Baretti, to whom he was telling an - imaginary story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room. - </p> - <p> - Dr. Burney, who sat at the other side of the table, had ventured to - question the likelihood of an audience's apprehending the humour of the - story at which Diggory had only hinted. He wondered if the story should - not be told for the benefit of the playgoers. - </p> - <p> - A gentleman whom Bunbury had brought to dinner—his name was Colonel - Gwyn, and it was known that he was a great admirer of Mary Horneck—took - up the question quite seriously. - </p> - <p> - “For my part,” he said, “I admit frankly that I have never heard the story - of Grouse in the gun-room.” - </p> - <p> - “Is it possible, sir?” cried Garrick. “What, you mean to say that you are - not familiar with the reply of Ould Grouse to the young woman who asked - him how he found his way into the gun-room when the door was locked—that - about every gun having a lock, and so forth?” - </p> - <p> - “No, sir,” cried Colonel Gwyn. “I had no idea that the story was a - familiar one. It seems interesting, too.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, 't is amazingly interesting,” said Garrick. “But you are an army man, - Colonel Gwyn; you have heard it frequently told over the mess-table.” - </p> - <p> - “I protest, sir,” said Colonel Gwyn, “I know so little about it that I - fancied Ould Grouse was the name of a dog—I have myself known of - sporting dogs called Grouse.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Colonel, you surprise me,” cried Garrick. “Ould Grouse a dog! Pray do - not hint so much to Dr. Goldsmith. He is a very sensitive man, and would - feel greatly hurt by such a suggestion. I believe that Dr. Goldsmith was - an intimate friend of Ould Grouse and felt his death severely.” - </p> - <p> - “Then he is dead?” said Gwyn. “That, sir, gives a melancholy interest to - the narrative.” - </p> - <p> - “A particularly pathetic interest, sir,” said Garrick, shaking his head. - “I was not among his intimates, Colonel Gwyn, but when I reflect that that - dear simple-minded old soul is gone from us—that the gunroom door is - now open, but that within there is silence—no sound of the dear old - feet that were wont to patter and potter—you will pardon my emotion, - madam”—He turned with streaming eyes to Miss Reynolds, who forthwith - became sympathetically affected, her voice breaking as she endeavoured to - assure Garrick that his emotion, so far from requiring an apology, did him - honour. Bunbury, who was ready to roar, could not do so now without - seeming to laugh at the feeling of his hostess, and his wife had too high - an appreciation of comedy not to be able to keep her face perfectly grave, - while a sob or two that he seemed quite unable to suppress came from the - napkin which Garrick held up to his face. Baretti said something in - Italian to Dr. Burney across the table, about the melancholy nature of the - party, and then Garrick dropped his napkin, saying— - </p> - <p> - “'T is selfish to repine, and he himself—dear old soul!—would - be the last to countenance a show of melancholy; for, as his remarks in - the gun-room testify, Colonel Gwyn, he had a fine sense of humour. I fancy - I see him, the broad smile lighting up his homely features, as he - delivered that sly thrust at his questioner, for it is perfectly well - known, Colonel, that so far as poaching was concerned the other man had no - particular character in the neighbourhood.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Grouse was a poacher, then,” said the Colonel. - </p> - <p> - “Well, if the truth must be told—but no, the man is dead and gone - now,” cried Garrick, “and it is more generous only to remember, as we all - do, the nimbleness of his wit—the genial mirth which ran through the - gun-room after that famous sally of his. It seems that honest homely fun - is dying out in England; the country stands in need of an Ould Grouse or - two just now, and let us hope that when the story of that quiet, yet - thoroughly jovial, remark of his in the gun-room comes to be told in the - comedy, there will be a revival of the good old days when men were not - afraid to joke, sir, and——” - </p> - <p> - “But so far as I can gather from what Mrs. Bunbury, who heard the comedy - read, has told me, the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room is never - actually narrated, but only hinted at,” said Gwyn. - </p> - <p> - “That makes little matter, sir,” said Garrick. “The untold story of Ould - Grouse in the gun-room will be more heartily laughed at during the next - year or two than the best story of which every detail is given.” - </p> - <p> - “At any rate, Colonel Gwyn,” said Mrs. Bunbury, “after the pains which Mr. - Garrick has taken to acquaint you with the amplest particulars of the - story you cannot in future profess to be unacquainted with it.” Colonel - Gwyn looked puzzled. - </p> - <p> - “I protest, madam,” said he, “that up to the present—ah! I fear that - the very familiarity of Mr. Garrick with the story has caused him to be - led to take too much for granted. I do not question the humour, mind you—I - fancy that I am as quick as most men to see a joke, but——” - </p> - <p> - This was too much for Bunbury and Burney. They both roared with laughter, - which increased in volume as the puzzled look upon Colonel Gwyn's face was - taken up by Garrick, as he glanced first at Burney and then at Little - Comedy's husband. Poor Miss Reynolds, who could never quite make out what - was going on around her in that strange household where she had been - thrown by an ironical fate, looked gravely at the ultra-grave Garrick, and - then smiled artificially at Dr. Burney with a view of assuring him that - she understood perfectly how he came to be merry. - </p> - <p> - “Colonel Gwyn,” said Garrick, “these gentlemen seem to have their own - reasons for merriment, but I think you and I can better discriminate when - to laugh and when to refrain from laughter. And yet—ah, I perceive - they are recalling the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, and that, - sure enough, would convulse an Egyptian mummy or a statue of Nestor; and - the funny part of the business is yet to come, for up to the present I - don't believe that I told you that the man had actually been married for - some years.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed so heartily that Colonel Gwyn could not refrain from joining - in, though his laughter was a good deal less hearty than that of any of - the others who had enjoyed Garrick's whimsical fun. - </p> - <p> - When the men were left alone at the table, there was some little - embarrassment owing to the deficiency of glass, for Sir Joshua, who was - hospitable to a fault, keeping an open house and dining his friends every - evening, could never be persuaded to replace the glass which chanced to be - broken. Garrick made an excuse of the shortness of port-glasses at his end - of the table to move up beside Goldsmith, whom he cheered by telling him - that he had already given a lesson to Woodward regarding the speaking of - the prologue which he, Garrick, had written for the comedy. He said he - believed Woodward would repeat the lines very effectively. When Goldsmith - mentioned that Colman declined to have a single scene painted for the - production, both Sir Joshua and Garrick were indignant. - </p> - <p> - “You would have done well to leave the piece in my hands, Noll,” said the - latter, alluding to the circumstance of Goldsmith's having sent the play - to him on Colman's first refusal to produce it. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, Davy, my friend,” Goldsmith replied, “I feel more at my ease in - reflecting that in another week I shall know the worst—or the best. - If the play had remained with you I should feel like a condemned criminal - for the next year or two.” - </p> - <p> - In the drawing-room that evening Garrick and Goldsmith got up the - entertainment, which was possibly the most diverting one ever seen in a - room. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith sat on Garrick's knees with a table-cloth drawn over his head - and body, leaving his arms only exposed. Garrick then began reciting long - sentimental soliloquies from certain plays, which Goldsmith was supposed - to illustrate by his gestures. The form of the entertainment has survived, - and sometimes by chance it becomes humourous. But with Garrick repeating - the lines and thrilling his audience by his marvellous change of - expression as no audience has since been thrilled, and with Goldsmith - burlesquing with inappropriately extravagant and wholly amusing gestures - the passionate deliverances, it can easily be believed that Sir Joshua's - guests were convulsed. - </p> - <p> - After some time of this division of labour, the position of the two - playmates was reversed. It was Garrick who sat on Goldsmith's knees and - did the gesticulating, while the poet attempted to deliver his lines after - the manner of the player. The effect was even more ludicrous than that of - the previous combination; and then, in the middle of an affecting passage - from Addison's “Cato,” Goldsmith began to sing the song which he had been - compelled to omit from the part of Miss Hardcastle, owing to Mrs. - Bulkley's not being a singer. Of course Garrick's gestures during the - delivery of the song were marvellously ingenious, and an additional - element of attraction was introduced by Dr. Burney, who hastily seated - himself at the pianoforte and interwove a medley accompaniment, - introducing all the airs then popular, but without prejudice to the - harmonies of the accompaniment. - </p> - <p> - Reynolds stood by the side of his friend, Miss Kauffman, and when this - marvellous fooling had come to an end, except for the extra diversion - caused by Garrick's declining to leave Goldsmith's knees—he begged - the lady to favour the company with an Italian song which she was - accustomed to sing to the accompaniment of a guitar. But Miss Angelica - shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “Pray add your entreaties to mine, Miss Horneck,” said Sir Joshua to the - Jessamy Bride. “Entreat our Angel of Art to give us the pleasure of - hearing her sing.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Horneck rose, and made an elaborate curtsey before the smiling - Angelica. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Madame Angel, live forever!” she cried. “Will your Majesty condescend - to let us hear your angelic voice? You have already deigned to captivate - our souls by the exercise of one art; will you now stoop to conquer our - savage hearts by the exercise of another?” - </p> - <p> - A sudden cry startled the company, and at the same instant Garrick was - thrown on his hands and knees on the floor by the act of Goldsmith's - springing to his feet. - </p> - <p> - “By the Lord, I've got it!” shouted Goldsmith. “The Jessamy Bride has - given it to me, as I knew she would—the title of my comedy—she - has just said it: '<i>She Stoops to Conquer</i>.'” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XII. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>s a matter of - course, Colman objected to the new title when Goldsmith communicated it to - him the next day; but the latter was firm on this particular point. He had - given the play its name, he said, and he would not alter it now on any - consideration. - </p> - <p> - Colman once again shrugged his shoulders. The production of the play gave - him so much practice at shrugging, Goldsmith expressed his regret at not - being able to introduce the part of a Frenchman, which he said he believed - the manager would play to perfection. - </p> - <p> - But when Johnson, who attended the rehearsal with Miss Reynolds, the whole - Horneck family, Cradock and Murphy, asserted, as he did with his customary - emphasis, that no better title than “She Stoops to Conquer” could be found - for the comedy, Colman made no further objections, and the rehearsal was - proceeded with. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir,” cried Johnson, when Goldsmith was leaving his party in a box - in order to go upon the stage, “Nay, sir, you shall not desert us. You - must stay by us to let us know when the jests are spoken, so that we may - be fully qualified to laugh at the right moments when the theatre is - filled. Why, Goldy, you would not leave us to our own resources?” - </p> - <p> - “I will be the Lieutenant Cook of the comedy, Dr. Johnson,” said Miss - Horneck—Lieutenant Cook and his discoveries constituted the chief - topics of the hour. “I believe that I know so much of the dialogue as will - enable me to pilot you, not merely to the Otaheite of a jest, but to a - whole archipelago of wit.” - </p> - <p> - “Otaheite is a name of good omen,” said Cradock. “It is suggestive of - palms, and '<i>palmam qui meruit ferat.</i>'” - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” said Johnson, “you should know better than to quote Latin in the - presence of ladies. Though your remark is not quite so bad as I expected - it would be, yet let me tell you, sir, that unless the wit in the comedy - is a good deal livelier than yours, it will have a poor chance with the - playgoers.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, sir, Dr. Goldsmith's wit is greatly superior to mine,” laughed - Cradock. “Otherwise it would be my comedy that would be in rehearsal, and - Dr. Goldsmith would be merely on a level with us who constitute his - critics.” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith had gone on the stage and the rehearsal had begun, so that - Johnson was enabled, by pretending to give all his attention to the - opening dialogue, to hide his lack of an effective reply to Cradock for - his insolence in suggesting that they were both on the same level as - critics. - </p> - <p> - Before Shuter, as Old Hardcastle, had more than begun to drill his - servants, the mighty laughter of Dr. Johnson was shaking the box. Every - outburst was like the exploding of a bomb, or, as Cradock put it, the - broadside coming from the carronade of a three-decker. He had laughed and - applauded during the scene at the Three Pigeons—especially the - satirical sallies directed against the sentimentalists—but it was - the drilling of the servants that excited him most, and he inquired of - Miss Horneck— - </p> - <p> - “Pray what is the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, my dear?” - </p> - <p> - When the members of the company learned that it was the great Dr. Samuel - Johnson who was roaring with laughter in the box, they were as much amazed - as they were encouraged. Colman, who had come upon the stage out of - compliment to Johnson, feeling that his position as an authority regarding - the elements of diversion in a play was being undermined in the estimation - of his company, remarked— - </p> - <p> - “Your friend Dr. Johnson will be a friend indeed if he comes in as - generous a mood to the first representation. I only hope that the - playgoers will not resent his attempt to instruct them on the subject of - your wit.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't think that there is any one alive who will venture to resent the - instruction of Dr. Johnson,” said Goldsmith quietly. - </p> - <p> - The result of this rehearsal and of the three rehearsals that followed it - during the week, was more than encouraging to the actors, and it became - understood that Woodward and Gentleman Smith were ready to admit their - regret at having relinquished the parts for which they had been originally - cast. The former had asked to be permitted to speak the prologue, which - Garrick had written, and, upon which, as he had told Goldsmith, he had - already given a hint or two to Woodward. - </p> - <p> - The difficulty of the epilogue, however, still remained. The one which - Murphy had written for Mrs. Bulkley was objected to by Miss Catley, who - threatened to leave the company if Mrs. Bulkley, who had been merely - thrust forward to take Mrs. Abington's place, were entrusted with the - epilogue; and, when Cradock wrote another for Miss Catley, Mrs. Bulkley - declared that if Miss Catley were allowed the distinction which she - herself had a right to claim, she would leave the theatre. Goldsmith's - ingenuity suggested the writing of an epilogue in which both the ladies - were presented in their true characters as quarreling on the subject; but - Colman placed his veto upon this idea and also upon another simple - epilogue which the author had written. Only on the day preceding the first - performance did Goldsmith produce the epilogue which was eventually spoken - by Mrs. Bulkley. - </p> - <p> - “It seems to me to be a pity to waste so much time discussing an epilogue - which will never be spoke,” sneered Colman when the last difficulties had - been smoothed over. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith walked away without another word, and joined his party, - consisting of Johnson, Reynolds, Miss Reynolds, the Bunburys and Mary - Horneck. Now that he had done all his work connected with the production - of the play—when he had not allowed himself to be overcome by the - niggardly behaviour of the manager in declining to spend a single penny - either upon the dresses or the scenery, that parting sneer of Colman's - almost caused him to break down. - </p> - <p> - Mary Horneck perceived this, and hastened to say something kind to him. - She knew so well what would be truly encouraging to him that she did not - hesitate for a moment. - </p> - <p> - “I am glad I am not going to the theatre to-night,” she said; “my dress - would be ruined.” - </p> - <p> - He tried to smile as he asked her for an explanation. - </p> - <p> - “Why, surely you heard the way the cleaners were laughing at the humour of - the play,” she cried. “Oh, yes, all the cleaners dropped their dusters, - and stood around the boxes in fits of laughter. I overheard one of the - candle-snuffers say that no play he had seen rehearsed for years contained - such wit as yours. I also overheard another man cursing Mr. Col-man for a - curmudgeon.” - </p> - <p> - “You did? Thank God for that; 't is a great responsibility off my mind,” - said Goldsmith. “Oh, my dear Jessamy Bride, I know how kind you are, and I - only hope that your god-child will turn out a credit to me.” - </p> - <p> - “It is not merely your credit that is involved in the success of this - play, sir,” said Johnson. “The credit of your friends, who insisted on - Colman's taking the play, is also at stake.” - </p> - <p> - “And above all,” said Reynolds pleasantly, “the play must be a success in - order to put Colman in the wrong.” - </p> - <p> - “That is the best reason that could be advanced why its success is - important to us all,” said Mary. “It would never do for Colman to be in - the right. Oh, we need live in no trepidation; all our credits will be - saved by Monday night.” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if any unworthy man ever had so many worthy friends,” said - Goldsmith. “I am overcome by their kindness, and overwhelmed with a sense - of my own unworthiness.” - </p> - <p> - “You will have another thousand friends by Monday night, sir,” cried - Johnson. “Your true friend, sir, is the friend who pays for his seat to - hear your play.” - </p> - <p> - “I always held that the best definition of a true friend is the man who, - when you are in the hands of bailiffs, comes to see you, but takes care to - send a guinea in advance,” said Goldsmith, and every one present knew that - he alluded to the occasion upon which he had been befriended by Johnson on - the day that “The Vicar of Wakefield” was sold. - </p> - <p> - “And now,” said Reynolds, “I have to prove how certain we are of the - future of your piece by asking you to join us at dinner on Monday previous - to the performance.” - </p> - <p> - “Commonplace people would invite you to supper, sir, to celebrate the - success of the play,” said Johnson. “To proffer such an invitation would - be to admit that we were only convinced of your worth after the public had - attested to it in the most practical way. But we, Dr. Goldsmith, who know - your worth, and have known it all these years, wish to show that our - esteem remains independent of the verdict of the public. On Monday night, - sir, you will find a thousand people who will esteem it an honour to have - you to sup with them; but on Monday afternoon you will dine with us.” - </p> - <p> - “You not only mean better than any other man, sir, you express what you - mean better,” said Goldsmith. “A compliment is doubly a compliment coming - from Dr. Johnson.” - </p> - <p> - He was quite overcome, and, observing this, Reynolds and Mary Horneck - walked away together, leaving him to compose himself under the shelter of - a somewhat protracted analysis by Dr. Johnson of the character of Young - Marlow. In the course of a quarter of an hour Goldsmith had sufficiently - recovered to be able to perceive for the first time how remarkable a - character he had created. - </p> - <p> - On Monday George Steevens called for Goldsmith to accompany him to the St. - James's coffee-house, where the dinner was to take place. He found the - author giving the finishing touches to his toilet, his coat being a - salmon-pink in tint, and his waistcoat a pale yellow, embroidered with - silver. Filby's bills (unpaid, alas!) prevent one from making any mistake - on this point. - </p> - <p> - “Heavens!” cried the visitor. “Have you forgot that you cannot wear - colours?” - </p> - <p> - “Why not?” asked Goldsmith. “Because Woodward is to appear in mourning to - speak the prologue, is that any reason why the author of the comedy should - also be in black?” - </p> - <p> - “Nay,” said Steevens, “that is not the reason. How is it possible that you - forget the Court is in mourning for the King of Sardinia? That coat of - yours is a splendid one, I allow, but if you were to appear in it in front - of your box a very bad impression would be produced. I suppose you hope - that the King will command a performance.” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith's face fell. He looked at the reflection of the gorgeous - garments in a mirror and sighed. He had a great weakness for colour in - dress. At last he took off the coat and gave another fond look at it - before throwing it over the back of a chair. - </p> - <p> - “It was an inspiration on your part to come for me, my dear friend,” said - he. “I would not for a good deal have made such a mistake.” - </p> - <p> - He reappeared in a few moments in a suit of sober grey, and drove with his - friend to the coffee-house, where the party, consisting of Johnson, - Reynolds, Edmund and Richard Burke, and Caleb Whitefoord, had already - assembled. - </p> - <p> - It soon became plain that Goldsmith was extremely nervous. He shook hands - twice with Richard Burke and asked him if he had heard that the King of - Sardinia was dead, adding that it was a constant matter for regret with - him that he had not visited Sardinia when on his travels. He expressed a - hope that the death of the King of Sardinia would not have so depressing - an effect upon playgoers generally as to prejudice their enjoyment of his - comedy. - </p> - <p> - Edmund Burke, understanding his mood, assured him gravely that he did not - think one should be apprehensive on this score, adding that it would be - quite possible to overestimate the poignancy of the grief which the - frequenters of the pit were likely to feel at so melancholy but, after - all, so inevitable an occurrence as the decease of a potentate whose name - they had probably never heard. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith shook his head doubtfully, and said he would try and hope for - the best, but still.... - </p> - <p> - Then he hastened to Steevens, who was laughing heartily at a pun of - Whitefoord's, and said he was certain that neither of them could have - heard that the King of Sardinia was dead, or they would moderate their - merriment. - </p> - <p> - The dinner was a dismal failure, so far as the guest of the party was - concerned. He was unable to swallow a morsel, so parched had his throat - become through sheer nervousness, and he could not be induced to partake - of more than a single glass of wine. He was evermore glancing at the clock - and expressing a hope that the dinner would be over in good time to allow - of their driving comfortably to the theatre. - </p> - <p> - Dr. Johnson was at first greatly concerned on learning from Reynolds that - Goldsmith was eating nothing; but when Goldsmith, in his nervousness, - began to boast of the fine dinners of which he had partaken at Lord - Clare's house, and of the splendour of the banquets which took place daily - in the common hall of Trinity College, Dublin, Johnson gave all his - attention to his own plate, and addressed no further word to him—not - even to remind him, as he described the glories of Trinity College to his - friend Burke, that Burke had been at the college with him. - </p> - <p> - While there was still plenty of time to spare even for walking to the - theatre, Goldsmith left the room hastily, explaining elaborately that he - had forgotten to brush his hat before leaving his chambers, and he meant - to have the omission repaired without delay. - </p> - <p> - He never returned. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIII. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he party remained - in the room for some time, and when at last a waiter from the bar was sent - for and requested to tell Dr. Goldsmith, who was having his hat brushed, - that his party were ready to leave the house, the man stated that Dr. - Goldsmith had left some time ago, hurrying in the direction of Pall Mall. - </p> - <p> - “Psha! sir,” said Johnson to Burke, “Dr. Goldsmith is little better than a - fool.” Johnson did not know what such nervousness as Goldsmith's was. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Burke, “Dr. Goldsmith is, I suppose, the greatest fool that - ever wrote the best poem of a century, the best novel of a century, and - let us hope that, after the lapse of a few hours, I may be able to say the - best comedy of a century.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose we may take it for granted that he has gone to the playhouse?” - said Richard Burke. - </p> - <p> - “It is not wise to take anything for granted so far as Goldsmith is - concerned,” said Steevens. “I think that the best course we can adopt is - for some of us to go to the playhouse without delay. The play must be - looked after; but for myself I mean to look after the author. Gentlemen, - Oliver Goldsmith needs to be looked after carefully. No one knows what a - burden he has been forced to bear during the past month.” - </p> - <p> - “You think it is actually possible that he has not preceded us to the - playhouse, sir,” said Johnson. - </p> - <p> - “If I know anything of him, sir,” said Steevens, “the playhouse is just - the place which he would most persistently avoid.” There was a long pause - before Johnson said in his weightiest manner: - </p> - <p> - “Sir, we are all his friends; we hold you responsible for his safety.” - </p> - <p> - “That is very kind of you, sir,” replied Steevens. “But you may rest - assured that I will do my best to find him, wherever he may be.” - </p> - <p> - While the rest of the party set out for Covent Garden Theatre, Steevens - hurried off in the opposite direction. He felt that he understood - Goldsmith's mood. He believed that he would come upon him sitting alone in - some little-frequented coffee house brooding over the probable failure of - his play. The cheerful optimism of the man, which enabled him to hold out - against Colman and his sneers, would, he was convinced, suffer a relapse - when there was no urgent reason for its exercise, and his naturally - sanguine temperament would at this critical hour of his life give place to - a brooding melancholy, making it impossible for him to put in an - appearance at the theatre, and driving him far from his friends. Steevens - actually made up his mind that if he failed to find Goldsmith during the - next hour or two, he would seek him at his cottage on the Edgware road. - </p> - <p> - He went on foot from coffee house to coffee house—from Jack's, in - Dean street, to the Old Bell, in Westminster—but he failed to - discover his friend in one of them. An hour and a half he spent in this - way; and all this time roars of laughter from every part of the playhouse—except - the one box that held Cumberland and his friends—were greeting the - brilliant dialogue, the natural characterisation, and the admirably - contrived situations in the best comedy that a century of brilliant - authors had witnessed. - </p> - <p> - The scene comes before one with all the vividness that many able pens have - imparted to a description of its details. We see the enormous figure of - Dr. Johnson leaning far out of the box nearest the stage, with a hand - behind his ear, so as to lose no word spoken on the stage; and as phrase - after phrase, sparkling with wit, quivering with humour and vivified with - numbers of allusions to the events of the hour, is spoken, he seems to - shake the theatre with his laughter. - </p> - <p> - Reynolds is in the opposite corner, his ear-trumpet resting on the ledge - of the box, his face smiling thoughtfully; and between these two notable - figures Miss Reynolds is seated bolt upright, and looking rather - frightened as the people in the pit look up now and again at the box. - </p> - <p> - Baretti is in the next box with Angelica Kauffman, Dr. Burney and little - Miss Fanny Burney, destined in a year or two to become for a time the most - notable woman in England. On the other side of the house Lord Clare - occupies a box with his charming tom-boy daughter, who is convulsed with - laughter as she hears reference made in the dialogue to the trick which - she once played upon the wig of her dear friend the author. General - Oglethorpe, who is beside her, holds up his finger in mock reproof, and - Lord Camden, standing behind his chair, looks as if he regretted having - lost the opportunity of continuing his acquaintance with an author whom - every one is so highly honouring at the moment. - </p> - <p> - Cumberland and his friends are in a lower box, “looking glum,” as one - witness asserts, though a good many years later Cumberland boasted of - having contributed in so marked a way to the applause as to call forth the - resentment of the pit. - </p> - <p> - In the next box Hugh Kelly, whose most noted success at Drury Lane a few - years previously eclipsed Goldsmith's “Good-Natured Man” at “the other - house,” sits by the side of Macpherson, the rhapsodist who invented - “Ossian.” He glares at Dr. Johnson, who had no hesitation in calling him - an impostor. - </p> - <p> - The Burkes, Edmund and Richard, are in a box with Mrs. Horneck and her - younger daughter, who follows breathlessly the words with which she has - for long been familiar, and at every shout of laughter that comes from the - pit she is moved almost to tears. She is quite unaware of the fact that - Colonel Gwyn, sitting alone in another part of the house, has his eyes - fixed upon her—earnestly, affectionately. Her brother and his <i>fiancée</i> - are in a box with the Bunburys; and in the most important box in the house - Mrs. Thrale sits well forward, so that all eyes may be gratified by - beholding her. It does not so much matter about her husband, who once - thought that the fact of his being the proprietor of a concern whose - operations represented the potentialities of wealth beyond the dreams of - avarice entitled him to play upon the mother of the Gunnings when she - first came to London the most contemptible hoax ever recorded to the - eternal discredit of a man. The Duchess of Argyll, mindful of that trick - which the cleverness of her mother turned to so good account, does not - condescend to notice from her box, where she sits with Lady Betty - Hamilton, either the brewer or his pushing wife, though she is acquainted - with old General Paoli, whom the latter is patronising between the acts. - </p> - <p> - What a play! What spectators! - </p> - <p> - We listen to the one year by year with the same delight that it brought to - those who heard it this night for the first time; and we look with delight - at the faces of the notable spectators which the brush of the little man - with the ear-trumpet in Johnson's box has made immortal. - </p> - <p> - Those two men in that box were the means of conferring immortality upon - their century. Incomparable Johnson, who chose Boswell to be his - biographer! Incomparable Reynolds, who, on innumerable canvases, handed - down to the next century all the grace and distinction of his own! - </p> - <p> - And all this time Oliver Goldsmith is pacing with bent head and hands - nervously clasped behind him, backward and forward, the broad walk in St. - James's Park. - </p> - <p> - Steevens came upon him there after spending nearly two hours searching for - him. - </p> - <p> - “Don't speak, man, for God's sake,” cried Oliver. “'Tis not so dark but - that I can see disaster imprinted on your face. You come to tell me that - the comedy is ended—that the curtain was obliged to be rung down in - the middle of an act. You come to tell me that my comedy of life is - ended.” - </p> - <p> - “Not I,” said Steevens. “I have not been at the playhouse yet. Why, man, - what can be the matter with you? Why did you leave us in the lurch at the - coffee house?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know what you speak of,” said Goldsmith. “But I beg of you to - hasten to the playhouse and carry me the news of the play—don't fear - to tell me the worst; I have been in the world of letters for nearly - twenty years; I am not easily dismayed.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear friend,” said Steevens, “I have no intention of going to the - playhouse unless you are in my company—I promised so much to Dr. - Johnson. What, man, have you no consideration for your friends, leaving - yourself out of the question? Have you no consideration for your art, - sir?” - </p> - <p> - “What do you mean by that?” - </p> - <p> - “I mean that perhaps while you are walking here some question may arise on - the stage that you, and you only, can decide—are you willing to - allow the future of your comedy to depend upon the decision of Colman, who - is not the man to let pass a chance of proving himself to be a true - prophet? Come, sir, you have shown yourself to be a man, and a great man, - too, before to-night. Why should your courage fail you now when I am - convinced you are on the eve of achieving a splendid success?” - </p> - <p> - “It shall not—it shall not!” cried Goldsmith after a short pause. - “I'll not give in should the worst come to the worst. I feel that I have - something of a man in me still. The years that I have spent in this battle - have not crushed me into the earth. I'll go with you, my friend—I'll - go with you. Heaven grant that I may yet be in time to avert disaster.” - </p> - <p> - They hurried together to Charing Cross, where a hackney coach was - obtainable. All the time it was lumbering along the uneven streets to - Covent Garden, Goldsmith was talking excitedly about the likelihood of the - play being wrecked through Colman's taking advantage of his absence to - insist on a scene being omitted—or, perhaps, a whole act; and - nothing that Steevens could say to comfort him had any effect. - </p> - <p> - When the vehicle turned the corner into Covent Garden he craned his head - out of the window and declared that the people were leaving the playhouse—that - his worst fears were realized. - </p> - <p> - “Nonsense!” cried Steevens, who had put his head out of the other window. - “The people you see are only the footmen and linkmen incidental to any - performance. What, man, would the coachmen beside us be dozing on their - boxes if they were waiting to be called? No, my friend, the comedy has yet - to be damned.” - </p> - <p> - When they got out of the coach Goldsmith hastened round to the stage door, - looking into the faces of the people who were lounging around, as if to - see in each of them the fate of his play written. He reached the back of - the stage and made for where Colman was standing, just as Quick, in the - part of Tony Lumpkin, was telling Mrs. Hardcastle that he had driven her - forty miles from her own house, when all the time she was within twenty - yards of it. In a moment he perceived that the lights were far too strong; - unless Mrs. Hardcastle was blind she could not have failed to recognise - the familiar features of the scene. The next moment there came a hiss—a - solitary hiss from the boxes. - </p> - <p> - “What's that, Mr. Colman?” whispered the excited author. - </p> - <p> - “Psha! sir,” said Colman brutally. “Why trouble yourself about a squib - when we have all been sitting on a barrel of gunpowder these two hours?” - </p> - <p> - “That's a lie,” said Shuter, who was in the act of going on the stage as - Mr. Hardcastle. “'Tis a lie, Dr. Goldsmith. The success of your play was - assured from the first.” - </p> - <p> - “By God! Mr. Colman, if it is a lie I'll never look on you as a friend - while I live!” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIV. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was a lie, and - surely the most cruel and most objectless lie ever uttered. Goldsmith was - soon made aware of this. The laughter that followed Tony Lumpkin's - pretending to his mother that Mr. Hard-castle was a highwayman was not the - laugh of playgoers who have endured four acts of a dull play; it was the - laugh of people who have been in a good humour for over two hours, and - Goldsmith knew it. He perceived from their laughter that the people in - every part of the house were following the comedy with extraordinary - interest. Every point in the dialogue was effective—the exquisite - complications, the broad fun, the innumerable touches of nature, all were - appreciated by an audience whose expression of gratification fell little - short of rapture. - </p> - <p> - When the scene was being shifted Col-man left the stage and did not return - to it until it was his duty to come forward after the epilogue was spoken - by Mrs. Bulkley and announce the date of the author's night. - </p> - <p> - As soon as the manager had disappeared Goldsmith had a chance of speaking - to several of the actors at intervals as they made their exits, and from - them he learned the whole truth regarding the play: from the first scene - to the one which was being represented, the performance had been a - succession of triumphs, not only for the author, but for every member of - the company concerned in the production. With old dresses and scenery - familiar to all frequenters of the playhouse, the extraordinary success of - the comedy was beyond all question. The allusion to the offensive terms of - the Royal Marriage Act was especially relished by the audience, several of - the occupants of the pit rising to their feet and cheering for some time—so - much Goldsmith learned little by little at intervals from the actors. - </p> - <p> - “I swore never to look on Colman as my friend again, and I'll keep my - word; he has treated me cruelly—more cruelly than he has any idea - of,” said Goldsmith to Lee Lewes. “But as for you, Mr. Lewes, I'll do - anything that is in my power for you in the future. My poor play owes much - to you, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Faith then, sir,” cried Lewes, “I'll keep you to your word. My benefit - will take place in a short time; I'll ask you for a prologue, Dr. - Goldsmith.” - </p> - <p> - “You shall have the best prologue I ever wrote,” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - And so he had. - </p> - <p> - When the house was still cheering at the conclusion of the epilogue, - Goldsmith, overcome with emotion, hurried into the green room. Mrs. - Abington was the first person whom he met. She held down her head, and - affected a guilty look as she glanced at him sideways through half-closed - eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Goldsmith,” she said in a tone modulated to a point of humility, “I - hope in your hour of triumph you will be generous to those who were - foolish enough to doubt the greatness of your work. Oh, sir, I pray of you - not to increase by your taunts the humiliation which I feel at having - resigned my part in your comedy. Believe me, I have been punished - sufficiently during the past two hours by hearing the words, which I might - have spoken, applauded so rapturously coming from another.” - </p> - <p> - “Taunts, my dear madam; who speaks of taunts?” said he. “Nay, I have a - part in my mind for you already—that is, if you will be good enough - to accept it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, sir, you are generosity itself!” cried the actress, offering him both - her hands. “I shall not fail to remind you of your promise, Dr. - Goldsmith.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0173.jpg" alt="0173 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0173.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - And now the green room was being crowded by the members of the company and - the distinguished friends of the author, who were desirous of - congratulating him. Dr. Johnson's voice filled the room as his laughter - had filled the theatre. - </p> - <p> - “We perceived the reason of your extraordinary and unusual modesty, Dr. - Goldsmith, before your play was many minutes on the stage,” said he. “You - dog, you took as your example the Italians who, on the eve of Lent, - indulge in a carnival, celebrating their farewell to flesh by a feast. On - the same analogy you had a glut of modesty previous to bidding modesty - good-bye forever; for to-night's performance will surely make you a - coxcomb.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I hope not, sir,” said Goldsmith. “No, you don't hope it, sir,” cried - Johnson. “You are thinking at this moment how much better you are than - your betters—I see it on your face, you rascal.” - </p> - <p> - “And he has a right to think so,” said Mrs. Bunbury. “Come, Dr. Goldsmith, - speak up, say something insulting to your betters.” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly, madam,” said Goldsmith. “Where are they?” - </p> - <p> - “Well said!” cried Edmund Burke. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir,” said Johnson. “Dr. Goldsmith's satire is not strong enough. We - expected something more violent. 'Tis like landing one in one's back - garden when one has looked for Crackskull Common.” - </p> - <p> - His mighty laughter echoed through the room and made the pictures shake on - the walls. - </p> - <p> - Mary Horneck had not spoken. She had merely given her friend her hand. She - knew that he would understand her unuttered congratulations, and she was - not mistaken. - </p> - <p> - For the next quarter of an hour there was an exchange of graceful wit and - gracious compliment between the various persons of distinction in the - green room. Mrs. Thrale, with her usual discrimination, conceived the - moment to be an opportune one for putting on what she fondly imagined was - an Irish brogue, in rallying Goldsmith upon some of the points in his - comedy. Miss Kauffman and Signor Baretti spoke Italian into Reynolds's - ear-trumpet, and Edmund Burke talked wittily in the background with the - Bunburys. - </p> - <p> - So crowded the room was, no one seemed to notice how an officer in uniform - had stolen up to the side of Mary Horneck where she stood behind Mr. - Thrale and General Oglethorpe, and had withdrawn her into a corner, saying - a whispered word to her. No one seemed to observe the action, though it - was noticed by Goldsmith. He kept his eyes fixed upon the girl, and - perceived that, while the man was speaking to her, her eyes were turned - upon the floor and her left hand was pressed against her heart. - </p> - <p> - He kept looking at her all the time that Mrs. Thrale was rattling out her - inanities, too anxious to see what effect she was producing upon the - people within ear-shot to notice that the man whom she was addressing was - paying no attention to her. - </p> - <p> - When the others as well ceased to pay any attention to her, she thought it - advisable to bring her prattle to a close. - </p> - <p> - “Psha! Dr. Goldsmith,” she cried. “We have given you our ears for more - than two hours, and yet you refuse to listen to us for as many minutes.” - </p> - <p> - “I protest, madam, that I have been absorbed,” said Goldsmith. “Yes, you - were remarking that——” - </p> - <p> - “That an Irishman, when he achieves a sudden success, can only be compared - to a boy who has robbed an orchard,” said the lady. - </p> - <p> - “True—very true, madam,” said he. He saw Mary Horneck's hands clasp - involuntarily for a moment as she spoke to the man who stood smiling - beside her. She was not smiling. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, 'tis true; but why?” cried Mrs. Thrale, taking care that her voice - did not appeal to Goldsmith only. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, yes; that's just it—why?” said he. Mary Horneck had turned away - from the officer, and was coming slowly back to where her sister and Henry - Bunbury were standing. - </p> - <p> - “Why?” said Mrs. Thrale shrilly. “Why? Why is an Irishman who has become - suddenly successful like a boy who has robbed an orchard? Why, because his - booty so distends his body that any one can perceive he has got in his - pockets what he is not entitled to.” - </p> - <p> - She looked around for appreciation, but failed to find it. She certainly - did not perceive any appreciation of her pleasantry on the face of the - successful Irishman before her. He was not watching Mary now. All his - attention was given to the man to whom she had been talking, and who had - gone to the side of Mrs. Abington, where he remained chatting with even - more animation than was usual for one to assume in the green room. - </p> - <p> - “You will join us at supper, Dr. Goldsmith?” said Mr. Thrale. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir!” cried Bunbury; “mine is a prior claim. Dr. Goldsmith agreed - some days ago to honour my wife with his company to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “What did I say, Goldy?” cried Johnson. “Was it not that, after the - presentation of the comedy, you would receive a hundred invitations?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, sir, I have only received two since my play was produced, and one - of them I accepted some days ago,” said the Irishman, and Mrs. Thrale - hoped she would be able to remember the bull in order to record it as - conclusive evidence of Goldsmith's awkwardness of speech. - </p> - <p> - But Burke, who knew the exact nature of the Irish bull, only smiled. He - laughed, however, when Goldsmith, assuming the puzzled expression of the - Irishman who adds to the humour of his bull by pretending that it is - involuntary, stumbled carefully in his words, simulating a man anxious to - explain away a mistake that he has made. Goldsmith excelled at this form - of humour but too well; hence, while the pages of every book that refers - to him are crowded with his brilliant saying's, the writers quote - Garrick's lines in proof—proof positive, mind—that he “talked - like poor Poll.” He is the first man on record who has been condemned - solely because of the exigencies of rhyme, and that, too, in the doggerel - couplet of the most unscrupulous jester of the century. - </p> - <p> - Mary Horneck seems to have been the only one who understood him - thoroughly. She has left her appreciation of his humour on record. The - expression which she perceived upon his face immediately after he had - given utterance to some delightful witticism—which the recording - demons around him delighted to turn against himself—was the - expression which makes itself apparent in Reynolds's portrait of him. The - man who “talked like poor Poll” was the man who, even before he had done - anything in literature except a few insignificant essays, was visited by - Bishop Percy, though every visit entailed a climb up a rickety staircase - and a seat on a rickety stool in a garret. Perhaps, however, the - fastidious Percy was interested in ornithology and was ready to put - himself to great inconvenience in order to hear parrot-talk. - </p> - <p> - While he was preparing to go with the Bunburys, Goldsmith noticed that the - man who, after talking with Mary Horneck, had chatted with Mrs. Abington, - had disappeared; and when the party whom he was accompanying to supper had - left the room he remained for a few moments to make his adieux to the - players. He shook hands with Mrs. Abington, saying— - </p> - <p> - “Have no fear that I shall forget my promise, madam.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall take good care that you don't, sir,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “Do not fancy that I shall neglect my own interests!” he cried, bowing as - he took a step away from her. When he had taken another step he suddenly - returned to her as if a sudden thought had struck him. “Why, if I wasn't - going away without asking you what is the name of the gentleman in uniform - who was speaking with you just now,” said he. “I fancy I have met him - somewhere, and one doesn't want to be rude.” - </p> - <p> - “His name is Jackson,” she replied. “Yes, Captain Jackson, though the Lord - only knows what he is captain of.” - </p> - <p> - “I have been mistaken; I know no one of that name,” said Goldsmith. “'Tis - as well I made sure; one may affront a gentleman as easily by professing - to have met him as by forgetting that one has done so.” - </p> - <p> - When he got outside, he found that Mary Horneck has been so greatly - affected by the heat of the playhouse and the excitement of the occasion, - she had thought it prudent to go away with the Reynoldses in their coach—her - mother had preceded her by nearly half an hour. - </p> - <p> - The Bunburys found that apparently the excitement of the evening had - produced a similar effect upon their guest. Although he admitted having - eaten no dinner—Johnson and his friends had been by no means - reticent on the subject of the dinner—he was without an appetite for - the delightful little supper which awaited him at Mrs. Bunbury's. It was - in vain too that his hostess showed herself to be in high spirits, and - endeavoured to rally him after her own delightful fashion. He remained - almost speechless the whole evening. - </p> - <p> - “Ah,” said she, “I perceive clearly that your Little Comedy has been quite - obscured by your great comedy. But wait until we get you down with us at - Barton; you will find the first time we play loo together that a little - comedy may become a great tragedy.” - </p> - <p> - Bunbury declared that he was as poor company during the supper as if his - play had been a mortifying failure instead of a triumphant success, and - Goldsmith admitted that this was true, taking his departure as soon as he - could without being rude. - </p> - <p> - He walked slowly through the empty streets to his chambers in Brick Court. - But it was almost daylight before he went to bed. - </p> - <p> - All his life he had been looking forward to this night—the night - that should put the seal upon his reputation, that should give him an - incontestable place at the head of the imaginative writers of his period. - And yet, now that the fame for which he had struggled with destiny was - within his grasp, he felt more miserable than he had ever felt in his - garret. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XV. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hat did it all - mean? - </p> - <p> - That was the question which was on his mind when he awoke. It did not - refer to the reception given to “She Stoops to Conquer,” which had placed - him in the position he had longed for; it had reference solely to the - strange incident which had occurred in the green room. - </p> - <p> - The way Mrs. Abington had referred to the man with whom Mary had been - speaking was sufficient to let him know that he was not a man of - reputation—he certainly had not seemed to Goldsmith to be a man of - reputation either when he had seen him at the Pantheon or in the green - room. He had worn an impudent and forward manner which, in spite of his - glaring good looks that might possibly make him acceptable in the eyes of - such generous ladies as Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Bulkley or Mrs. Woffington, - showed that he was a person of no position in society. This conclusion to - which Goldsmith had come was confirmed by the fact that no persons of any - distinction who had been present at the Pantheon or the playhouse had - shown that they were acquainted with him—no one person save only - Mary Horneck. - </p> - <p> - Mary Horneck had by her act bracketed herself with Mrs. Abington and Mrs. - Bulk-ley. - </p> - <p> - This he felt to be a very terrible thing. A month ago it would have been - incredible to him that such a thing could be. Mary Horneck had invariably - shunned in society those persons—women as well as men—who had - shown themselves to be wanting in modesty. She had always detested the man—he - was popular enough at that period—who had allowed innuendoes to do - duty for wit; and she had also detested the woman—she is popular - enough now—who had laughed at and made light of the innuendoes, - bordering upon impropriety, of such a man. - </p> - <p> - And yet she had by her own act placed herself on a level with the least - fastidious of the persons for whom she had always professed a contempt. - The Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster had, to be sure, shaken hands with - the two actresses; but the first named at least had done so for her own - ends, and had got pretty well sneered at in consequence. Mary Horneck - stood in a very different position from that occupied by the Duchess. - While not deficient in charity, she had declined to follow the lead of any - leader of fashion in this matter, and had held aloof from the actresses. - </p> - <p> - And yet he had seen her in secret conversation with a man at whom one of - these same actresses had not hesitated to sneer as an impostor—a man - who was clearly unacquainted with any other member of her family. - </p> - <p> - What could this curious incident mean? - </p> - <p> - The letters which had come from various friends congratulating him upon - the success of the comedy lay unheeded by him by the side of those which - had arrived—not a post had been missed—from persons who - professed the most disinterested friendship for him, and were anxious to - borrow from him a trifle until they also had made their success. Men whom - he had rescued from starvation, from despair, from suicide, and who had, - consequently, been living on him ever since, begged that he would continue - his contributions on a more liberal scale now that he had in so marked a - way improved his own position. But, for the first time, their letters lay - unread and unanswered. (Three days actually passed before he sent his - guineas flying to the deserving and the undeserving alike. That was how he - contrived to get rid of the thousands of pounds which he had earned since - leaving his garret.) - </p> - <p> - His man servant had never before seen him so depressed as he was when he - left his chambers. - </p> - <p> - He had made up his mind to go to Mary and tell her that he had seen what - no one else either in the Pantheon or in the green room had seemed to - notice in regard to that man whose name he had learned was Captain Jackson—he - would tell her and leave it to her to explain what appeared to him more - than mysterious. If any one had told him in respect to another girl all - that he had noticed, he would have said that such a matter required no - explanation; he had heard of the intrigues of young girls with men of the - stamp of that Captain Jackson. With Mary Horneck, however, the matter was - not so easily explained. The shrug and the raising of the eyebrows were - singularly inappropriate to any consideration of an incident in which she - was concerned. - </p> - <p> - He found before he had gone far from his chambers that the news of the - success of the comedy had reached his neighbours. He was met by several of - the students of the Temple, with whom he had placed himself on terms of - the pleasantest familiarity, and they all greeted him with a cordiality, - the sincerity of which was apparent on their beaming faces. Among them was - one youth named Grattan, who, being an Irishman, had early found a friend - in Goldsmith. He talked years afterward of this early friendship of his. - </p> - <p> - Then the head porter, Ginger, for whom Goldsmith had always a pleasant - word, and whose wife was his laundress—not wholly above suspicion as - regards her honesty—stammered his congratulations, and received the - crown which he knew was certain; and Goldsmith began to feel what he had - always suspected—that there was a great deal of friendliness in the - world for men who have become successful. - </p> - <p> - Long before he had arrived at the house of the Hornecks he was feeling - that he would be the happiest man in London or the most miserable before - another hour would pass. - </p> - <p> - He was fortunate enough to find, on arriving at the house, that Mary was - alone. Mrs. Horneck and her son had gone out together in the coach some - time before, the servant said, admitting him, for he was on terms of such - intimacy with the family the man did not think it necessary to inquire if - Miss Horneck would see him. The man was grinning from ear to ear as he - admitted the visitor. - </p> - <p> - “I hope, Doctor, that I know my business better than Diggory,” he said, - his grin expanding genially. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! so you were one of the gentlemen in the gallery?” said Goldsmith. - “You had my destiny in your keeping for two hours?” - </p> - <p> - “I thought I'd ha' dropped, sir, when it came to Diggory at the table—and - Mr. Marlow's man, sir—as drunk as a lord. 'I don't know what more - you want unless you'd have had him soused in a beer barrel,' says he quite - cool-like and satisfied—and it's the gentleman's own private house, - after all. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Didn't Sir Joshua's Ralph laugh till he - thought our neighbours would think it undignified-like, and then sent us - off worse than ever by trying to look solemn. Only some fools about us - said the drunk servant was ungenteel; but young Mr. Northcote—Sir - Joshua's young man, sir—he up and says that nature isn't always - genteel, and that nature was above gentility, and so forth—I beg - your pardon, Doctor, what was I thinking of? Why, sir, Diggory himself - couldn't ha' done worse than me—talking so familiar-like, instead of - showing you up.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir,” said Goldsmith, “the patron has the privilege of addressing - his humble servant at what length he please. You are one of my patrons, - George; but strike me dumb, sir, I'll be patronised by you no longer; and, - to put a stop to your airs, I'll give you half a dozen tickets for my - benefit, and that will turn the tables on you, my fine fellow.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Doctor, you are too kind, sir,” whispered the man, for he had led the - way to the drawingroom door. “I hope I've not been too bold, sir. If I - told them in the kitchen about forgetting myself they'd dub me Diggory - without more ado. There'll be Diggorys enough in the servants' halls this - year, sir.” - </p> - <p> - In another moment Goldsmith was in the presence of Mary Horneck. - </p> - <p> - She was seated on a low chair at the window. He could not fail to notice - that she looked ill, though it was not until she had risen, trying to - smile, that he saw how very ill she was. Her face, which he had scarcely - ever seen otherwise than bright, had a worn appearance, her eyes were - sunken through much weeping, and there was a frightened look in them that - touched him deeply. - </p> - <p> - “You will believe me when I say how sorry I was not to be able to do - honour last night to the one whom I honour most of all men,” she said, - giving him her hand. “But it was impossible—oh, quite impossible, - for me to sup even with my sister and you. Ah, it was pitiful! considering - how I had been looking forward to your night of triumph, my dear friend.” - </p> - <p> - “It was pitiful, indeed, dear child,” said he. “I was looking forward to - that night also—I don't know for how many years—all my life, - it seems to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Never mind!” she cried, with a feeble attempt at brightness. “Never mind! - your night of triumph came, and no one can take it away from you now; - every one in the town is talking of your comedy and its success.” - </p> - <p> - “There is no one to whom success is sweeter than it is to me,” said - Goldsmith. “But you know me too well, my Jessamy Bride, to think for a - single moment that I could enjoy my success when my dearest friend was - miserable.” - </p> - <p> - “I know it,” she said, giving him her hand once more. “I know it, and - knowing it last night only made me feel more miserable.” - </p> - <p> - “What is the matter, Mary?” he asked her after a pause. “Once before I - begged of you to tell me if you could. I say again that perhaps I may be - able to help you out of your trouble, though I know that I am not a man of - many resources.” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot tell you,” she said slowly, but with great emphasis. “There are - some sorrows that a woman must bear alone. It is Heaven's decree that a - woman's sorrow is only doubled when she tries to share it with another—either - with a sister or with a brother—even so good a friend as Oliver - Goldsmith.” - </p> - <p> - “That such should be your thought shows how deep is your misery,” said he. - “I cannot believe that it could be increased by your confiding its origin - to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, I see everything but too plainly,” she cried, throwing herself down - on her chair once more and burying her face in her hands. “Why, all my - misery arises from the possibility of some one knowing whence it arises. - Oh, I have said too much,” she cried piteously. She had sprung to her feet - and was standing looking with eager eyes into his. “Pray forget what I - have said, my friend. The truth is that I do not know what I say; oh, pray - go away—go away and leave me alone with my sorrow—it is my own—no - one has a right to it but myself.” - </p> - <p> - There was actually a note of jealousy in her voice, and there came a - little flash from her eyes as she spoke. - </p> - <p> - “No, I will not go away from you, my poor child,” said he. “You shall tell - me first what that man to whom I saw you speak in the green room last - night has to do with your sorrow.” - </p> - <p> - She did not give any visible start when he had spoken. There was a curious - look of cunning in her eyes—a look that made him shudder, so foreign - was it to her nature, which was ingenuous to a fault. - </p> - <p> - “A man? Did I speak to a man?” she said slowly, affecting an endeavour to - recall a half-forgotten incident of no importance. “Oh, yes, I suppose I - spoke to quite a number of men in the green room. How crowded it was! And - it became so heated! Ah, how terrible the actresses looked in their paint!—almost - as terrible as a lady of quality!” - </p> - <p> - “Poor child!” said he. “My heart bleeds for you. In striving to hide - everything from me you have told me all—all except—listen to - me, Mary. Nothing that I can hear—nothing that you can tell me—will - cause me to think the least that is ill of you; but I have seen enough to - make me aware that that man—Captain Jackson, he calls himself——” - </p> - <p> - “How did you find out his name?” she said in a whisper. “I did not tell - you his name even at the Pantheon.” - </p> - <p> - “No, you did not; but yet I had no difficulty in finding it out. Tell me - why it is that you should be afraid of that man. Do you not know as well - as I do that he is a rascal? Good heavens! Mary, could you fail to see - rascal written on his countenance for all men and women to read?” - </p> - <p> - “He is worse than you or any one can imagine, and yet——” - </p> - <p> - “How has he got you in his power—that is what you are going to tell - me.” - </p> - <p> - “No, no; that is impossible. You do not know what you ask. You do not know - me, or you would not ask me to tell you.” - </p> - <p> - “What would you have me think, child?” - </p> - <p> - “Think the worst—the worst that your kind heart can think—only - leave me—leave me. God may prove less unkind than He seems to me. I - may soon die. 'The only way her guilt to cover.'” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot leave you, and I say again that I refuse to believe anything ill - of you. Do you really think that it is possible for me to have written so - much as I have written about men and women without being able to know when - a woman is altogether good—a man altogether bad? I know you, my - dear, and I have seen him. Why should you be afraid of him? Think of the - friends you have.” - </p> - <p> - “It is the thought of them that frightens me. I have friends now, but if - they knew all that that man can tell, they would fly from me with - loathing. Oh! when I think of it all, I abhor myself. Oh, fool, fool, - fool! Was ever woman such a fool before?” - </p> - <p> - “For God's sake, child, don't talk in that strain.” - </p> - <p> - “It is the only strain in which I can talk. It is the cry of a wretch who - stands on the brink of a precipice and knows that hands are being thrust - out behind to push her over.” - </p> - <p> - She tottered forward with wild eyes, under the influence of her own - thought. He caught her and supported her in his arms. - </p> - <p> - “That shows you, my poor girl, that if there are unkind hands behind you, - there are still some hands that are ready to keep your feet from slipping. - There are hands that will hold you back from that precipice, or else those - who hold them out to you will go over the brink with you. Ah, my dear, - dear girl, nothing can happen to make you despair. In another year—perhaps - in another month—you will wonder how you could ever have taken so - gloomy a view of the present hour.” - </p> - <p> - A gleam of hope came into her eyes. Only for an instant it remained there, - however. Then she shook her head, saying— - </p> - <p> - “Alas! Alas!” - </p> - <p> - She seated herself once more, but he retained her hand in one of his own, - laying his other caressingly on her head. - </p> - <p> - “You are surely the sweetest girl that ever lived,” said he. “You fill - with your sweetness the world through which I walk. I do not say that it - would be a happiness for me to die for you, for you know that if my dying - could save you from your trouble I would not shrink from it. What I do say - is that I should like to live for you—to live to see happiness once - again brought to you. And yet you will tell me nothing—you will not - give me a chance of helping you.” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head sadly. - </p> - <p> - “I dare not—I dare not,” she said. “I dare not run the chance of - forfeiting your regard forever.” - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye,” he said after a pause. - </p> - <p> - He felt her fingers press his own for a moment; then he dropped her hand - and walked toward the door. Suddenly, however, he returned to her. - </p> - <p> - “Mary,” he said, “I will seek no more to learn your secret; I will only - beg of you to promise me that you will not meet that man again—that - you will hold no communication with him. If you were to be seen in the - company of such a man—talking to him as I saw you last night—what - would people think? The world is always ready to put the worst possible - construction upon anything unusual that it sees. You will promise me, my - dear?” - </p> - <p> - “Alas! alas!” she cried piteously. “I cannot make you such a promise. You - will not do me the injustice to believe that I spoke to him of my own free - will?” - </p> - <p> - “What, you would have me believe that he possesses sufficient power over - you to make you do his bidding? Great God! that can never be!” - </p> - <p> - “That is what I have said to myself day by day; he cannot possess that - power over me—he cannot be such a monster as to. . . oh, I cannot - speak to you more! Leave me—leave me! I have been a fool and I must - pay the penalty of my folly.” Before he could make a reply, the door was - opened and Mrs. Bunbury danced into the room, her mother following more - sedately and with a word of remonstrance. - </p> - <p> - “Nonsense, dear Mamma,” cried Little Comedy. “What Mary needs is some one - who will raise her spirits—Dr. Goldsmith, for instance. He has, I am - sure, laughed her out of her whimsies. Have you succeeded, Doctor? Nay, - you don't look like it, nor does she, poor thing! I felt certain that you - would be in the act of reading a new comedy to her, but I protest it would - seem as if it was a tragedy that engrossed your attention. He doesn't look - particularly like our agreeable Rattle at the present moment, does he, - Mamma? And it was the same at supper last night. It might have been - fancied that he was celebrating a great failure instead of a huge - success.” - </p> - <p> - For the next quarter of an hour the lively girl chatted away, imitating - the various actors who had taken part in the comedy, and giving the author - some account of what the friends whom she had met that day said of the - piece. He had never before felt the wearisomeness of a perpetually - sparkling nature. Her laughter grated upon his ears; her gaiety was out of - tune with his mood. He took leave of the family at the first breathing - space that the girl permitted him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVI. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e felt that the - result of his interview with Mary was to render more mysterious than ever - the question which he had hoped to solve. - </p> - <p> - He wondered if he was more clumsy of apprehension than other men, as he - had come away from her without learning her secret. He was shrewd enough - to know that the majority of men to whom he might give a detailed account - of his interview with the girl—a detailed account of his observation - of her upon the appearance of Captain Jackson first at the Pantheon, then - in the green room of Covent Garden—would have no trouble whatever in - accounting for her behaviour upon both occasions. He could see the shrugs - of the cynical, the head-shakings of those who professed to be vastly - grieved. - </p> - <p> - Ah, they did not know this one girl. They were ready to lump all womankind - together and to suppose that it would be impossible for one woman to be - swayed by other impulses than were common to womankind generally. - </p> - <p> - But he knew this girl, and he felt that it was impossible to believe that - she was otherwise than good. Nothing would force him to think anything - evil regarding her. - </p> - <p> - “She is not as others,” was the phrase that was in his mind—the - thought that was in his heart. - </p> - <p> - He did not pause to reflect upon the strangeness of the circumstance that - when a man wishes to think the best of a woman he says she is not as other - women are. - </p> - <p> - He did not know enough of men and women to be aware of the fact that when - a man makes up his mind that a woman is altogether different from other - women, he loves that woman. - </p> - <p> - He felt greatly grieved to think that he had been unable to search out the - heart of her mystery; but the more he recalled of the incidents that had - occurred upon the two occasions when that man Jackson had been in the same - apartment as Mary Horneck, the more convinced he became that the killing - of that man would tend to a happy solution of the question which was - puzzling him. - </p> - <p> - After giving this subject all his thought for the next day or two, he went - to his friend Baretti, and presented him with tickets for one of the - author's nights for “She Stoops to Conquer.” Baretti was a well known - personage in the best literary society in London, having consolidated his - reputation by the publication of his English and Italian dictionary. He - had been Johnson's friend since his first exile from Italy, and it was - through his influence Baretti, on the formation of the Royal Academy, had - been appointed Secretary for Foreign Correspondence. To Johnson also he - owed the more remunerative appointment of Italian tutor at the Thrales'. - He had frequently dined with Goldsmith at his chambers. - </p> - <p> - Baretti expressed himself grateful for the tickets, and complimented the - author of the play upon his success. - </p> - <p> - “If one may measure the success of a play by the amount of envy it creates - in the breasts of others, yours is a huge triumph,” said the Italian. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Goldsmith quickly, “that is just what I wish to have a word - with you about. The fact is, Baretti, I am not so good a swordsman as I - should be.” - </p> - <p> - “What,” cried Baretti, smiling as he looked at the man before him, who had - certainly not the physique of the ideal swordsman. “What, do you mean to - fight your detractors? Take my advice, my friend, let the pen be your - weapon if such is your intention. If you are attacked with the pen you - should reply with the same weapon, and with it you may be pretty certain - of victory.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, yes; but there are cases—well, one never knows what may happen, - and a man in my position should be prepared for any emergency. I can do a - little sword play—enough to enable me to face a moderately good - antagonist. A pair of coxcombs insulted me a few days ago and I retorted - in a way that I fancy might be thought effective by some people.” - </p> - <p> - “How did you retort?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I warned the passers-by that the pair were pickpockets disguised as - gentlemen.” - </p> - <p> - “Bacchus! An effective retort! And then——” - </p> - <p> - “Then I turned down a side street and half drew my sword; but, after - making a feint of following me, they gave themselves over to a bout of - swearing and went on. What I wish is to be directed by you to any - compatriot of yours who would give me lessons in fencing. Do you know of - any first-rate master of the art in London?” - </p> - <p> - The Italian could not avoid laughing, Goldsmith spoke so seriously. - </p> - <p> - “You would like to find a maestro who would be capable of turning you into - a first-rate swordsman within the space of a week?” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir, I am not unreasonable; I would give him a fortnight.” - </p> - <p> - “Better make it five years.” - </p> - <p> - “Five years?” - </p> - <p> - “My dear friend, I pray of you not to make me your first victim if I - express to you my opinion that you are not the sort of man who can be made - a good swordsman. You were born, not made, a poet, and let me tell you - that a man must be a born swordsman if he is to take a front place among - swordsmen. I am in the same situation as yourself: I am so short-sighted I - could make no stand against an antagonist. No, sir, I shall never kill a - man.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed as men laugh who do not understand what fate has in store for - them. - </p> - <p> - “I have made up my mind to have some lessons,” said Goldsmith, “and I know - there are no better teachers than your countrymen, Baretti.” - </p> - <p> - “Psha!” said Baretti. “There are clever fencers in Italy, just as there - are in England. But if you have made up your mind to have an Italian - teacher, I shall find out one for you and send him to your chambers. If - you are wise, however, you will stick to your pen, which you wield with - such dexterity, and leave the more harmless weapon to others of coarser - fiber than yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “There are times when it is necessary for the most pacific of men—nay, - even an Irishman—to show himself adroit with a sword,” said - Goldsmith; “and so I shall be forever grateful to you for your services - towards this end.” - </p> - <p> - He was about to walk away when a thought seemed to strike him. - </p> - <p> - “You will add to my debt to you if you allow this matter to go no further - than ourselves. You can understand that I have no particular wish to place - myself at the mercy of Dr. Johnson or Garrick,” said he. “I fancy I can - see Garrick's mimicry of a meeting between me and a fencing master.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall keep it a secret,” laughed Baretti; “but mind, sir, when you run - your first man through the vitals you need not ask me to attend the court - as a witness as to your pacific character.” - </p> - <p> - (When the two did appear in court it was Goldsmith who had been called as - a witness on behalf of Baretti, who stood in the dock charged with the - murder of a man.) - </p> - <p> - He felt very much better after leaving Baretti. He felt that he had taken - at least one step on behalf of Mary Horneck. He knew his own nature so - imperfectly that he thought if he were to engage in a duel with Captain - Jackson and disarm him he would not hesitate to run him through a vital - part. - </p> - <p> - He returned to his chambers and found awaiting him a number of papers - containing some flattering notices of his comedy, and lampoons upon Colman - for his persistent ill treatment of the play. In fact, the topic of the - town was Colman's want of judgment in regard to this matter, and so - strongly did the critics and lampooners, malicious as well as genial, - express themselves, that the manager found life in London unbearable. He - posted off to Bath, but only to find that his tormentors had taken good - care that his reputation should precede him thither. His chastisement with - whips in London was mild in comparison with his chastisement with - scorpions at Bath; and now Goldsmith found waiting for him a letter from - the unfortunate man imploring the poet to intercede for him, and get the - lampooners to refrain from molesting him further. - </p> - <p> - If Goldsmith had been in a mood to appreciate a triumph he would have - enjoyed reading this letter from the man who had given him so many months - of pain. He was not, however, in such a mood. He looked for his triumph in - another direction. - </p> - <p> - After dressing he went to the Mitre for dinner, and found in the tavern - several of his friends. Cradock had run up from the country, and with him - were Whitefoord and Richard Burke. - </p> - <p> - He was rather chilled at his reception by the party. They were all clearly - ill at ease in his presence for some reason of which he was unaware; and - when he began to talk of the criticisms which his play had received, the - uneasiness of his friends became more apparent. - </p> - <p> - He could stand this unaccountable behaviour no longer, and inquired what - was the reason of their treating him so coldly. - </p> - <p> - “You were talking about me just before I entered,” said he: “I always know - on entering a room if my friends have been talking about me. Now, may I - ask what this admirable party were saying regarding me? Tell it to me in - your own way. I don't charge you to be frank with me. Frankness I hold to - be an excellent cloak for one's real opinion. Tell me all that you can - tell—as simply as you can—without prejudice to your own - reputation for oratory, Richard. What is the matter, sir?” - </p> - <p> - Richard Burke usually was the merriest of the company, and the most - fluent. But now he looked down, and the tone was far from persuasive in - which he said— - </p> - <p> - “You may trust—whatever may be spoken, or written, about you, - Goldsmith—we are your unalterable friends.” - </p> - <p> - “Psha, sir!” cried Goldsmith, “don't I know that already? Were you not all - my friends in my day of adversity, and do you expect me suddenly to - overthrow all my ideas of friendship by assuming that now that I have - bettered my position in the world my friends will be less friendly?” - </p> - <p> - “Goldsmith,” said Steevens, “we received a copy of the <i>London Packet</i> - half an hour before you entered. We were discussing the most infamous - attack that has ever been made upon a distinguished man of letters.” - </p> - <p> - “At the risk of being thought a conceited puppy, sir, I suppose I may - assume that the distinguished man of letters which the article refers to - is none other than myself,” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “It is a foul and scurrilous slander upon you, sir,” said Steevens. “It is - the most contemptible thing ever penned by that scoundrel Kenrick.” - </p> - <p> - “Do not annoy yourselves on my account, gentlemen,” said Goldsmith. “You - know how little I think of anything that Kenrick may write of me. Once I - made him eat his words, and the fit of indigestion that that operation - caused him is still manifest in all he writes about me. I tell you that it - is out of the power of that cur to cause me any inconvenience. Where is - the <i>Packet?</i>” - </p> - <p> - “There is no gain in reading such contemptible stuff,” said Cradock. “Take - my advice, Goldsmith, do not seek to become aware of the precise nature of - that scoundrel's slanders.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, to shirk them would be to suggest that they have the power to sting - me,” replied Goldsmith. “And so, sir, let me have the <i>Packet</i>, and - you shall see me read the article without blenching. I tell you, Mr. - Cradock, no man of letters is deserving of an eulogy who is scared by a - detraction.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, Goldsmith, but one does not examine under a magnifying glass the - garbage that a creature of the kennel flings at one,” said Steevens. - </p> - <p> - “Come, sirs, I insist,” cried Goldsmith. “Why do I waste time with you?” - he added, turning round and going to the door of the room. “I waste time - here when I can read the <i>Packet</i> in the bar.” - </p> - <p> - “Hold, sir,” said Burke. “Here is the thing. If you will read it, you - would do well to read it where you will find a dozen hands stretched forth - to you in affection and sympathy. Oliver Goldsmith, this is the paper and - here are our hands. We look on you as the greatest of English writers—the - truest of English poets—the best of Englishmen.” - </p> - <p> - “You overwhelm me, sir. After this, what does it matter if Kenrick flings - himself upon me?” - </p> - <p> - He took the <i>Packet</i>. It opened automatically, where an imaginary - letter to himself, signed “Tom Tickle,” appeared. - </p> - <p> - He held it up to the light; a smile was at first on his features; he had - nerved himself to the ordeal. His friends would not find that he shrank - from it—he even smiled, after a manner, as he read the thing—but - suddenly his jaw fell, his face became pale. In another second he had - crushed the paper between his hands. He crushed it and tore it, and then - flung it on the floor and trampled on it. He walked to and fro in the room - with bent head. Then he did a strange thing: he removed his sword and - placed it in a corner, as if he were going to dine, and, without a word to - any of his friends, left the room, carrying with him his cane only. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVII. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">K</span>enrick's article - in the <i>London Packet</i> remains to this day as the vilest example of - scurrility published under the form of criticism. All the venom that can - be engendered by envy and malice appears in every line of it. It contains - no suggestion of literary criticism; it contains no clever phrase. It is - the shriek of a vulgar wretch dominated by the demon of jealousy. The note - of the Gadarene herd sounds through it, strident and strenuous. It exists - as the worst outcome of the period when every garret scribbler emulated - “Junius,” both as regards style and method, but only succeeded in - producing the shriek of a wildcat, instead of the thunder of the unknown - master of vituperation. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith read the first part of the scurrility without feeling hurt; but - when he came to that vile passage—“For hours the <i>great</i> - Goldsmith will stand arranging his grotesque orangoutang figure before a - pier-glass. Was but the lovely H———k as much enamoured, - you would not sigh, my gentle swain”—his hands tore the paper in - fury. - </p> - <p> - He had received abuse in the past without being affected by it. He did not - know much about natural history, but he knew enough to make him aware of - the fact that the skunk tribe cannot change their nature. He did not mind - any attack that might be made upon himself; but to have the name that he - most cherished of all names associated with his in an insult that seemed - to him diabolical in the manner of its delivery, was more than he could - bear. He felt as if a foul creature had crept behind him and had struck - from thence the one who had been kindest to him of all the people in the - world. - </p> - <p> - There was the horrible thing printed for all eyes in the town to read. - There was the thing that had in a moment raised a barrier between him and - the girl who was all in all to him. How could he look Mary Horneck in the - face again? How could he ever meet any member of the family to whom he had - been the means of causing so much pain as the Hornecks would undoubtedly - feel when they read that vile thing? He felt that he himself was to blame - for the appearance of that insult upon the girl. He felt that if the - attack had not been made upon him she would certainly have escaped. Yes, - that blow had been struck by a hand that stretched over him to her. - </p> - <p> - His first impulse had sent his hand to his sword. He had shown himself - upon several occasions to be a brave man; but instead of drawing his sword - he had taken it off and had placed it out of the reach of his hands. - </p> - <p> - And this was the man who, a few hours earlier in the day, had been - assuming that if a certain man were in his power he would not shrink from - running him through the body with his sword. - </p> - <p> - On leaving the Mitre he did not seek any one with whom he might take - counsel as to what course it would be wise for him to pursue. He knew that - he had adopted a wise course when he had placed his sword in a corner; he - felt he did not require any further counsel. His mind was made up as to - what he should do, and all that he now feared was that some circumstance - might prevent his realising his intention. - </p> - <p> - He grasped his cane firmly, and walked excitedly to the shop of Evans, the - publisher of the <i>London Packet</i>. He arrived almost breathless at the - place—it was in Little Queen street—and entered the shop - demanding to see Kenrick, who, he knew was employed on the premises. - Evans, the publisher, being in a room the door of which was open, and - hearing a stranger's voice speaking in a high tone, came out to the shop. - Goldsmith met him, asking to see Kenrick; and Evans denied that he was in - the house. - </p> - <p> - “I require you to tell me if Kenrick is the writer of that article upon me - which appeared in the <i>Packet</i> of to-day. My name is Goldsmith!” said - the visitor. - </p> - <p> - The shopkeeper smiled. - </p> - <p> - “Does anything appear about you in the <i>Packet</i>, sir?” he said, - over-emphasising the tone of complete ignorance and inquiry. - </p> - <p> - “You are the publisher of the foul thing, you rascal!” cried Goldsmith, - stung by the supercilious smile of the man; “you are the publisher of this - gross outrage upon an innocent lady, and, as the ruffian who wrote it - struck at her through me, so I strike at him through you.” - </p> - <p> - He rushed at the man, seized him by the throat, and struck at him with his - cane. The bookseller shouted for help while he struggled with his - opponent, and Kenrick himself, who had been within the shelter of a small - wooden-partitioned office from the moment of Goldsmith's entrance, and - had, consequently, overheard every word of the recrimination and all the - noise of the scuffle that followed, ran to the help of his paymaster. It - was quite in keeping with his cowardly nature to hold back from the cane - of Evans's assailant. He did so, and, looking round for a missile to fling - at Goldsmith, he caught up a heavy lamp that stood on a table and hurled - it at his enemy's head. Missing this mark, however, it struck Evans on the - chest and knocked him down, Goldsmith falling over him. This Kenrick - perceived to be his chance. He lifted one of the small shop chairs and - rushed forward to brain the man whom he had libelled; but, before he could - carry out his purpose, a man ran into the shop from the street, and, - flinging him and the chair into a corner, caught Goldsmith, who had risen, - by the shoulder and hurried him into a hackney-coach, which drove away. - </p> - <p> - The man was Captain Higgins. When Goldsmith had failed to return to the - room in the Mitre where he had left his sword, his friends became uneasy - regarding him, and Higgins, suspecting his purpose in leaving the tavern, - had hastened to Evans's, hoping to be in time to prevent the assault which - he felt certain Goldsmith intended to commit upon the person of Kenrick. - </p> - <p> - He ordered the coachman to drive to the Temple, and took advantage of the - occasion to lecture the excited man upon the impropriety of his conduct. A - lecture on the disgrace attached to a public fight, when delivered in a - broad Irish brogue, can rarely be effective, and Captain Higgins's counsel - of peace only called for Goldsmith's ridicule. - </p> - <p> - “Don't tell me what I ought to have done or what I ought to have abstained - from doing,” cried the still breathless man. “I did what my manhood - prompted me to do, and that is just what you would have done yourself, my - friend. God knows I didn't mean to harm Evans—it was that reptile - Kenrick whom I meant to flail; but when Evans undertook to shelter him, - what was left to me, I ask you, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “You were a fool, Oliver,” said his countryman; “you made a great mistake. - Can't you see that you should never go about such things single-handed? - You should have brought with you a full-sized friend who would not - hesitate to use his fists in the interests of fair play. Why the devil, - sir, didn't you give me a hint of what was on your mind when you left the - tavern?” - </p> - <p> - “Because I didn't know myself what was on my mind,” replied Goldsmith. - “And, besides,” he added, “I'm not the man to carry bruisers about with me - to engage in my quarrels. I don't regret what I have done to-day. I have - taught the reptiles a lesson, even though I have to pay for it. Kenrick - won't attack me again so long as I am alive.” - </p> - <p> - He was right. It was when he was lying in his coffin, yet unburied, that - Kenrick made his next attack upon him in that scurrility of phrase of - which he was a master. - </p> - <p> - When this curious exponent of the advantages of peace had left him at - Brick Court, and his few incidental bruises were attended to by John - Eyles, poor Oliver's despondency returned to him. He did not feel very - like one who has got the better of another in a quarrel, though he knew - that he had done all that he said he had done: he had taught his enemies a - lesson. - </p> - <p> - But then he began to think about Mary Horneck, who had been so grossly - insulted simply because of her kindness to him. He felt that if she had - been less gracious to him—if she had treated him as Mrs. Thrale, for - example, had been accustomed to treat him—regarding him and his - defects merely as excuses for displaying her own wit, she would have - escaped all mention by Kenrick. Yes, he still felt that he was the cause - of her being insulted, and he would never forgive himself for it. - </p> - <p> - But what did it matter whether he forgave himself or not? It was the - forgiveness of Mary Horneck and her friends that he had good reason to - think about. - </p> - <p> - The longer he considered this point the more convinced he became that he - had forfeited forever the friendship which he had enjoyed for several - years, and which had been a dear consolation to him in his hours of - despondency. A barrier had been raised between himself and the Hornecks - that could not be surmounted. - </p> - <p> - He sat down at his desk and wrote a letter to Mary, asking her forgiveness - for the insult for which he said he felt himself to be responsible. He - could not, he added, expect that in the future it would be allowed to him - to remain on the same terms of intimacy with her and her family as had - been permitted to him in the past. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly he recollected the unknown trouble which had been upon the girl - when he had last seen her. She was not yet free from that secret sorrow - which he had hoped it might be in his power to dispel. He and he only had - seen Captain Jackson speaking to her in the green room at Covent Garden, - and he only had good reason to believe that her sorrow had originated with - that man. Under these circumstances he asked himself if he was justified - in leaving her to fight her battle alone. She had not asked him to be her - champion, and he felt that if she had done so, it was a very poor champion - that he would have made; but still he knew more of her grief than any one - else, and he believed he might be able to help her. - </p> - <p> - He tore up the letter which he had written to her. - </p> - <p> - “I will not leave her,” he cried. “Whatever may happen—whatever - blame people who do not understand may say I have earned, I will not leave - her until she has been freed from whatever distress she is in.” - </p> - <p> - He had scarcely seated himself when his servant announced Captain Horneck. - </p> - <p> - For an instant Goldsmith was in trepidation. Mary Horneck's brother had no - reason to visit him except as he himself had visited Evans and Kenrick. - But with the sound of Captain Horneck's voice his trepidation passed away. - </p> - <p> - “Ha, my little hero!” Horneck cried before he had quite crossed the - threshold. “What is this that is the talk of the town? Good Lord! what are - things coming to when the men of letters have taken to beating the - booksellers?” - </p> - <p> - “You have heard of it?” said Oliver. “You have heard of the quarrel, but - you cannot have heard of the reason for it!” - </p> - <p> - “What, there is something behind the <i>London Packet</i>, after all?” - cried Captain Horneck. - </p> - <p> - “Something behind it—something behind that slander—the mention - of your sister's name, sir? What should be behind it, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “My dear old Nolly, do you fancy that the friendship which exists between - my family and you is too weak to withstand such a strain as this—a - strain put upon it by a vulgar scoundrel, whose malice so far as you are - concerned is as well known as his envy of your success?” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith stared at him for some moments and then at the hand which he was - holding out. He seemed to be making an effort to speak, but the words - never came. Suddenly he caught Captain Horneck's hand in both of his own, - and held it for a moment; but then, quite overcome, he dropped it, and - burying his face in his hands he burst into tears. - </p> - <p> - Horneck watched him for some time, and was himself almost equally - affected. - </p> - <p> - “Come, come, old friend,” he said at last, placing his hand affectionately - on Goldsmith's shoulder. “Come, come; this will not do. There is nothing - to be so concerned about. What, man! are you so little aware of your own - position in the world as to fancy that the Horneck family regard your - friendship for them otherwise than an honour? Good heavens, Dr. Goldsmith, - don't you perceive that we are making a bold bid for immortality through - our names being associated with yours? Who in a hundred years—in - fifty years—would know anything of the Horneck family if it were not - for their association with you? The name of Oliver Goldsmith will live so - long as there is life in English letters, and when your name is spoken the - name of your friends the Hornecks will not be forgotten.” - </p> - <p> - He tried to comfort his unhappy friend, but though he remained at his - chambers for half an hour, he got no word from Oliver Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVIII. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he next day the - news of the prompt and vigorous action taken by Goldsmith in respect of - the scurrility of Kenrick had spread round the literary circle of which - Johnson was the centre, and the general feeling was one of regret that - Kenrick had not received the beating instead of Evans. Of course, Johnson, - who had threatened two writers with an oak stick, shook his head—and - his body as well—in grave disapproval of Goldsmith's use of his - cane; but Reynolds, Garrick and the two Burkes were of the opinion that a - cane had never been more appropriately used. - </p> - <p> - What Colman's attitude was in regard to the man who had put thousands of - pounds into his pocket may be gathered from the fact that, shortly - afterwards, he accepted and produced a play of Kenrick's at his theatre, - which was more decisively damned than any play ever produced under - Colman's management. - </p> - <p> - Of course, the act of an author in resenting the scurrility of a man who - had delivered his stab under the cloak of criticism, called for a howl of - indignation from the scores of hacks who existed at that period—some - in the pay of the government others of the opposition—solely by - stabbing men of reputation; for the literary cut-throat, in the person of - the professional libeller-critic, and the literary cut-purse, in the form - of the professional blackmailer, followed as well as preceded Junius. - </p> - <p> - The howl went up that the liberty of the press was in danger, and the - public, who took then, as they do now, but the most languid interest in - the quarrels of literature, were forced to become the unwilling audience. - When, however, Goldsmith published his letter in the <i>Daily Advertiser</i>—surely - the manliest manifesto ever printed—the howls became attenuated, and - shortly afterwards died away. It was admitted, even by Dr. Johnson—and - so emphatically, too, that his biographer could not avoid recording his - judgment—that Goldsmith had increased his reputation by the - incident. - </p> - <p> - (Boswell paid Goldsmith the highest compliment in his power on account of - this letter, for he fancied that it had been written by Johnson, and - received another rebuke from the latter to gloat over.) - </p> - <p> - For some days Goldsmith had many visitors at his chambers, including - Baretti, who remarked that he took it for granted that he need not now - search for the fencingmaster, as his quarrel was over. Goldsmith allowed - him to go away under the impression that he had foreseen the quarrel when - he had consulted him regarding the fencingmaster. - </p> - <p> - But at the end of a week, when Evans had been conciliated by the friends - of his assailant, Goldsmith, on returning to his chambers one afternoon, - found Johnson gravely awaiting his arrival. His hearty welcome was not - responded to quite so heartily by his visitor. - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Goldsmith,” said Johnson, after he had made some of those grotesque - movements with which his judicial utterances were invariably accompanied—“Dr. - Goldsmith, we have been friends for a good many years, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “That fact constitutes one of my pleasantest reflections, sir,” said - Goldsmith. He spoke with some measure of hesitancy, for he had a feeling - that his friend had come to him with a reproof. He had expected him to - come rather sooner. - </p> - <p> - “If our friendship was not such as it is, I would not have come to you - to-day, sir, to tell you that you have been a fool,” said Johnson. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” said Goldsmith, “you were right in assuming that you could say - nothing to me that would offend me; I know that I have been a fool—at - many times—in many ways.” - </p> - <p> - “I suspected that you were a fool before I set out to come hither, sir, - and since I entered this room I have convinced myself of the accuracy of - my suspicion.” - </p> - <p> - “If a man suspects that I am a fool before seeing me, sir, what will he do - after having seen me?” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Goldsmith,” resumed Johnson, “it was, believe me, sir, a great pain - to me to find, as I did in this room—on that desk—such - evidence of your folly as left no doubt on my mind in this matter.” - </p> - <p> - “What do you mean, sir? My folly—evidence—on that desk? Ah, I - know now what you mean. Yes, poor Filby's bill for my last coats and I - suppose for a few others that have long ago been worn threadbare. Alas, - sir, who could resist Filby's flatteries?” - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” said Johnson, “you gave me permission several years ago to read any - manuscript of yours in prose or verse at which you were engaged.” - </p> - <p> - “And the result of your so honouring me, Dr. Johnson, has invariably been - advantageous to my work. What, sir, have I ever failed in respect for your - criticisms? Have I ever failed to make a change that you suggested?” - </p> - <p> - “It was in consideration of that permission, Dr. Goldsmith, that while - waiting for you here to-day, I read several pages in your handwriting,” - said Johnson sternly. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith glanced at his desk. - </p> - <p> - “I forget now what work was last under my hand,” said he; “but whatever it - was, sir——” - </p> - <p> - “I have it here, sir,” said Johnson, and Goldsmith for the first time - noticed that he held in one of his hands a roll of manuscript. Johnson - laid it solemnly on the table, and in a moment Goldsmith perceived that it - consisted of a number of the poems which he had written to the Jessamy - Bride, but which he had not dared to send to her. He had had them before - him on the desk that day while he asked himself what would be the result - of sending them to her. - </p> - <p> - He was considerably disturbed when he discovered what it was that his - friend had been reading in his absence, and his attempt to treat the - matter lightly only made his confusion appear the greater. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, those verses, sir,” he stammered; “they are poor things. You will, I - fear, find them too obviously defective to merit criticism; they resemble - my oldest coat, sir, which I designed to have repaired for my man, but - Filby returned it with the remark that it was not worth the cost of - repairing. If you were to become a critic of those trifles——” - </p> - <p> - “They are trifles, Goldsmith, for they represent the trifling of a man of - determination with his own future—with his own happiness and the - happiness of others.” - </p> - <p> - “I protest, sir, I scarcely understand——” - </p> - <p> - “Your confusion, sir, shows that you do understand.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir, you do not suppose that the lines which a poet writes in the - character of a lover should be accepted as damning evidence that his own - heart speaks.” - </p> - <p> - “Goldsmith, I am not the man to be deceived by any literary work that may - come under my notice. I have read those verses of yours; sir, your heart - throbs in every line.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir, you would make me believe that my poor attempts to realise the - feelings of one who has experienced the tender passion are more happy than - I fancied.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir, this dissimulation is unworthy of you.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir, I protest that I—that is—no, I shall protest nothing. - You have spoken the truth, sir; any dissimulation is unworthy of me. I - wrote those verses out of my own heart—God knows if they are the - first that came from my heart—I own it, sir. Why should I be ashamed - to own it?” - </p> - <p> - “My poor friend, you have been Fortune's plaything all your life; but I - did not think that she was reserving such a blow as this for you.” - </p> - <p> - “A blow, sir? Nay, I cannot regard as a blow that which has been the - sweetest—the only consolation of a life that has known but few - consolations.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir, this will not do. A man has the right to make himself as miserable - as he pleases, but he has no right to make others miserable. Dr. - Goldsmith, you have ill-repaid the friendship which Miss Horneck and her - family have extended to you.” - </p> - <p> - “I have done nothing for which my conscience reproaches me, Dr. Johnson. - What, sir, if I have ventured to love that lady whose name had better - remain unspoken by either of us—what if I do love her? Where is the - indignity that I do either to her or to the sentiment of friendship? Does - one offer an indignity to friendship by loving?” - </p> - <p> - “My poor friend, you are laying up a future of misery for yourself—yes, - and for her too; for she has a kind heart, and if she should come to know—and, - indeed, I think she must—that she has been the cause, even though - the unwilling cause, of suffering on the part of another, she will not be - free from unhappiness.” - </p> - <p> - “She need not know, she need not know. I have been a bearer of burdens all - my life. I will assume without repining this new burden.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir, if I know your character—and I believe I have known it - for some years—you will cast that burden away from you. Life, my - dear friend, you and I have found to be not a meadow wherein to sport, but - a battle field. We have been in the struggle, you and I, and we have not - come out of it unscathed. Come, sir, face boldly this new enemy, and put - it to flight before it prove your ruin.” - </p> - <p> - “Enemy, you call it, sir? You call that which gives everything there is of - beauty—everything there is of sweetness—in the life of man—you - call it our enemy?” - </p> - <p> - “I call it <i>your</i> enemy, Goldsmith.” - </p> - <p> - “Why mine only? What is there about me that makes me different from other - men? Why should a poet be looked upon as one who is shut out for evermore - from all the tenderness, all the grace of life, when he has proved to the - world that he is most capable of all mankind of appreciating tenderness - and grace? What trick of nature is this? What paradox for men to vex their - souls over? Is the poet to stand aloof from men, evermore looking on - happiness through another man's eyes? If you answer 'yes,' then I say that - men who are not poets should go down on their knees and thank Heaven that - they are not poets. Happy it is for mankind that Heaven has laid on few - men the curse of being poets. For myself, I feel that I would rather be a - man for an hour than a poet for all time.” - </p> - <p> - “Come, sir, let us not waste our time railing against Heaven. Let us look - at this matter as it stands at present. You have been unfortunate enough - to conceive a passion for a lady whose family could never be brought to - think of you seriously as a lover. You have been foolish enough to regard - their kindness to you—their acceptance of you as a friend—as - encouragement in your mad aspirations.” - </p> - <p> - “You have no right to speak so authoritatively, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “I have the right as your oldest friend, Goldsmith; and you know I speak - only what is true. Does your own conscience, your own intelligence, sir, - not tell you that the lady's family would regard her acceptance of you as - a lover in the light of the greatest misfortune possible to happen to her? - Answer me that question, sir.” - </p> - <p> - But Goldsmith made no attempt to speak. He only buried his face in his - hands, resting his elbows on the table at which he sat. - </p> - <p> - “You cannot deny what you know to be a fact, sir,” resumed Johnson. “I - will not humiliate you by suggesting that the young lady herself would - only be moved to laughter were you to make serious advances to her; but I - ask you if you think her family would not regard such an attitude on your - side as ridiculous—nay, worse—a gross affront.” - </p> - <p> - Still Goldsmith remained silent, and after a short pause his visitor - resumed his discourse. - </p> - <p> - “The question that remains for you to answer is this, sir: Are you - desirous of humiliating yourself in the eyes of your best friends, and of - forfeiting their friendship for you, by persisting in your infatuation?” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith started up. - </p> - <p> - “Say no more, sir; for God's sake, say no more,” he cried almost - piteously. “Am I, do you fancy, as great a fool as Pope, who did not - hesitate to declare himself to Lady Mary? Sir, I have done nothing that - the most honourable of men would shrink from doing. There are the verses - which I wrote—I could not help writing them—but she does not - know that they were ever written. Dr. Johnson, she shall never hear it - from me. My history, sir, shall be that of the hopeless lover—a - blank—a blank.” - </p> - <p> - “My poor friend,” said Johnson after a pause—he had laid his hand - upon the shoulder of his friend as he seated himself once more at the - table—“My poor friend, Providence puts into our hands many cups - which are bitter to the taste, but cannot be turned away from. You and I - have drank of bitter cups before now, and perhaps we may have to drink of - others before we die. To be a man is to suffer; to be a poet means to have - double the capacity of men to suffer. You have shown yourself before now - worthy of the admiration of all good men by the way you have faced life, - by your independence of the patronage of the great. You dedicated 'The - Traveller' to your brother, and your last comedy to me. You did not - hesitate to turn away from your door the man who came to offer you money - for the prostitution of the talents which God has given you. Dr. - Goldsmith, you have my respect—you have the respect of every good - man. I came to you to-day that you may disappoint those of your detractors - who are waiting for you to be guilty of an act that would give them an - opportunity of pointing a finger of malice at you. You will not do - anything but that which will reflect honour upon yourself, and show all - those who are your friends that their friendship for you is well founded. - I am assured that I can trust you, sir.” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith took the hand that he offered, but said no word. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIX. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen his visitor - had gone Goldsmith seated himself in his chair and gave way to the bitter - reflections of the hour. - </p> - <p> - He knew that the end of his dream had come. The straightforward words - which Johnson had spoken had put an end to his self-deception—to his - hoping against his better judgment that by some miracle his devotion might - be rewarded. If any man was calculated to be a disperser of vain dreams - that man was Johnson. In the very brutality of his straightforwardness - there was, however, a suspicion of kindliness that made any appeal from - his judgment hopeless. There was no timidity in the utterances of his - phrases when forcing his contentions upon any audience; but Goldsmith knew - that he only spoke strongly because he felt strongly. - </p> - <p> - Times without number he had said to himself precisely what Dr. Johnson had - said to him. If Mary Horneck herself ever went so far as to mistake the - sympathy which she had for him for that affection which alone would - content him, how could he approach her family? Her sister had married - Bunbury, a man of position and wealth, with a country house and a town - house—a man of her own age, and with the possibility of inheriting - his father's baronetcy. Her brother was about to marry a daughter of Lord - Albemarle's. What would these people say if he, Oliver Goldsmith, were to - present himself as a suitor for the hand of Mary Horneck? - </p> - <p> - It did not require Dr. Johnson to speak such forcible words in his hearing - to enable him to perceive how ridiculous were his pretensions. The tragedy - of the poet's life among men and women eager to better their prospects in - the world was fully appreciated by him. It was surely, he felt, the most - cruel of all the cruelties of destiny, that the men who make music of the - passions of men—who have surrounded the passion of love with a - glorifying halo—should be doomed to spend their lives looking on at - the success of ordinary men in their loves by the aid of the music which - the poets have created. That is the poet's tragedy of life, and Goldsmith - had often found himself face to face with it, feeling himself to be one of - those with whom destiny is only on jesting terms. - </p> - <p> - Because he was a poet he could not love any less beautiful creature than - Mary Hor-neck, any less gracious, less sweet, less pure, and yet he knew - that if he were to go to her with those poems in his hand which he only of - all living men could write, telling her that they might plead his cause, - he would be regarded—and rightly, too—as both presumptuous and - ridiculous. - </p> - <p> - He thought of the loneliness of his life. Was it the lot of the man of - letters to remain in loneliness while the people around him were taking to - themselves wives and begetting sons and daughters? Had he nothing to look - forward to but the laurel wreath? Was it taken for granted that a - contemplation of its shrivelling leaves would more than compensate the - poet for the loss of home—the grateful companionship of a wife—the - babble of children—all that his fellow-men associated with the - gladness and glory of life? - </p> - <p> - He knew that he had reached a position in the world of letters that was - surpassed by no living man in England. He had often dreamed of reaching - such a place, and to reach it he had undergone privation—he had - sacrificed the best years of his life. And what did his consciousness of - having attained his end bring with it? It brought to him the snarl of - envy, the howl of hatred, the mock of malice. The air was full of these - sounds; they dinned in his ears and overcame the sounds of the approval of - his friends. - </p> - <p> - And it was for this he had sacrificed so much? So much? Everything. He had - sacrificed his life. The one joy that had consoled him for all his ills - during the past few years had departed from him. He would never see Mary - Horneck again. To see her again would only be to increase the burden of - his humiliation. His resolution was formed and he would abide by it. - </p> - <p> - He rose to his feet and picked up the roll of poems. In sign of his - resolution he would burn them. He would, with them, reduce to ashes the - one consolation of his life. - </p> - <p> - In the small grate the remains of a fire were still glowing. He knelt down - and blew the spark into a blaze. He was about to thrust the manuscript - into it between the bars when the light that it made fell upon one of the - lines. He had not the heart to burn the leaf until he had read the - remaining lines of the couplet; and when at last, with a sigh, he hastily - thrust the roll of papers between the bars, the little blaze had fallen - again to a mere smouldering spark. Before he could raise it by a breath or - two, his servant entered the room. He started to his feet. - </p> - <p> - “A letter for you, sir,” said John Eyles. “It came by a messenger lad.” - </p> - <p> - “Fetch a candle, John,” said Goldsmith, taking the letter. It was too dark - for him to see the handwriting, but he put the tip of his finger on the - seal and became aware that it was Mary Horneck's. - </p> - <p> - By the light of the candle he broke the seal, and read the few lines that - the letter contained— - </p> - <p> - <i>Come to me, my dear friend, without delay, for heaven's sake. Your ear - only can hear what I have to tell. You may be able to help me, but if not, - then. . . . Oh, come to me to-night. Your unhappy Jessamy Bride.</i> - </p> - <p> - He did not delay an instant. He caught up his hat and left his chambers. - He did not even think of the resolution to which he had just come, never - to see Mary Horneck again. All his thoughts were lost in the one thought - that he was about to stand face to face with her. - </p> - <p> - He stood face to face with her in less than half an hour. She was in the - small drawing-room where he had seen her on the day after the production - of “She Stoops to Conquer.” Only a few wax candles were lighted in the - cut-glass sconces that were placed in the centre of the panels of the - walls. Their light was, however, sufficient to make visible the contrast - between the laughing face of the girl in Reynolds's picture of her and her - sister which hung on the wall, and the sad face of the girl who put her - hand into his as he was shown in by the servant. - </p> - <p> - “I knew you would come,” she said. “I knew that I could trust you.” - </p> - <p> - “You may trust me, indeed,” he said. He held her hand in his own, looking - into her pale face and sunken eyes. “I knew the time would come when you - would tell me all that there is to be told,” he continued. “Whether I can - help you or not, you will find yourself better for having told me.” - </p> - <p> - She seated herself on the sofa, and he took his place beside her. There - was a silence of a minute or two, before she suddenly started up, and, - after walking up and down the room nervously, stopped at the mantelpiece, - leaning her head against the high slab, and looking into the smouldering - fire in the grate. - </p> - <p> - He watched her, but did not attempt to express the pity that filled his - heart. - </p> - <p> - “What am I to tell you—what am I to tell you?” she cried at last, - resuming her pacing of the floor. - </p> - <p> - He made no reply, but sat there following her movements with his eyes. She - went beside him, and stood, with nervously clasped hands, looking with - vacant eyes at the group of wax candles that burned in one of the sconces. - Once again she turned away with a little cry, but then with a great effort - she controlled herself, and her voice was almost tranquil when she spoke, - seating herself. - </p> - <p> - “You were with me at the Pantheon, and saw me when I caught sight of that - man,” she said. “You alone were observant. Did you also see him call me to - his side in the green room at the playhouse?” - </p> - <p> - “I saw you in the act of speaking to him there—he calls himself - Jackson—Captain Jackson,” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “You saved me from him once!” she cried. “You saved me from becoming his—body - and soul.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” he said; “I have not yet saved you, but God is good; He may enable - me to do so.” - </p> - <p> - “I tell you if it had not been for you—for the book which you wrote, - I should be to-day a miserable castaway.” - </p> - <p> - He looked puzzled. - </p> - <p> - “I cannot quite understand,” said he. “I gave you a copy of 'The Vicar of - Wakefield' when you were going to Devonshire a year ago. You were - complaining that your sister had taken away with her the copy which I had - presented to your mother, so that you had not an opportunity of reading - it.” - </p> - <p> - “It was that which saved me,” she cried. “Oh, what fools girls are! They - are carried away by such devices as should not impose upon the merest - child! Why are we not taught from our childhood of the baseness of men—some - men—so that we can be on our guard when we are on the verge of - womanhood? If we are to live in the world why should we not be told all - that we should guard against?” - </p> - <p> - She laid her head down on the arm of the sofa, sobbing. - </p> - <p> - He put his hand gently upon her hair, saying— - </p> - <p> - “I cannot believe anything but what is good regarding you, my sweet - Jessamy Bride.” - </p> - <p> - She raised her head quickly and looked at him through her tears. - </p> - <p> - “Then you will err,” she said. “You will have to think ill of me. Thank - God you saved me from the worst, but it was not in your power to save me - from all—to save me from myself. Listen to me, my best friend. When - I was in Devonshire last year I met that man. He was staying in the - village, pretending that he was recovering from a wound which he had - received in our colonies in America. He was looked on as a hero and feted - in all directions. Every girl for miles around was in love with him, and I—innocent - fool that I was—considered myself the most favoured creature in the - world because he made love to me. Any day we failed to meet I wrote him a - letter—a foolish letter such as a school miss might write—full - of protestations of undying affection. I sometimes wrote two of these - letters in the day. More than a month passed in this foolishness, and then - it came to my uncle's ears that we had meetings. He forbade my continuing - to see a man of whom no one knew anything definite, but about whom he was - having strict inquiries made. I wrote to the man to this effect, and I - received a reply persuading me to have one more meeting with him. I was so - infatuated that I met him secretly, and then in impassioned strains he - implored me to make a runaway match with him. He said he had enemies. When - he had been fighting the King's battles against the rebels these enemies - had been active, and he feared that their malice would come between us, - and he should lose me. I was so carried away by his pleading that I - consented to leave my uncle's house by his side.” - </p> - <p> - “But you cannot have done so.” - </p> - <p> - “You saved me,” she cried. “I had been reading your book, and, by God's - mercy, on the very day before that on which I had promised to go to him I - came to the story of poor Olivia's flight and its consequences. With the - suddenness of a revelation from heaven I perceived the truth. The scales - fell from my eyes as they fell from St. Paul's on the way to Damascus, - only where he perceived the heaven I saw the hell that awaited me. I knew - that that man was endeavouring to encompass my ruin, and in a single hour—thanks - to the genius that wrote that book—my love for that man, or what I - fancied was love, was turned to loathing. I did not meet him. I returned - to him, without a word of comment, a letter he wrote to me reproaching me - for disappointing him; and the very next day my uncle's suspicions - regarding him were confirmed. His inquiries resulted in proof positive of - the ruffianism of the fellow who called himself Captain Jackson, He had - left the army in America with a stain on his character, and it was known - that since his return to England at least two young women had been led - into the trap which he laid for me.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank God you were saved, my child,” said Goldsmith, as she paused, - overcome with emotion. “But being saved, my dear, you have no further - reason to fear that man.” - </p> - <p> - “That was my belief, too,” said she. “But alas! it was a delusion. So soon - as he found out that I had escaped from him, he showed himself in his true - colours. He wrote threatening to send the letters which I had been foolish - enough to write to him, to my friends—he was even scoundrel enough - to point out that I had in my innocence written certain passages which - were susceptible of being interpreted as evidence of guilt—nay, his - letter in which he did so took it for granted that I had been guilty, so - that I could not show it as evidence of his falsehood. What was left for - me to do? I wrote to him imploring him to return to me those letters. I - asked him how he could think it consistent with his honour to retain them - and to hold such an infamous threat over my head. Alas! he soon gave me to - understand that I had but placed myself more deeply in his power.” - </p> - <p> - “The scoundrel!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! scoundrel! I made an excuse for coming back to London, though I had - meant to stay in Devonshire until the end of the year.” - </p> - <p> - “And 'twas then you thanked me for the book.” - </p> - <p> - “I had good reason to do so. For some months I was happy, believing that I - had escaped from my persecutor. How happy we were when in France together! - But then—ah! you know the rest. My distress is killing me—I - cannot sleep at night. I start a dozen times a day; every time the bell - rings I am in trepidation.” - </p> - <p> - “Great Heaven! Is 't possible that you are miserable solely on this - account?” cried Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Is there not sufficient reason for my misery?” she asked. “What did he - say to me that night in the green room? He told me that he would give me a - fortnight to accede to his demands; if I failed he swore to print my - letters in full, introducing my name so that every one should know who had - written them.” - </p> - <p> - “And his terms?” asked Goldsmith in a whisper. - </p> - <p> - “His terms? I cannot tell you—I cannot tell you. The very thought - that I placed myself in such a position as made it possible for me to have - such an insult offered to me makes me long for death.” - </p> - <p> - “By God! 'tis he who need to prepare for death!” cried Goldsmith, “for I - shall kill him, even though the act be called murder.” - </p> - <p> - “No—no!” she said, laying a hand upon his arm. “No friend of mine - must suffer for my folly. I dare not speak a word of this to my brother - for fear of the consequences. That wretch boasted to me of having laid his - plans so carefully that, if any harm were to come to him, the letters - would still be printed. He said he had heard of my friends, and declared - that if he were approached by any of them nothing should save me from - being made the talk of the town. I was terrified by the threat, but I - determined to-day to tell you my pitiful story in the hope—the - forlorn hope—that you might be able to help me. Tell me—tell - me, my dear friend, if you can see any chance of escape for me except that - of which poor Olivia sang: 'The only way her guilt to cover.'” - </p> - <p> - “Guilt? Who talks of guilt?” said he. “Oh, my poor innocent child, I knew - that whatever your grief might be there was nothing to be thought of you - except what was good. I am not one to say even that you acted foolishly; - you only acted innocently. You, in the guilelessness of your own pure - heart could not believe that a man could be worse than any monster. Dear - child, I pray of you to bear up for a short time against this stroke of - fate, and I promise you that I shall discover a way of escape for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, it is easy to say those words 'bear up.' I have said them to myself a - score of times within the week. You cannot now perceive in what direction - lies my hope of escape?” - </p> - <p> - He shook his head, but not without a smile on his face, as he said— - </p> - <p> - “'Tis easy enough for one who has composed so much fiction as I have to - invent a plan for the rescue of a tortured heroine; but, unhappily, it is - the case that in real life one cannot control circumstances as one can in - a work of the imagination. That is one of the weaknesses of real life, my - dear; things will go on happening in defiance of all the arts of fiction. - But of this I feel certain: Providence does not do things by halves. He - will not make me the means of averting a great disaster from you and then - permit me to stand idly by while you suffer such a calamity as that which - you apprehend just now. Nay, my dear, I feel that as Heaven directed my - pen to write that book in order that you might be saved from the fate of - my poor Livy, I shall be permitted to help you out of your present - difficulty.” - </p> - <p> - “You give me hope,” she said. “Yes—a little hope. But you must - promise me that you will not be tempted to do anything that is rash. I - know how brave you are—my brother told me what prompt action you - took yesterday when that vile slander appeared. But were you not foolish - to place yourself in jeopardy? To strike at a serpent that hisses may only - cause it to spring.” - </p> - <p> - “I feel now that I was foolish,” said he humbly; “I ran the chance of - forfeiting your friendship.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no, it was not so bad as that,” she said. “But in this matter of mine - I perceive clearly that craft and not bravery will prevail to save me, if - I am to be saved. I saw that you provoked a quarrel with that man on the - night when we were leaving the Pantheon; think of it, think what my - feelings would have been if he had killed you! And think also that if you - had killed him I should certainly be lost, for he had made his - arrangements to print the letters by which I should be judged.” - </p> - <p> - “You have spoken truly,” said he. “You are wiser than I have ever been. - But for your sake, my sweet Jessamy Bride, I promise to do nothing that - shall jeopardise your safety. Have no fear, dear one, you shall be saved, - whatever may happen.” - </p> - <p> - He took her hand and kissed it fondly. “You shall be saved,” he repeated. - </p> - <p> - “If not——” said she in a low tone, looking beyond him. - </p> - <p> - “No—no,” he whispered. “I have given you my promise. You must give - me yours. You will do nothing impious.” - </p> - <p> - She gave a wan smile. - </p> - <p> - “I am a girl,” she said. “My courage is as water. I promise you I will - trust you, with all my heart—all my heart.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall not fail you—Heaven shall not fail you,” said he, going to - the door. - </p> - <p> - He looked back at her. What a lovely picture she made, standing in her - white loose gown with its lace collar that seemed to make her face the - more pallid! - </p> - <p> - He bowed at the door. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XX. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e went for supper - to a tavern which he knew would be visited by none of his friends. He had - no wish to share in the drolleries of Garrick as the latter turned Boswell - into ridicule to make sport for the company. He knew that Garrick would be - at the club in Gerrard street, to which he had been elected only a few - days before the production of “She Stoops to Conquer,” and it was not at - all unlikely that on this account the club would be a good deal livelier - than it usually was even when Richard Burke was wittiest. - </p> - <p> - While awaiting the modest fare which he had ordered he picked up one of - the papers published that evening, and found that it contained a fierce - assault upon him for having dared to take the law into his own hands in - attempting to punish the scoundrel who had introduced the name of Miss - Horneck into his libel upon the author of the comedy about which all the - town were talking. - </p> - <p> - The scurrility of his new assailant produced no impression upon him. He - smiled as he read the ungrammatical expression of the indignation which - the writer purported to feel at so gross an infringement of the liberty of - the press as that of which—according to the writer—the - ingenious Dr. Goldsmith was guilty. He did not even fling the paper across - the room. He was not dwelling upon his own grievances. In his mind, the - worst that could happen to him was not worth a moment's thought compared - with the position of the girl whose presence he had just left. - </p> - <p> - He knew perfectly well—had he not good reason to know?—that - the man who had threatened her would keep his threat. He knew of the gross - nature of the libels which were published daily upon not merely the most - notable persons in society, but also upon ordinary private individuals; - and he had a sufficient knowledge of men and women to be aware of the fact - that the grossest scandal upon the most innocent person was more eagerly - read than any of the other contents of the prints of the day. That was one - of the results of the publication of the scurrilities of Junius: the - appetite of the people for such piquant fare was whetted, and there was no - lack of literary cooks to prepare it. Slander was all that the public - demanded. They did not make the brilliancy of Junius one of the conditions - of their acceptance of such compositions—all they required was that - the libel should have a certain amount of piquancy. - </p> - <p> - No one was better aware of this fact than Oliver Goldsmith. He knew that - Kenrick, who had so frequently libelled him, would pay all the money that - he could raise to obtain the letters which the man who called himself - Captain Jackson had in his possession; he also knew that there would be no - difficulty in finding a publisher for them; and as people were always much - more ready to believe evil than good regarding any one—especially a - young girl against whom no suspicion had ever been breathed—the - result of the publication of the letters would mean practically ruin to - the girl who had been innocent enough to write them. - </p> - <p> - Of course, a man of the world, with money at his hand, would have smiled - at the possibility of a question arising as to the attitude to assume in - regard to such a scoundrel as Jackson. He would merely inquire what sum - the fellow required in exchange for the letters. But Goldsmith was in such - matters as innocent as the girl herself. He believed, as she did, that - because the man did not make any monetary claim upon her, he was not - sordid. He was the more inclined to disregard the question of the - possibility of buying the man off, knowing as he did that he should find - it impossible to raise a sufficient sum for the purpose; and he believed, - with Mary Horneck, that to tell her friends how she was situated would be - to forfeit their respect forever. - </p> - <p> - She had told him that only cunning could prevail against her enemy, and he - felt certain that she was right. He would try and be cunning for her sake. - </p> - <p> - He found great difficulty in making a beginning. He remembered how often - in his life, and how easily, he had been imposed upon—how often his - friends had entreated him to acquire this talent, since he had certainly - not been endowed with it by nature. He remembered how upon some occasions - he had endeavoured to take their advice; and he also remembered how, when - he thought he had been extremely shrewd, it turned out that he had never - been more clearly imposed upon. - </p> - <p> - He wondered if it was too late to begin again on a more approved system. - </p> - <p> - He brought his skill as a writer of fiction to bear upon the question - (which maybe taken as evidence that he had not yet begun his career of - shrewdness). - </p> - <p> - How, for instance, would he, if the exigencies of his story required it, - cause Moses Primrose to develop into a man of resources in worldly wisdom? - By what means would he turn Honeywood into a cynical man of the world? - </p> - <p> - He considered these questions at considerable length, and only when he - reached the Temple, returning to his chambers, did he find out that the - waiter at the tavern had given him change for a guinea two shillings - short, and that half-a-crown of the change was made of pewter. He could - not help being amused at his first step towards cunning. He certainly felt - no vexation at being made so easy a victim of—he was accustomed to - that position. - </p> - <p> - When he found that the roll of manuscript which he had thrust between the - bars of the grate remained as he had left it, only slightly charred at the - end which had been the nearer to the hot, though not burning, coals, all - thoughts of guile—all his prospects of shrewdness were cast aside. - He unfolded the pages and read the verses once more. After all, he had no - right to burn them. He felt that they were no longer his property. They - either belonged to the world of literature or to Mary Horneck, as—as - what? As a token of affection which he bore her? But he had promised - Johnson to root out of his heart whatever might remain of that which he - had admitted to be foolishness. - </p> - <p> - Alas! alas! He sat up for hours in his cold rooms thinking, hoping, - dreaming his old dream that a day was coming when he might without - reproach put those verses into the girl's hand—when, learning the - truth, she would understand. - </p> - <p> - And that time did come. - </p> - <p> - In the morning he found himself ready to face the question of how to get - possession of the letters. No man of his imagination could give his - attention to such a matter without having suggested to him many schemes - for the attainment of his object. But in the end he was painfully aware - that he had contrived nothing that did not involve the risk of a criminal - prosecution against himself, and, as a consequence, the discovery of all - that Mary Horneck was anxious to hide. - </p> - <p> - It was not until the afternoon that he came to the conclusion that it - would be unwise for him to trust to his own resources in this particular - affair. After all, he was but a man; it required the craft of a woman to - defeat the wiles of such a demon as he had to deal with. - </p> - <p> - That he knew to be a wise conclusion to come to. But where was the woman - to whom he could go for help? He wanted to find a woman who was accustomed - to the wiles of the devil, and he believed that he should have - considerable difficulty in finding her. - </p> - <p> - He was, of course, wrong. He had not been considering this aspect of the - question for long before he thought of Mrs. Abington, and in a moment he - knew that he had found a woman who could help him if she had a mind to do - so. Her acquaintance with wiles he knew to be large and varied, and he - liked her. - </p> - <p> - He liked her so well that he felt sure she would help him—if he made - it worth her while; and he thought he saw his way to make it worth her - while. - </p> - <p> - He was so convinced he was on the way to success that he became impatient - at the reflection that he could not possibly see Mrs. Abington until the - evening. But while he was in this state his servant announced a visitor—one - with whom he was not familiar, but who gave his name as Colonel Gwyn. - </p> - <p> - Full of surprise, he ordered Colonel Gwyn to be shown into the room. He - recollected having met him at a dinner at the Reynolds's, and once at the - Hornecks' house in Westminster; but why he should pay a visit to Brick - Court Goldsmith was at a loss to know. He, however, greeted Colonel Gwyn - as if he considered it to be one of the most natural occurrences in the - world for him to appear at that particular moment. - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Goldsmith,” said the visitor when he had seated himself, “you have no - doubt every reason to be surprised at my taking the liberty of calling - upon you without first communicating with you.” - </p> - <p> - “Not at all, sir,” said Goldsmith. “'Tis a great compliment you offer to - me. Bear in mind that I am sensible of it, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “You are very kind, sir. Those who have a right to speak on the subject - have frequently referred to you as the most generous of men.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, sir, I perceive that you have been talking with some persons whose - generosity was more noteworthy than their judgment.” - </p> - <p> - And once again he gave an example of the Goldsmith bow which Garrick had - so successfully caricatured. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, if I thought so I would not be here to-day. The fact - is, sir, that I—I—i' faith, sir, I scarce know how to tell you - how it is I appear before you in this fashion.” - </p> - <p> - “You do not need to have an excuse, I do assure you, Colonel Gwyn. You are - a friend of my best friend—Sir Joshua Reynolds.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir, and of other friends, too, I would fain hope. In short, Dr. - Goldsmith, I am here because I know how highly you stand in the esteem of—of—well, - of all the members of the Horneck family.” - </p> - <p> - It was now Goldsmith's turn to stammer. He was so surprised by the way his - visitor introduced the name of the Hor-necks he scarcely knew what reply - to make to him. - </p> - <p> - “I perceive that you are surprised, sir.” said Gwyn. - </p> - <p> - “No, no—not at all—that is—no, not greatly surprised—only—well, - sir, why should you not be a friend of Mrs. Horneck? Her son is like - yourself, a soldier,” stammered Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “I have taken the liberty of calling more than once during the past week - or two upon the Hornecks, Dr. Goldsmith,” said Gwyn; “but upon no occasion - have I been fortunate enough to see Miss Horneck. They told me she was by - no means well.” - </p> - <p> - “And they told you the truth, sir,” said Goldsmith somewhat brusquely. - </p> - <p> - “You know it then? Miss Horneck is really indisposed? Ah! I feared that - they were merely excusing her presence on the ground of illness. I must - confess a headache was not specified.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir, Miss Horneck's relations are not destitute of imagination. But - why should you fancy that you were being deceived by them, Colonel Gwyn?” - </p> - <p> - Colonel Gwyn laughed slightly, not freely. - </p> - <p> - “I thought that the lady herself might think, perhaps, that I was taking a - liberty,” he said somewhat awkwardly. - </p> - <p> - “Why should she think that, Colonel Gwyn?” asked Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Dr. Goldsmith, you see—sir, you are, I know, a favoured - friend of the lady's—I perceived long ago—nay, it is well - known that she regards you with great affection as a—no, not as a - father—no, as—as an elder brother, that is it—yes, as an - elder brother; and therefore I thought that I would venture to intrude - upon you to-day. Sir, to be quite frank with you, I love Miss Horneck, but - I hesitate—as I am sure you could understand that any man must—before - declaring myself to her. Now, it occurred to me, Dr. Goldsmith, that you - might not conceive it to be a gross impertinence on my part if I were to - ask you if you knew of the lady's affections being already engaged. I hope - you will be frank with me, sir.” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith looked with curious eyes at the man before him. Colonel Gwyn was - a well built man of perhaps a year or two over thirty. He sat upright on - his chair—a trifle stiffly, it might be thought by some people, but - that was pardonable in a military man. He was also somewhat inclined to be - pompous in his manners; but any one could perceive that they were the - manners of a gentleman. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith looked earnestly at him. Was that the man who was to take Mary - Horneck away from him? he asked himself. - </p> - <p> - He could not speak for some time after his visitor had spoken. At last he - gave a little start. - </p> - <p> - “You should not have come to me, sir,” he said slowly. - </p> - <p> - “I felt that I was taking a great liberty, sir,” said Gwyn. - </p> - <p> - “On the contrary, sir, I feel that you have honoured me with your - confidence. But—ah, sir, do you fancy that I am the sort of man a - lady would seek for a confidant in any matter concerning her heart?” - </p> - <p> - “I thought it possible that she—Miss Horneck—might have let - you know. You are not as other men, Dr. Goldsmith; you are a poet, and so - she might naturally feel that you would be interested in a love affair. - Poets, all the world knows, sir, have a sort of—well, a sort of - vested interest in the love affairs of humanity, so to speak.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir, that is the decree of Heaven, I suppose, to compensate them for - the emptiness in their own hearts to which they must become accustomed. I - have heard of childless women becoming the nurses to the children of their - happier sisters, and growing as fond of them as if they were their own - offspring. It is on the same principle, I suppose, that poets become - sympathetically interested in the world of lovers, which is quite apart - from the world of letters.” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith spoke slowly, looking his visitor in the face. He had no - difficulty in perceiving that Colonel Gwyn failed to understand the exact - appropriateness of what he had said. Colonel Gwyn himself admitted as - much. - </p> - <p> - “I protest, sir, I scarcely take your meaning,” he said. “But for that - matter, I fear that I was scarcely fortunate enough to make myself quite - plain to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes,” said Goldsmith, “I think I gathered from your words all that - you came hither to learn. Briefly, Colonel Gwyn, you are reluctant to - subject yourself to the humiliation of having your suit rejected by the - lady, and so you have come hither to try and learn from me what are your - chances of success.” - </p> - <p> - “How admirably you put the matter!” said Gwyn. “And I fancied you did not - apprehend the purport of my visit. Well, sir, what chance have I?” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot tell,” said Goldsmith. “Miss Horneck has never told me that she - loved any man.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I have still a chance?” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir; girls do not usually confide the story of their attachments to - their fathers—no, nor to their elder brothers. But if you wish to - consider your chances with any lady, Colonel Gwyn, I would venture to - advise you to go and stand in front of a looking-glass and ask yourself if - you are the manner of man to whom a young lady would be likely to become - attached. Add to the effect of your personality—which I think is - great, sir—the glamour that surrounds the profession in which you - have won distinction, and you will be able to judge for yourself whether - your suit would be likely to be refused by the majority of young ladies.” - </p> - <p> - “You flatter me, Dr. Goldsmith. But, assuming for a moment that there is - some force in your words, I protest that they do not reassure me. Miss - Horneck, sir, is not the lady to be carried away by the considerations - that would prevail in the eyes of others of her sex.” - </p> - <p> - “You have learned something of Miss Horneck, at any rate, Colonel Gwyn.” - </p> - <p> - “I think I have, sir. When I think of her, I feel despondent. Does the man - exist who would be worthy of her love?” - </p> - <p> - “He does not, Colonel Gwyn. But that is no reason why she may not love - some man. Does a woman only give her love to one who is worthy of it? It - is fortunate for men that that is not the way with women. - </p> - <p> - “It is fortunate; and in that reflection, sir, I find my greatest - consolation at the present moment. I am not a bad man, Dr. Goldsmith—not - as men go—there is in my lifetime nothing that I have cause to be - ashamed of; but, I repeat, when I think of her sweetness, her purity, her - tenderness, I am overcome with a sense of my own presumption in aspiring - to win her. You think me presumptuous in this matter, I am convinced, - sir.” - </p> - <p> - “I do—I do. I know Mary Horneck.” - </p> - <p> - “I give you my word that I am better satisfied with your agreement with me - in this respect than I should be if you were to flatter me. Allow me to - thank you for your great courtesy to me, sir. You have not sent me away - without hope, and I trust that I may assume, Dr. Goldsmith, that I have - your good wishes in this matter, which I hold to be vital to my - happiness.” - </p> - <p> - “Colonel Gwyn, my wishes—my prayers to Heaven are that Mary Horneck - may be happy.” - </p> - <p> - “And I ask for nothing more, sir. There is my hand on it.” - </p> - <p> - Oliver Goldsmith took the hand that he but dimly saw stretched out to him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXI. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>ever for a moment - had Goldsmith felt jealous of the younger men who were understood to be - admirers of the Jessamy Bride. He had made humourous verses on some of - them, Henry Bunbury had supplied comic illustrations, and Mary and her - sister had had their laugh. He could not even now feel jealous of Colonel - Gwyn, though he knew that he was a more eligible suitor than the majority - whom he had met from time to time at the Hornecks' house. He knew that - since Colonel Gwyn had appeared the girl had no thoughts to give to love - and suitors. If Gwyn were to go to her immediately and offer himself as a - suitor he would meet with a disappointment. - </p> - <p> - Yes; at the moment he had no reason to feel jealous of the man who had - just left him. On the contrary, he felt that he had a right to be exultant - at the thought that it was he—he—Oliver Goldsmith—who - had been entrusted by Mary Horneck with her secret—with the duty of - saving her from the scoundrel who was persecuting her. - </p> - <p> - Colonel Gwyn was a soldier, and yet it was to him that this knight's - enterprise had fallen. - </p> - <p> - He felt that he had every reason to be proud. He had been placed in a - position which was certainly quite new to him. He was to compass the - rescue of the maiden in distress; and had he not heard of innumerable - instances in which the reward of success in such, an undertaking was the - hand of the maiden? - </p> - <p> - For half an hour he felt exultant. He had boldly faced an adverse fate all - his life; he had grappled with a cruel destiny; and, though the struggle - had lasted all his life, he had come out the conqueror. He had become the - most distinguished man of letters in England. As Professor at the Royal - Academy his superiority had been acknowledged by the most eminent men of - the period. And then, although he was plain of face and awkward in manner—nearly - as awkward, if far from being so offensive, as Johnson—he had been - appointed her own knight by the loveliest girl in England. He felt that he - had reason to exult. - </p> - <p> - But then the reaction came. He thought of himself as compared with Colonel - Gwyn—he thought of himself as a suitor by the side of Colonel Gwyn. - What would the world say of a girl who would choose him in preference to - Colonel Gwyn? He had told Gwyn to survey himself in a mirror in order to - learn what chance he would have of being accepted as the lover of a lovely - girl. Was he willing to apply the same test to himself? - </p> - <p> - He had not the courage to glance toward even the small glass which he had—a - glass which could reflect only a small portion of his plainness. - </p> - <p> - He remained seated in his chair for a long time, being saved from complete - despair only by the reflection that it was he who was entrusted with the - task of freeing Mary Horneck from the enemy who had planned her - destruction. This was his one agreeable reflection, and after a time it, - too, became tempered by the thought that all his task was still before - him: he had taken no step toward saving her. - </p> - <p> - He started up, called for a lamp, and proceeded to dress himself for the - evening. He would dine at a coffee house in the neighbourhood of Covent - Garden Theatre, and visit Mrs. Abington in the green room while his play—in - which she did not appear—was being acted on the stage. - </p> - <p> - He was unfortunate enough to meet Boswell in the coffee house, so that his - design of thinking out, while at dinner, the course which he should pursue - in regard to the actress—how far he would be safe in confiding in - her—was frustrated. - </p> - <p> - The little Scotchman was in great grief: Johnson had actually quarrelled - with him—well, not exactly quarrelled, for it required two to make a - quarel, and Boswell had steadily refused to contribute to such a disaster. - Johnson, however, was so overwhelming a personality in Boswell's eyes he - could almost make a quarrel without the assistance of a second person. - </p> - <p> - “Psha! Sir,” said Goldsmith, “you know as little of Dr. Johnson as you do - of the Irish nation and their characteristics.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps that is so, but I felt that I was getting to know him,” said - Boswell. “But now all is over; he will never see me again.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, man, cannot you perceive that he is only assuming this attitude in - order to give you a chance of knowing him better?” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “For the life of me I cannot see how that could be,” cried Boswell after a - contemplative pause. - </p> - <p> - “Why, sir, you must perceive that he wishes to impress you with a - consciousness of his generosity.” - </p> - <p> - “What, by quarrelling with me and declaring that he would never see me - again?” - </p> - <p> - “No, not in that way, though I believe there are some people who would - feel that it was an act of generosity on Dr. Johnson's part to remain - secluded for a space in order to give the rest of the world a chance of - talking together.” - </p> - <p> - “What does it matter about the rest of the world, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “Not much, I suppose I should say, since he means me to be his - biographer.” - </p> - <p> - Boswell, of course, utterly failed to appreciate the sly tone in which the - Irishman spoke, and took him up quite seriously. - </p> - <p> - “Is it possible that he has been in communication with you, Dr. - Goldsmith?” he cried anxiously. - </p> - <p> - “I will not divulge Dr. Johnson's secrets, sir,” replied Goldsmith, with - an affectation of the manner of the man who a short time before had said - that Shakespeare was pompous. - </p> - <p> - “Now you are imitating him,” said Boswell. “But I perceive that he has - told you of our quarrel—our misunderstanding. It arose through you, - sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Through me, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “Through the visit of your relative, the Dean, after we had dined at the - Crown and Anchor. You see, he bound me down to promise him to tell no one - of that unhappy occurrence, sir; and yet he heard that Garrick has lately - been mimicking the Dean—yes, down to his very words, at the - Reynolds's, and so he came to the conclusion that Garrick was made - acquainted with the whole story by me. He sent for me yesterday, and - upbraided me for half an hour.” - </p> - <p> - “To whom did you give an account of the affair, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “To no human being, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, come now, you must have given it to some one.” - </p> - <p> - “To no one, sir—that is, no one from whom Garrick could possibly - have had the story.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, I knew, and so did Johnson, that it would be out of the question to - expect that you would hold your tongue on so interesting a secret. Well, - perhaps this will be a lesson to you in the future. I must not fail to - make an entire chapter of this in my biography of our great friend. - Perhaps you would do me the favour to write down a clear and as nearly - accurate an account as your pride will allow of your quarrel with the - Doctor, sir. Such an account would be an amazing assistance to posterity - in forming an estimate of the character of Johnson.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, sir, am I not sufficiently humiliated by the reflection that my - friendly relations with the man whom I revere more than any living human - being are irretrievably ruptured? You will not add to the poignancy of - that reflection by asking me to write down an account of our quarrel in - order to perpetuate so deplorable an incident?” - </p> - <p> - “Sir, I perceive that you are as yet ignorant of the duties of the true - biographer. You seem to think that a biographer has a right to pick and - choose the incidents with which he has to deal—that he may, if he - please, omit the mention of any occurrence that may tend to show his hero - or his hero's friends in an unfavourable light. Sir, I tell you frankly - that your notions of biography are as erroneous as they are mischievous. - Mr. Boswell, I am a more conscientious man, and so, sir, I insist on your - writing down while they are still fresh in your mind the very words that - passed between you and Dr. Johnson on this matter, and you will also - furnish me with a list of the persons—if you have not sufficient - paper at your lodgings for the purpose, you can order a ream at the - stationer's at the corner—to whom you gave an account of the - humiliation of Dr. Johnson by the clergyman who claimed relationship with - me, but who was an impostor. Come, Mr. Boswell, be a man, sir; do not seek - to avoid so obvious a duty.” - </p> - <p> - Boswell looked at him, but, as usual, failed to detect the least gleam of - a smile on his face. - </p> - <p> - He rose from the table and walked out of the coffee house without a word. - </p> - <p> - “Thank heaven I have got rid of that Peeping Tom,” muttered Goldsmith. “If - I had acted otherwise in regard to him I should not have been out of - hearing of his rasping tongue until midnight.” - </p> - <p> - (The very next morning a letter from Boswell was brought to him. It told - him that he had sought Johnson the previous evening, and had obtained his - forgiveness. “You were right, sir,” the letter concluded. “Dr. Johnson has - still further impressed me with a sense of his generosity.”) - </p> - <p> - But as soon as Boswell had been got rid of Goldsmith hastened to the - playhouse in order to consult with the lady who—through long - practice—was, he believed, the most ably qualified of her sex to - give him advice as to the best way of getting the better of a scoundrel. - It was only when he was entering the green room that he recollected he had - not yet made up his mind as to the exact limitations he should put upon - his confidence with Mrs. Abington. - </p> - <p> - The beautiful actress was standing in one of those picturesque attitudes - which she loved to assume, at one end of the long room. The second act - only of “She Stoops to Conquer” had been reached, and as she did not - appear in the comedy, she had no need to begin dressing for the next - piece. She wore a favourite dress of hers—one which had taken the - town by storm a few months before, and which had been imitated by every - lady of quality who had more respect for fashion than for herself. It was - a negligently flowing gown of some soft but heavy fabric, very low and - loose about the neck and shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “Ha, my little hero,” cried the lady when Goldsmith approached and made - his bow, first to a group of players who stood near the door, and then to - Mrs. Abington. “Ha, my little hero, whom have you been drubbing last? Oh, - lud! to think of your beating a critic! Your courage sets us all a-dying - of envy. How we should love to pommel some of our critics! There was a - rumour last night that the man had died, Dr. Goldsmith.” - </p> - <p> - “The fellow would not pay such a tribute to my powers, depend on't, - madam,” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Not if he could avoid it, I am certain,” said she. “Faith, sir, you gave - him a pretty fair drubbing, anyhow.' Twas the talk of the playhouse, I - give you my word. Some vastly pretty things were said about you, Dr. - Goldsmith. It would turn your head if I were to repeat them all. For - instance, a gentleman in this very room last night said that it was the - first case that had come under his notice of a doctor's making an attempt - upon a man's life, except through the legitimate professional channel.” - </p> - <p> - “If all the pretty things that were spoken were no prettier than that, - Mrs. Abington, you will not turn my head,” said Goldsmith. “Though, for - that matter, I vow that to effect such a purpose you only need to stand - before me in that dress—ay, or any other.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, sir, I protest that I cannot stand before such a fusillade of - compliment—I sink under it, sir—thus,” and she made an - exquisite courtesy. “Talk of turning heads! do you fancy that actresses' - heads are as immovable as their hearts, Dr. Goldsmith?” - </p> - <p> - “I trust that their hearts are less so, madam, for just now I am extremely - anxious that the heart of the most beautiful and most accomplished should - be moved,” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “You have only to give me your word that you have written as good a comedy - as 'She Stoops to Conquer,' with a better part for me in it than that of - Miss Hardcastle.” - </p> - <p> - “I have the design of one in my head, madam.” - </p> - <p> - “Then, faith, sir, 'tis lucky that I did not say anything to turn your - head. Dr. Goldsmith, my heart is moved already. See how easy it is for a - great author to effect his object where a poor actress is concerned. And - you have begun the comedy, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot begin it until I get rid of a certain tragedy that is in the - air. I want your assistance in that direction.” - </p> - <p> - “What! Do you mistake the farce of drubbing a critic for a tragedy, Dr. - Goldsmith?” - </p> - <p> - “Psha, madam! What do you take me for? Even if I were as poor a critic as - Kenrick I could still discriminate between one and t' other. Can you give - me half an hour of your time, Mrs. Abington?” - </p> - <p> - “With all pleasure, sir. We shall sit down. You wear a tragedy face, Dr. - Goldsmith.” - </p> - <p> - “I need to do so, madam, as I think you will allow when you hear all I - have to tell you.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, lud! You frighten me. Pray begin, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “How shall I begin? Have you ever had to encounter the devil, madam?” - </p> - <p> - “Frequently, sir. Alas! I fear that I have not always prevailed against - him as successfully as you did in your encounter with one of his family—a - critic. Your story promises to be more interesting than your face - suggested.” - </p> - <p> - “I have to encounter a devil, Mrs. Abington, and I come to you for help.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you must tell me if your devil is male or female. If the former I - think I can promise you my help; if the latter, do not count on me. When - the foul fiend assumes the form of an angel of light—which I take to - be the way St. Paul meant to convey the idea of a woman—he is too - powerful for me, I frankly confess.” - </p> - <p> - “Mine is a male fiend.” - </p> - <p> - “Not the manager of a theatre—another form of the same hue?” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, dear madam, there are degrees of blackness.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, yes; positive bad, comparative Baddeley, superlative Colman.” - </p> - <p> - “If I could compose a phrase like that, Mrs. Abington, I should be the - greatest wit in London, and ruin my life going from coffee house to coffee - house repeating it.” - </p> - <p> - “Pray do not tell Mrs. Baddeley that I made it, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “How could I, madam, when you have just told me that a she-devil was more - than you could cope with?” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXII. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>nd now, sir, to - face the particulars—to proceed from the fancy embroidery of wit to - the solid fabric of fact—who or what is the aggressive demon that - you want exorcised?” - </p> - <p> - “His name is Jackson—he calls himself Captain Jackson,” replied - Oliver. He had not made up his mind how much he should tell of Mary - Horneck's story. He blamed Boswell for interrupting his consideration of - this point after he had dined; though it is doubtful if he would have made - any substantial advance in that direction even if the unhappy Scotchman - had not thrust himself and his grievance upon him. - </p> - <p> - “Jackson—Captain Jackson!” cried the actress. “Why, Dr. Goldsmith, - this is a very little fiend that you ask me to help you to destroy. - Surely, sir, he can be crushed without my assistance. One does not ask for - a battering-ram to overturn a house of cards—one does not - requisition a park of artillery to demolish a sparrow.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, but if a blunderbuss be not handy, one should avail oneself of the - power of a piece of ordnance,” said Goldsmith. “The truth is, madam, that - in this matter I represent only the blunder of the blunderbuss.” - </p> - <p> - “If you drift into wit, sir, we shall never get on. I know 'tis hard for - you to avoid it; but time is flying. What has this Captain Jackson been - doing that he must be sacrificed? You must be straight with me.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm afraid it has actually come to that. Well, Mrs. Abington, in brief, - there is a lady in the question.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! you need scarce dwell on so inevitable an incident as that; I was - waiting for the lady.” - </p> - <p> - “She is the most charming of her sex, madam.” - </p> - <p> - “I never knew one that wasn't. Don't waste time over anything that may be - taken for granted.” - </p> - <p> - “Unhappily she was all unacquainted with the wickedness of men.” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder in what part of the world she lived—certainly not in - London.” - </p> - <p> - “Staying with a relation in the country this fellow Jackson appeared upon - the scene——” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! the most ancient story that the world knows: Innocence, the garden, - the serpent. Alas! sir, there is no return to the Garden of Innocence, - even though the serpent be slaughtered.” - </p> - <p> - “Pardon me, Mrs. Abington”—Goldsmith spoke slowly and gravely—“pardon - me. This real story is not so commonplace as that of my Olivia. Destiny - has more resources than the most imaginative composer of fiction.” - </p> - <p> - In as direct a fashion as possible he told the actress the pitiful story - of how Mary Horneck was imposed upon by the glamour of the man who let it - be understood that he was a hero, only incapacitated by a wound from - taking any further part in the campaign against the rebels in America; and - how he refused to return her the letters which she had written to him, but - had threatened to print them in such a way as would give them the - appearance of having been written by a guilty woman. - </p> - <p> - “The lady is prostrated with grief,” he said, concluding his story. “The - very contemplation of the possibility of her letters being printed is - killing her, and I am convinced that she would not survive the shame of - knowing that the scoundrel had carried out his infamous threat.” - </p> - <p> - “'Tis a sad story indeed,” said Mrs. Abington. “The man is as bad as bad - can be. He claimed acquaintance with me on that famous night at the - Pantheon, though I must confess that I had only a vague recollection of - meeting him before his regiment was ordered across the Atlantic to quell - the rebellion in the plantations. Only two days ago I heard that he had - been drummed out of the army, and that he had sunk to the lowest point - possible for a man to fall to in this world. But surely you know that all - the fellow wants is to levy what was termed on the border of Scotland - 'blackmail' upon the unhappy girl. 'Tis merely a question of guineas, Dr. - Goldsmith. You perceive that? You are a man?” - </p> - <p> - “That was indeed my first belief; but, on consideration, I have come to - think that he is fiend enough to aim only at the ruin of the girl,” said - Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Psha! sir, I believe not in this high standard of crime. I believe not in - the self-sacrifice of such fellows for the sake of their principles,” - cried the lady. “Go to the fellow with your guineas and shake them in a - bag under his nose, and you shall quickly see how soon he will forego the - dramatic elements in his attitude, and make an ignoble grab at the coins.” - </p> - <p> - “You may be right,” said he. “But whence are the guineas to come, pray?” - </p> - <p> - “Surely the lady's friends will not see her lost for the sake of a couple - of hundred pounds.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay; but her aim is to keep the matter from the ears of her friends! She - would be overcome with shame were it to reach their ears that she had - written letters of affection to such a man.” - </p> - <p> - “She must be a singularly unpractical young lady, Dr. Goldsmith.” - </p> - <p> - “If she had not been more than innocent would she, think you, have allowed - herself to be imposed on by a stranger?” - </p> - <p> - “Alas, sir, if there were no ladies like her in the world, you gentlemen - who delight us with your works of fiction would have to rely solely on - your imagination; and that means going to another world. But to return to - the matter before us; you wish to obtain possession of the letters? How do - you suggest that I can help you to accomplish that purpose?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, madam, it is you to whom I come for suggestions. I saw the man in - conversation with you first at the Pantheon, and then in this very room. - It occurred to me that perhaps—it might be possible—in short, - Mrs. Abington, that you might know of some way by which the scoundrel - could be entrapped.” - </p> - <p> - “You compliment me, sir. You think that the entrapping of unwary men—and - of wary—is what nature and art have fitted me for—nature and - practice?” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot conceive a higher compliment being paid to a woman, dear madam. - But, in truth, I came to you because you are the only lady with whom I am - acquainted who with a kind heart combines the highest intelligence. That - is why you are our greatest actress. The highest intelligence is valueless - on the stage unless it is associated with a heart that beats in sympathy - with the sorrow and becomes exultant with the joy of others. That is why I - regard myself as more than fortunate in having your promise to accept a - part in my next comedy.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Abington smiled as she saw through the very transparent art of the - author, reminding her that she would have her reward if she helped him out - of his difficulty. - </p> - <p> - “I can understand how ladies look on you with great favour, sir,” said the - actress. “Yes, in spite of your being—being—ah—innocent—a - poet, and of possessing other disqualifications, you are a delightful man, - Dr. Goldsmith; and by heaven, sir, I shall do what I can to—to—well, - shall we say to put you in a position of earning the lady's gratitude?” - </p> - <p> - “That is the position I long for, dear madam.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but only to have the privilege of foregoing your claim. I know you, - Dr. Goldsmith. Well, supposing you come to see me here in a day or two—that - will give both of us a chance of still further considering the possibility - of successfully entrapping our friend the Captain. I believe it was the - lady who suggested the trap to you; you, being a man, were doubtless for - running your enemy through the vitals or for cutting his throat without - the delay of a moment.” - </p> - <p> - “Your judgment is unerring, Mrs. Abington.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, you see, it is the birds that have been in the trap who know most - about it. Besides, does not our dear dead friend Will Shakespeare say, - 'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps'?” - </p> - <p> - “Those are his words, madam, though at this moment I cannot quite perceive - their bearing.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, lud! Why, dear sir, Cupid's mother's daughters resemble their little - step-brother in being fond of a change of weapons, and you, sir, I - perceive, have been the victim of a dart. Now, I must hasten to dress for - my part or there will be what Mr. Daly of Smock Alley, Dublin, used to - term 'ructions.'” - </p> - <p> - She gave him her hand with a delightful smile and hurried off, but not - before he had bowed over her hand, imprinting on it a clumsy but very - effective kiss. - </p> - <p> - He remained in the theatre until the close of the performance; for he was - not so utterly devoid of guile as not to know that if he had departed - without witnessing Mrs. Abington in the second piece she would have - regarded him as far from civil. Seeing him in a side box, however, that - clever lady perceived that he had taste as well as tact. She felt that it - was a pleasure to do anything for such a man—especially as he was a - writer of plays. It would be an additional pleasure to her if she could so - interpret a character in a play of his that the play should be the most - notable success of the season. - </p> - <p> - As Goldsmith strolled back to his chambers he felt that he had made some - progress in the enterprise with which he had been entrusted. He did not - feel elated, but only tranquilly confident that his judgment had not been - at fault when it suer-gested to him the propriety of consulting with Mrs. - Abington. This was the first time that propriety and Mrs. Abington were - associated. - </p> - <p> - The next day he got a message that the success of his play was - consolidated by a “command” performance at which the whole of his - Majesty's Court would attend. This news elated him, not only because it - meant the complete success of the play and the overthrow of the - sentimentalists who were still harping upon the “low” elements of certain - scenes, but also because he accepted it as an incident of good augury. He - felt certain that Mrs. Abington would have discovered a plan by which he - should be able to get possession of the letters. - </p> - <p> - When he went to her after the lapse of a few days, he found that she had - not been unmindful of his interests. - </p> - <p> - “The fellow had the effrontery to stand beside my chair in the Mall - yesterday,” said she, “but I tolerated him—nay, I encouraged him—not - for your sake, mind; I do not want you to fancy that you interest me, but - for the sake of the unhappy girl who was so nearly making a shocking fool - of herself. Only one girl interests me more than she who nearly makes a - fool of herself, and that is she who actually makes the fool of herself.” - </p> - <p> - “Alas! alas! the latter is more widely represented in this evil world, - Mrs. Abing ton,” said Oliver, so gravely that the actress roared with - laughter. - </p> - <p> - “You have too fine a comedy face to be sentimental, Dr. Goldsmith,” she - said. “But to business. I tell you I even smiled upon the gentleman, for I - have found that the traps which are netted with silk are invariably the - most effective.” - </p> - <p> - “You have found that by your experience of traps?” said Goldsmith. “The - smile is the silken net?” - </p> - <p> - “Even so,” said she, giving an excellent example of the fatal mesh. “Ah, - Dr. Goldsmith, you would do well to avoid the woman who smiles on you.” - </p> - <p> - “Alas! madam, the caution is thrown away upon me; she smiles not on me, - but at me.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank heaven for that, sir. No harm will come to you through being smiled - at. How I stray from my text! Well, sir, the wretch, in response to the - encouragement of my smile, had the effrontery to ask me for my private - address, upon which I smiled again. Ah, sir, 'tis diverting when the fly - begins to lure on the spider.” - </p> - <p> - “'Tis vastly diverting, madam, I doubt not—to the fly.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, and to the friends of the spider. But we shall let that pass. Sir, to - be brief, I did not let the gentleman know that I had a private address, - but I invited him to partake of supper with me on the next Thursday - night.” - </p> - <p> - “Heavens! madam, you do not mean to tell me that your interest on my - behalf——” - </p> - <p> - “Is sufficiently great to lead me to sup with a spider? Sir, I say that I - am only interested in my sister-fly—would she be angry if she were - to hear that such a woman as I even thought of her as a sister?” - </p> - <p> - There was a note of pathos in the question, which did not fall unnoticed - upon Goldsmith's ear. - </p> - <p> - “Madam,” said he, “she is a Christian woman.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, Dr. Goldsmith,” said the actress, “a very small amount of Christian - charity is thought sufficient for the equipment of a Christian woman. Let - that pass, however; what I want of you is to join us at supper on Thursday - night. It is to take place in the Shakespeare tavern round the corner, - and, of course, in a private room; but I do not want you to appear boldly, - as if I had invited you beforehand to partake of my hospitality. You must - come into the room when we have begun, carrying with you a roll of - manuscript, which you must tell me contains a scene of your new comedy, - upon which we are daily in consultation, mind you.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall not fail to recollect,” said Goldsmith. “Why, 'tis like the - argument of a comedy, Mrs. Abingdon; I protest I never invented one more - elaborate. I rather fear to enter upon it.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, you must be in no trepidation, sir,” said the lady. “I think I know - the powers of the various members of the cast of this little drama of - mine, so you need not think that you will be put into a part which you - will not be able to play to perfection.” - </p> - <p> - “You are giving me a lesson in playwriting. Pray continue the argument. - When I enter with the imaginary scene of my new piece, you will, I trust, - ask me to remain to supper; you see I grudge the gentleman the pleasure of - your society for even an hour.” - </p> - <p> - “I will ask you to join us at the table, and then—well, then I have - a notion that between us we should have no great difficulty making our - friend drink a sufficient quantity of wine to cause him to make known all - his secrets to us, even as to where he keeps those precious letters of - his.” - </p> - <p> - Oliver's face did not exhibit any expression that the actress could - possibly interpret as a flattering tribute to her ingenuity—the fact - being that he was greatly disappointed at the result of her contriving. - Her design was on a level of ingenuity with that which might occur to a - romantic school miss. Of course the idea upon which it was founded had - formed the basis of more than one comedy—he had a notion that if - these comedies had not been written Mrs. Abing ton's scheme would not have - been so clearly defined. - </p> - <p> - She perceived the expression on his face and rightly interpreted it. - </p> - <p> - “What, sir!” she cried. “Do you fail to perceive the singular ingenuity of - my scheme? Nay, you must remember that 'tis my first attempt—not at - scheming, to be sure, but at inventing a design for a play.” - </p> - <p> - “I would not shrink from making use of your design if I were writing a - play, dear lady,” said he. “But then, you see, it would be in my power to - make my villain speak at the right moments and hold his peace at the right - moments. It would also be in my power to make him confess all that was - necessary for the situation. But alas! madam, it makes me sometimes quite - hopeless of Nature to find how frequently she disregards the most ordinary - precepts of art.” - </p> - <p> - “Psha! sir,” said the actress. “Nothing in this world is certain. I am a - poor moralist, but I recognise the fact, and make it the guide of my life. - At the same time I have noticed that, although one's carefully arranged - plans are daily thrown into terrible disorder by the slovenliness of the - actors to whom we assign certain parts and certain dialogue, yet in the - end nature makes even a more satisfactory drama out of the ruins of our - schemes than we originally designed. So, in this case, sir, I am not - without hope that even though our gentleman's lips remain sealed—nay, - even though our gentleman remain sober—a great calamity—we may - still be able to accomplish our purpose. You will keep your ears open and - I shall keep my eyes open, and it will be strange if between us we cannot - get the better of so commonplace a scoundrel.” - </p> - <p> - “I place myself unreservedly in your hands, madam,” said Oliver; “and I - can only repeat what you have said so well—namely, that even the - most clumsy of our schemes—which this one of yours certainly is not—may - become the basis of a most ingenious drama, designed and carried out by - that singularly adroit playwright, Destiny. And so I shall not fail you on - Thursday evening.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIII. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith for the - next few days felt very ill at ease. He had a consciousness of having - wasted a good deal of valuable time waiting upon Mrs. Abington and - discussing with her the possibility of accomplishing the purpose which he - had at heart; for he could not but perceive how shallow was the scheme - which she had devised for the undoing of Mary Horneck's enemy. He felt - that it would, after all, have been better for him to place himself in the - hands of the fencing-master whom Baretti had promised to find out for him, - and to do his best to run the scoundrel through the body, than to waste - his time listening to the crude scheme concocted by Mrs. Abington, in - close imitation of some third-class playwright. - </p> - <p> - He felt, however, that he had committed himself to the actress and her - scheme. It would be impossible for him to draw back after agreeing to join - her at supper on the Thursday night. But this fact did not prevent his - exercising his imagination with a view to find out some new plan for - obtaining possession of the letters. Thursday came, however, without - seeing him any further advanced in this direction than he had been when he - had first gone to the actress, and he began to feel that hopelessness - which takes the form of hoping for the intervention of some accident to - effect what ingenuity has failed to accomplish-Mrs. Abington had suggested - the possibility of such an accident taking place—in fact, she seemed - to rely rather upon the possibility of such an occurrence than upon the - ingenuity of her own scheme; and Oliver could not but think that she was - right in this respect. He had a considerable experience of life and its - vicissitudes, and he knew that when destiny was in a jesting mood the most - judicious and cunningly devised scheme may be overturned by an accident - apparently no less trivial than the raising of a hand, the fluttering of a - piece of lace, or the cry of a baby. - </p> - <p> - He had known of a horse's casting a shoe preventing a runaway match and a - vast amount of consequent misery, and he had heard of a shower of rain - causing a confirmed woman hater to take shelter in a doorway, where he met - a young woman who changed—for a time—all his ideas of the sex. - As he recalled these and other freaks of fate, he could not but feel that - Mrs. Abington was fully justified in her confidence in accident as a - factor in all human problems. But he was quite aware that hoping for an - accident is only another form of despair. - </p> - <p> - In the course of the day appointed by Mrs. Abington for her supper he met - Baretti, and reminded him of the promise he had made to find an Italian - fencing master and send him to Brick Court. - </p> - <p> - “What!” cried Baretti. “Have you another affair on your hands in addition - to that in which you have already been engaged? Psha! sir. You do not need - to be a swordsman in order to flog a bookseller.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not look forward to fighting booksellers,” said Goldsmith. “They - have stepped between me and starvation more than once.” - </p> - <p> - “Would any one of them have taken that step unless he was pretty certain - to make money by his philanthropy?” asked Baretti in his usual cynical - way. - </p> - <p> - “I cannot say,” replied Goldsmith. “I don't think that I can lay claim to - the mortifying reflection that I have enriched any bookseller. At any - rate, I do not mean ever to beat another.” - </p> - <p> - “'Tis, then, a critic whom you mean to attack? If you have made up your - mind to kill a critic, I shall make it a point to find you the best - swordsman in Europe,” said Baretti. - </p> - <p> - “Do so, my friend,” said Goldsmith; “and when I succeed in killing a - critic, you shall have the first and second fingers of his right hand as a - memento.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall look for them—yes, in five years, for it will certainly - take that time to make you expert with a sword,” said the Italian. “And, - meantime, you may yourself be cut to pieces by even so indifferent a - fighter as Kenrick.” - </p> - <p> - “In such a case I promise to bequeath to you whatever bones of mine you - may take a fancy to have.” - </p> - <p> - “And I shall regard them with great veneration, being the relics of a - martyr—a man who did not fear to fight with dragons and other - unclean beasts. You may look for a visit from a skilful countryman of mine - within a week; only let me pray of you to be guided by his advice. If he - should say that it is wiser for you to beware the entrance to a quarrel, - as your poet has it, you will do well to accept his advice. I do not want - a poet's bones for my reliquary, though from all that I can hear one of - our friends would have no objection to a limb or two.” - </p> - <p> - “And who may that friend be?” - </p> - <p> - “You should be able to guess, sir. What! have you not been negotiating - with the booksellers for a life of Dr. Johnson?” - </p> - <p> - “Not I, sir. But, if I have been doing so, what then?” - </p> - <p> - “What then? Why, then you may count upon the eternal enmity of the little - Scotchman whom you once described not as a cur but only a bur. Sir, - Boswell robbed of his Johnson would be worse than—than——” - </p> - <p> - “A lioness robbed of her whelps?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, better say a she-bear robbed of her cubs, only that Johnson is the - bear and Boswell the cub. Boswell has been going about saying that you had - boasted to him of your intention to become Johnson's biographer; and the - best of the matter is that Johnson has entered with great spirit into the - jest and has kept his poor Bossy on thistles—reminiscent of his - native land—ever since.” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith laughed, and told Baretti how he had occasion to get rid of - Boswell, and had done so by pretending that he meant to write a life of - Johnson. Baretti laughed and went on to describe how, on the previous - evening, Garrick had drawn on Boswell until the latter had imitated all - the animals in the farmyard, while narrating, for the thousandth time, his - first appearance in the pit of Drury Lane. Boswell had felt quite - flattered, Baretti said, when Garrick, making a judicial speech, which - every one present except Boswell perceived to be a fine piece of comedy, - said he felt constrained to reverse the judgment of the man in the pit who - had shouted: “Stick to the coo, mon!” On the whole, Garrick said, he - thought that, while Boswell's imitation of the cow was most admirable in - many respects, yet for naturalness it was his opinion—whatever it - might be worth—that the voice of the ass was that which Boswell was - most successful in attempting. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith knew that even Garrick's broadest buffoonery was on occasions - accepted by Boswell with all seriousness, and he had no hesitation in - believing Baretti's account of the party on the previous evening. - </p> - <p> - He went to Mrs. Abington's room at the theatre early in the night to - inquire if she had made any change in her plans respecting the supper, and - he found that the lady had come to think as poorly of the scheme which she - had invented as he did. She had even abandoned her idea of inducing the - man to confess, when in a state of intoxication, where he was in the habit - of keeping the letters. - </p> - <p> - “These fellows are sometimes desperately suspicious when in their cups,” - said she; “and I fear that at the first hint of our purpose he may become - dumb, no matter how boldly he may have been talking previously. If he - suspects that you have a desire to obtain the letters, you may say - farewell to the chance of worming anything out of him regarding them.” - </p> - <p> - “What then is to be gained by our supping with him?” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Why, you are brought into contact with him,” she replied. “You will then - be in a position, if you cultivate a friendship with him, to take him - unawares upon some occasion, and so effect your purpose. Great? heavens, - sir! one cannot expect to take a man by storm, so to speak—one - cannot hope to meet a clever scoundrel for half an hour-in the evening, - and then walk away with all his secrets. You may have to be with this - fellow every day for a month or two before you get a chance of putting the - letters into your pocket.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll hope for better luck than that,” said Oliver. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, with good luck one can accomplish anything,” said she. “But good luck - is just one of the things that cannot be arranged for even by the - cleverest people.” - </p> - <p> - “That is where men are at a disadvantage in striving with destiny,” said - Goldsmith. “But I think that any man who succeeds in having Mrs. Abington - as his ally must be regarded as the most fortunate of his sex.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, sir, wait for another month before you compliment me,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “Madam,” said he, “I am not complimenting you, but myself. I will take - your advice and reserve my compliments to you for—well, no, not a - month; if I can put them off for a week I shall feel that I have done very - well.” - </p> - <p> - As he made his bow and left her, he could not help feeling more strongly - that he had greatly overrated the advantages to be derived from an - alliance with Mrs. Abington when his object was to get the better of an - adroit scoundrel. He had heard—nay, he had written—of the - wiles of women, and yet the first time that he had an opportunity of - testing a woman's wiles he found that he had been far too generous in his - estimate of their value. - </p> - <p> - It was with no little trepidation that he went to the Shakespeare tavern - at supper time and inquired for Mrs. Abington. He had a roll of manuscript - in his hand, according to agreement, and he desired the waiter to inform - the lady that he would not keep her for long. He was very fluent up to - this point; but he was uncertain how he would behave when he found himself - face to face with the man who had made the life of Mary Horneck miserable. - He wondered if he would be able to restrain his impulse to fly at the - scoundrel's throat. - </p> - <p> - When, however, the waiter returned with a message from Mrs. Abington that - she would see Dr. Goldsmith in the supper room, and he ascended the stairs - to that apartment, he felt quite at his ease. He had nerved himself to - play a part, and he was convinced that the rôle was not beyond his powers. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Abington, at the moment of his entrance, was lying back in her chair - laughing, apparently at a story which was being told to her by her <i>vis-à -vis</i>, - for he was leaning across the table, with his elbow resting upon it and - one expressive finger upraised to give emphasis to the points of his - narrative. - </p> - <p> - When Goldsmith appeared, the actress nodded to him familiarly, pleasantly, - but did not allow her attention to be diverted from the story which - Captain Jackson was telling to her. Goldsmith paused with his fingers - still on the handle of the door. He knew that the most inopportune - entrance that a man can make upon another is when the other is in the act - of telling a story to an appreciative audience—say, a beautiful - actress in a gown that allows her neck and shoulders to be seen to the - greatest advantage and does not interfere with the ebb and flow of that - roseate tide, with its gracious ripples and delicate wimplings, rising and - falling between the porcelain of her throat and the curve of the ivory of - her shoulders. - </p> - <p> - The man did not think it worth his while to turn around in recognition of - Goldsmith's entrance; he finished his story and received Mrs. Abington's - tribute of a laugh as a matter of course. Then he turned his head round as - the visitor ventured to take a step or two toward the table, bowing - profusely—rather too profusely for the part he was playing, the - artistic perception of the actress told her. - </p> - <p> - “Ha, my little author!” cried the man at the table with the swagger of a - patron. - </p> - <p> - “You are true to the tradition of the craft of scribblers—the best - time for putting in an appearance is when supper has just been served.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, sir,” said Goldsmith, “we poor devils are forced to wait upon the - convenience of our betters.” - </p> - <p> - “Strike me dumb, sir, if 'tis not a pity you do not await their - convenience in an ante-room—ay, or the kitchen. I have heard that - the scribe and the cook usually become the best of friends. You poets - write best of broken hearts when you are sustained by broken victuals.” - </p> - <p> - “For shame, Captain!” cried Mrs Abington. “Dr. Goldsmith is a man as well - as a poet. He has broken heads before now.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIV. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>aptain Jackson - laughed heartily at so quaint an idea, throwing himself back in his chair - and pointing a contemptuous thumb at Oliver, who had advanced to the side - of the actress, assuming the deprecatory smile of the bookseller's hack. - He played the part very indifferently, the lady perceived. - </p> - <p> - “Faith, my dear,” laughed the Captain, “I would fain believe that he is a - terrible person for a poet, for, by the Lord, he nearly had his head broke - by me on the first night that you went to the Pantheon; and I swear that I - never crack a skull unless it be that of a person who is accustomed to - spread terror around.” - </p> - <p> - “Some poets' skulls, sir, are not so easily cracked,” said Mrs. Abington. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, my dear madam,” cried her <i>vis-à -vis</i>, “you must pardon me for - saying that I do not think you express your meaning with any great - exactness. I take it that you mean, madam, that on the well known kitchen - principle that cracked objects last longer than others, a poet's pate, - being cracked originally, survives the assaults that would overcome a - sound head.” - </p> - <p> - “I meant nothing like that, Captain,” said Mrs. Abington. Then she turned - to Goldsmith, who stood by, fingering his roll of manuscript. “Come, Dr. - Goldsmith,” she cried, “seat yourself by me, and partake of supper. I vow - that I will not even glance at that act of your new play which I perceive - you have brought to me, until we have supped.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, madam,” stuttered Goldsmith; “I have already had my humble meal; - still——” - </p> - <p> - He glanced from the dishes on the table to Captain Jackson, who gave a - hoarse laugh, crying— - </p> - <p> - “Ha, I wondered if the traditions of the trade were about to be violated - by our most admirable Doctor. I thought it likely that he would allow - himself to be persuaded. But I swear that he has no regard for the romance - which he preaches, or else he would not form the third at a party. Has he - never heard that the third in a party is the inevitable kill-joy?” - </p> - <p> - “You wrong my friend Dr. Goldsmith, Captain,” said the actress in smiling - remonstrance that seemed to beg of him to take an indulgent view of the - poet's weakness. “You wrong him, sir. Dr. Goldsmith is a man of parts. He - is a wit as well as a poet, and he will not stay very long; will you, Dr. - Goldsmith?” - </p> - <p> - She acted the part so well that but for the side glance which she cast at - him, Goldsmith might have believed her to be in earnest. For his own part - he was acting to perfection the rôle of the hack author who was patronised - till he found himself in the gutter. He could only smile in a sickly way - as he laid down his hat beside a chair over which Jackson's cloak was - flung, and placed in it the roll of manuscript, preparatory to seating - himself. - </p> - <p> - “Madam, I am your servant,” he murmured; “Sir, I am your most obedient to - command. I feel the honour of being permitted to sup in such distinguished - company.” - </p> - <p> - “And so you should, sir,” cried Captain Jackson as the waiter bustled - about, laying a fresh plate and glass, “so you should. Your grand patrons, - my little friend, though they may make a pretence of saving you from - slaughter by taking your quarrel on their shoulders, are not likely to - feed you at their own table. Lord, how that piece of antiquity, General - Oglethorpe, swag gered across the porch at the Pantheon when I had half a - mind to chastise you for your clumsiness in almost knocking me over! May I - die, sir, if I wasn't at the brink of teaching the General a lesson which - he would have remembered to his dying hour—his dying hour—that - is to say, for exactly four minutes after I had drawn upon him.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, Dr. Goldsmith is fortunate in his friends,” said Mrs. Abington. “But - I hope that in future, Captain, he may reckon on your sword being drawn on - his behalf, and not turned against him and his friends.” - </p> - <p> - “If you are his friend, my dear Mrs. Abington, he may count upon me, I - swear,” cried the Captain bowing over the table. - </p> - <p> - “Good,” she said. “And so I call upon you to drink to his health—a - bumper, sir, a bumper!” - </p> - <p> - The Captain showed no reluctance to pay the suggested compliment. With an - air of joviality he filled his large glass up to the brim and drained it - with a good-humoured, half-patronising motion in the direction of - Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Hang him!” he cried, when he had wiped his lips, “I bear Goldsmith no - malice for his clumsiness in the porch of the Pantheon. 'Sdeath, madam, - shall the man who led a company of his Majesty's regulars in charge after - charge upon the American rebels, refuse to drink to the health of a little - man who tinkles out his rhymes as the man at the raree show does his - bells? Strike me blind, deaf and dumb, if I am not magnanimous to my - heart's core. I'll drink his health again if you challenge me.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, Captain,” said the lady, “I'll be magnanimous, too, and refrain from - challenging you. I sadly fear that you have been drinking too many healths - during the day, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “What mean you by that, madam?” he cried. “Do you suggest that I cannot - carry my liquor with the best men at White's? If you were a man, and you - gave a hint in that direction, by the Lord, it would be the last that you - would have a chance of offering.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, nay, sir! I meant not that,” said the actress hastily. “I will prove - to you that I meant it not by challenging you to drink to Dr. Goldsmith's - new comedy.” - </p> - <p> - “Now you are very much my dear,” said Jackson, half-emptying the brandy - decanter into his glass and adding only a thimbleful of water. “Yes, your - confidence in me wipes out the previous affront. 'Sblood, madam, shall it - be said that Dick Jackson, whose name made the American rebels—curse - 'em!—turn as green as their own coats—shall it be said that - Dick Jackson, of whom the rebel Colonel—Washington his name is—George - Washington”—he had considerable difficulty over the name—“is - accustomed to say to this day, 'Give me a hundred men—not men, but - lions, like that devil Dick Jackson, and I'll sweep his Majesty's forces - into the Potomac'—shall it be said that—that—what the - devil was I about to say—shall it be said?—never mind—here's - to the health of Colonel Washington!” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir, we cannot drink to one of the King's enemies,” said Mrs. - Abington, rising. “'Twere scandalous, indeed, to do so in this place; and, - sir, you still wear the King's uniform.” - </p> - <p> - “The devil take the King's uniform!” shouted the man. “The devils of - rebels are taking a good many coats of that uniform, and let me tell you, - madam, that—nay, you must not leave the table until the toast is - drank——” Mrs. Abington having risen, had walked across the - room and seated herself on the chair over which Captain Jackson had flung - his cloak. - </p> - <p> - “Hold, sir,” cried Goldsmith, dropping his knife and fork with a clatter - upon his plate that made the other man give a little jump. “Hold, sir, I - perceive that you are on the side of freedom, and I would feel honoured by - your permission to drink the toast that you propose. Here's success to the - cause that will triumph in America.” Jackson, who was standing at the - table with his glass in his hand, stared at him with the smile of a - half-intoxicated man. He had just enough intelligence remaining to make - him aware that there was something ambiguous in Goldsmith's toast. - </p> - <p> - “It sounds all right,” he muttered as if he were trying to convince - himself that his suspicions of ambiguity were groundless. “It sounds all - right, and yet, strike me dizzy! if it wouldn't work both ways! Ha, my - little poet,” he continued. “I'm glad to see that you are a man. Drink, - sir—drink to the success of the cause in America.” Goldsmith got - upon his feet and raised his glass—it contained only a light wine. - </p> - <p> - “Success to it!” he cried, and he watched Captain Jackson drain his third - tumbler of brandy. - </p> - <p> - “Hark ye, my little poet!” whispered the latter very huskily, lurching - across the table, and failing to notice that his hostess had not returned - to her place. “Hark ye, sir! Cornwallis thought himself a general of - generals. He thought when he courtmartialled me and turned me out of the - regiment, sending me back to England in a foul hulk from Boston port, that - he had got rid of me. He'll find out that he was mistaken, sir, and that - one of these days——Mum's the word, mind you! If you open your - lips to any human being about this, I'll cut you to pieces. I'll flay you - alive! Washington is no better than Cornwallis, let me tell you. What - message did he send me when he heard that I was ready to blow Cornwallis's - brains out and march my company across the Potomac? I ask you, sir, man to - man—though a poet isn't quite a man—but that's my generosity. - Said Washy—Washy—Wishy—Washy—— Washington: - 'Cornwallis's brains have been such valuable allies to the colonists, - Colonel Washington would regard as his enemy any man who would make the - attempt to curtail their capacity for blundering.' That's the message I - got from Washington, curse him! But the Colonel isn't everybody. Mark me, - my friend—whatever your name is—I've got letters—letters——” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes, you have letters—where?” cried Goldsmith, in the - confidential whisper that the other had assumed. - </p> - <p> - The man who was leaning across the table stared at him hazily, and then - across his face there came the cunning look of the more than - half-intoxicated. He straightened himself as well as he could in his - chair, and then swayed limply backward and forward, laughing. - </p> - <p> - “Letters—oh, yes—plenty of letters—but where?—where?—that's - my own matter—a secret,” he murmured in vague tones. “The government - would give a guinea or two for my letters—one of them came from - Mount Vernon itself, Mr.—whatever your name maybe—and if you - went to Mr. Secretary and said to him, 'Mr. Secretary'”—he - pronounced the word “Secrary”—“'I know that Dick Jackson is a - rebel,' and Mr. Secretary says, 'Where are the letters to prove it?' where - would you be, my clever friend? No, sir, my brains are not like - Cornwallis's, drunk or sober. Hallo, where's the lady?” - </p> - <p> - He seemed suddenly to recollect where he was. He straightened himself as - well as he could, and looked sleepily across the room. - </p> - <p> - “I'm here,” cried Mrs. Abington, leaving the chair, across the back of - which Jackson's coat was thrown. “I am here, sir; but I protest I shall - not take my place at the table again while treason is in the air.” - </p> - <p> - “Treason, madam? Who talks of treason?” cried the man with a lurch forward - and a wave of the hand. “Madam, I'm shocked—quite shocked! I wear - the King's coat, though that cloak is my own—my own, and all that it - contains—all that——” - </p> - <p> - His voice died away in a drunken fashion as he stared across the room at - his cloak. Goldsmith saw an expression of suspicion come over his face; he - saw him straighten himself and walk with an affectation of steadiness that - only emphasised his intoxicated lurches, to the chair where the cloak lay. - He saw him lift up the cloak and run his hand down the lining until he - came to a pocket. With eager eyes he saw him extract from the pocket a - leathern wallet, and with a sigh of relief slip it furtively into the - bosom of his long waistcoat, where, apparently, there was another packet. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith glanced toward Mrs. Abington. She was sitting leaning over her - chair with a finger on her lips, and the same look of mischief that Sir - Joshua Reynolds transferred to his picture of her as “Miss Prue.” She gave - a glance of smiling intelligence at Oliver, as Jackson laughed coarsely, - saying huskily— - </p> - <p> - “A handkerchief—I thought I had left my handkerchief in the pocket - of my cloak, and 'tis as well to make sure—that's my motto. And now, - my charmer, you will see that I'm not a man to dally with treason, for - I'll challenge you in a bumper to the King's most excellent Majesty. Fill - up your glass, madam; fill up yours, too, Mr.—Mr. Killjoy, we'll - call you, for what the devil made you show your ugly face here the fiend - only knows. Mrs. Baddeley and I are the best of good friends. Isn't that - the truth, sweet Mrs. Baddeley? Come, drink to my toast—whatever it - may be—or, by the Lord, I'll run you through the vitals!” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith hastened to pass the man the decanter with whatever brandy - remained in it, and in another instant the decanter was empty and the - man's glass was full. Goldsmith was on his feet with uplifted glass before - Jackson had managed to raise himself, by the aid of a heavy hand on the - table, into a standing attitude, murmuring— - </p> - <p> - “Drink, sir! drink to my lovely friend there, the voluptuous Mrs. - Baddeley. My dear Mrs. Baddeley, I have the honour to welcome you to my - table, and to drink to your health, dear madam.” - </p> - <p> - He swallowed the contents of the tumbler—his fourth since he had - entered the room—and the next instant he had fallen in a heap into - his chair, drenched by the contents of Mrs. Abington's glass. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0315.jpg" alt="0315 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0315.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “That is how I accept your toast of Mrs. Baddeley, sir,” she cried, - standing at the head of the table with the dripping glass still in her - hand. “You drunken sot! not to be able to distinguish between me and - Sophia Baddeley! I can stand the insult no longer. Take yourself out of my - room, sir!” - </p> - <p> - She gave the broad ribbon of the bell such a pull as nearly brought it - down. Goldsmith having started up, stood with amazement on his face - watching her, while the other man also stared at her through his drunken - stupour, his jaw fallen. - </p> - <p> - Not a word was spoken until the waiter entered the room. - </p> - <p> - “Call a hackney coach immediately for that gentleman,” said the actress, - pointing to the man who alone remained—for the best of reasons—seated. - </p> - <p> - “A coach? Certainly, madam,” said the waiter, withdrawing with a bow. - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Goldsmith,” resumed Mrs. Abington, “may I beg of you to have the - goodness to see that person to his lodgings and to pay the cost of the - hackney-coach? He is not entitled to that consideration, but I have a wish - to treat him more generously than he deserves. His address is Whetstone - Park, I think we may assume; and so I leave you, sir.” - </p> - <p> - * She walked from the room with her chin in the air, both of the men - watching her with such surprise as prevented either of them from uttering - a word. It was only when she had gone that it occurred to Goldsmith that - she was acting her part admirably—that she had set herself to give - him an opportunity of obtaining possession of the wallet which she, as - well as he, had seen Jackson transfer from the pocket of his cloak to that - of his waistcoat. Surely he should have no great difficulty in extracting - the bundle from the man's pocket when in the coach. - </p> - <p> - “They're full of their whimsies, these wenches,” were the first words - spoken, with a free wave of an arm, by the man who had failed in his - repeated attempts to lift himself out of his chair. “What did I say?—what - did I do to cause that spitfire to behave like that? I feel hurt, sir, - more deeply hurt than I can express, at her behaviour. What's her name—I'm - not sure if she was Mrs. Abington or Mrs. Baddeley? Anyhow, she insulted - me grossly—me, sir—me, an officer who has charged his - Majesty's rebels in the plantations of Virginia, where the Potomac flows - down to the sea. But they're all alike. I could tell you a few stories - about them, sir, that would open your eyes, for I have been their darling - always.” Here he began to sing a tavern song in a loud but husky tone, for - the brandy had done its work very effectively, and he had now reached what - might be called—somewhat paradoxically—the high-water mark of - intoxication. He was still singing when the waiter re-entered the room to - announce that a hackney carriage was waiting at the door of the tavern. - </p> - <p> - At the announcement the drunken man made a grab for a decanter and flung - it at the waiter's head. It missed that mark, however, and crashed among - the plates which were still on the table, and in a moment the landlord and - a couple of his barmen were in the room and on each side of Jackson. He - made a poor show of resistance when they pinioned his arms and pushed him - down the stairs and lifted him into the hackney-coach. The landlord and - his assistants were accustomed to deal with promptitude with such persons, - and they had shut the door of the coach before Goldsmith reached the - street. - </p> - <p> - “Hold on, sir,” he cried, “I am accompanying that gentleman to his - lodging.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, Doctor,” whispered the landlord, who was a friend of his, “the - fellow is a brawler—he will involve you in a quarrel before you - reach the Strand.” - </p> - <p> - “Nevertheless, I will go, my friend,” said Oliver. “The lady has laid it - upon me as a duty, and I must obey her at all hazards.” - </p> - <p> - He got into the coach, and shouted out the address to the driver. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXV. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he instant he had - seated himself he found to his amazement that the man beside him was fast - asleep. To look at him lying in a heap on the cushions one might have - fancied that he had been sleeping for hours rather than minutes, so - composed was he. Even the jolting of the starting coach made no impression - upon him. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith perceived that the moment for which he had been longing had - arrived. He felt that if he meant to get the letters into his possession - he must act at once. - </p> - <p> - He passed his hand over the man's waistcoat, and had no difficulty in - detecting the exact whereabouts of the packet which he coveted. All he had - to do was to unbutton the waistcoat, thrust his hand into the pocket, and - then leave the coach while it was still in motion. - </p> - <p> - The moment that he touched the first button, however, the man shifted his - position, and awoke, putting his hand, as if mechanically, to his breast - to feel that the wallet was still there. Then he straightened himself in - some measure and began to mumble, apparently being quite unaware of the - fact that some one was seated beside him. - </p> - <p> - “Dear madam, you do me great honour,” he said, and then gave a little - hiccupping laugh. “Great honour, I swear; but if you were to offer me all - the guineas in the treasure chest of the regiment I would not give you the - plan of the fort. No, madam, I am a man of honour, and I hold the - documents for Colonel Washington. Oh, the fools that girls are to put pen - to paper! But if she was a fool she did not write the letters to a fool. - Oh, no, no! I would accept no price for them—no price whatever - except your own fair self. Come to me, my charmer, at sunset, and they - shall be yours; yes, with a hundred guineas, or I print them. Oh, Ned, my - lad, there's no honester way of living than by selling a wench her own - letters. No, no; Ned, I'll not leave 'em behind me in the drawer, in case - of accidents. I'll carry 'em about with me in case of accidents, for I - know how sharp you are, dear Ned; and so when I had 'em in the pocket of - my cloak I thought it as well to transfer 'em—in case of accidents, - Ned—to my waistcoat, sir. Ay, they're here! here, my friend! and - here they'll stay till Colonel Washington hands me over his dollars for - them.” - </p> - <p> - Then he slapped his breast, and laughed the horrible laugh of a drunken - man whose hallucination is that he is the shrewdest fellow alive. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith caught every word of his mumblings, and from the way he referred - to the letters, came to the conclusion that the scoundrel had not only - tried to levy blackmail on Mary Horneck, but had been endeavouring to sell - the secrets of the King's forces to the American rebels. Goldsmith had, - however, no doubt that the letters which he was desirous of getting into - his hands were those which the man had within his waistcoat. His belief in - this direction did not, however, assist him to devise a plan for - transferring the letters from the place where they reposed to his own - pocket. - </p> - <p> - The coach jolted over the uneven roads on its way to the notorious - Whetstone Park, but all the jolting failed to prevent the operation of the - brandy which the man had drank, for once again he fell asleep, his fingers - remaining between the buttons of his waistcoat, so that it would be quite - impossible for even the most adroit pickpocket, which Goldsmith could not - claim to be, to open the garment. - </p> - <p> - He felt the vexation of the moment very keenly. The thought that the - packet which he coveted was only a few inches from his hand, and yet that - it was as unattainable as though it were at the summit of Mont Blanc, was - maddening; but he felt that he would be foolish to make any more attempts - to effect his purpose. The man would be certain to awake, and Goldsmith - knew that, intoxicated though he was, he was strong enough to cope with - three men of his (Goldsmith's) physique. - </p> - <p> - Gregory's Court, which led into Whetstone Park, was too narrow to admit so - broad a vehicle as a hackney-coach, so the driver pulled up at the - entrance in Holborn near the New Turnstile, just under an alehouse lamp. - Goldsmith was wondering if his obligation to Mrs. Abington's guest did not - end here, when the light of the lamp showed the man to be wide awake, and - he really seemed comparatively sober. It was only when he spoke that he - showed himself, by the huskiness of his voice, to be very far from sober. - </p> - <p> - “Good Lord!” he cried, “how do I come to be here? Who the devil may you - be, sirrah? Oh, I remember! You're the poet. She insulted me—grossly - insulted me—turned me out of the tavern. And you insulted me, too, - you rascal, coming with me in my coach, as if I was drunk, and needed you - to look after me. Get out, you scoundrel, or I'll crack your skull for - you. Can't you see that this is Gregory's Court?” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith eyed the ruffian for a moment. He was debating if it might not - be better to spring upon him, and make at least a straightforward attempt - to obtain the wallet. The result of his moment's consideration of the - question was to cause him to turn away from the fellow and open the door. - He was in the act of telling the driver that he would take the coach on to - the Temple, when Jackson stepped out, shaking the vehicle on its leathern - straps, and staggered a few yards in the direction of the turnstile. At - the same instant a man hastily emerged from the entrance to the court, - almost coming in collision with Jackson. - </p> - <p> - “You cursed, clumsy lout!” shouted the latter, swinging, half-way round as - the man passed. In a second the stranger stopped, and faced the other. - </p> - <p> - “You low ruffian!” he said. “You cheated me last night, and left me to - sleep in the fields; but my money came to me to-day, and I've been waiting - for you. Take that, you scoundrel—and that—and that——” - </p> - <p> - He struck Jackson a blow to right and left, and then one straight on the - forehead, which felled him to the ground. He gave the man a kick when he - fell, and then turned about and ran, for the watchman was coming up the - street, and half a dozen of the passers-by gave an alarm. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith shouted out, “Follow him—follow the murderer!” pointing - wildly in the direction taken by the stranger. - </p> - <p> - In another instant he was leaning over the prostrate man, and making a - pretence to feel his heart. He tore open his waistcoat. Putting in his - hand, he quickly abstracted the wallet, and bending right over the body in - order to put his hand to the man's chest, he, with much more adroitness - than was necessary—for outside the sickly gleam of the lamp all the - street was in darkness—slipped the wallet into his other hand and - then under his coat. - </p> - <p> - A few people had by this time been drawn to the spot by the alarm which - had been given, and some inquired if the man were dead, and if he had been - run through with a sword. - </p> - <p> - “It was a knock-down blow,” said Goldsmith, still leaning over the - prostrate man; “and being a doctor, I can honestly say that no great harm - has been done. The fellow is as drunk as if he had been soused in a beer - barrel. A dash of water in his face will go far to bring about his - recovery. Ah, he is recovering already.” - </p> - <p> - He had scarcely spoken before he felt himself thrown violently back, - almost knocking down two of the bystanders, for the man had risen to a - sitting posture, asking him, with an oath, as he flung him back, what he - meant by choking him. - </p> - <p> - A roar of laughter came from the people in the street as Goldsmith picked - up his hat and straightened his sword, saying— - </p> - <p> - “Gentlemen, I think that a man who is strong enough to treat his physician - in that way has small need of his services. I thought the fellow might be - seriously hurt, but I have changed my mind on that point recently; and so - good-night. Souse him copiously with water should he relapse. By a casual - savour of him I should say that he is not used to water.” - </p> - <p> - He re-entered the coach and told the driver to proceed to the Temple, and - as rapidly as possible, for he was afraid that the man, on completely - recovering from the effects of the blow that had stunned him, would miss - his wallet and endeavour to overtake the coach. He was greatly relieved - when he reached the lodge of his friend Ginger, the head porter, and he - paid the driver with a liberality that called down upon him a torrent of - thanks. - </p> - <p> - As he went up the stairs to his chambers he could scarcely refrain from - cheering. In his hand he carried the leathern wallet, and he had no doubt - that it contained the letters which he hoped to place in the hands of his - dear Jessamy Bride, who, he felt, had alone understood him—had alone - trusted him with the discharge of a knightly task. - </p> - <p> - He closed his oaken outer door and forced up the wick of the lamp in his - room. With trembling fingers by the light of its rays he unclasped the - wallet and extracted its contents. He devoured the pages with his eyes, - and then both wallet and papers fell from his hands. He dropped into a - chair with an exclamation of wonder and dismay. The papers which he had - taken from the wallet were those which, following the instructions of Mrs. - Abington, he had brought with him to the tavern, pretending that they were - the act of the comedy which he had to read to the actress! - </p> - <p> - He remained for a long time in the chair into which he had fallen. He was - utterly stupefied. Apart from the shock of his disappointment, the - occurrence was so mysterious as to deprive him of the power of thought. He - could only gaze blankly down at the empty wallet and the papers, covered - with his own handwriting, which he had picked up from his own desk before - starting for the tavern. - </p> - <p> - What did it all mean? How on earth had those papers found their way into - the wallet? - </p> - <p> - Those were the questions which he had to face, but for which, after an - hour's consideration, he failed to find an answer. - </p> - <p> - He recollected distinctly having seen the expression of suspicion come - over the man's face when he saw Mrs. Abington sitting on the chair over - which his cloak was hanging; and when she had returned to the table, - Jackson had staggered to the cloak, and running his hand down the lining - until he had found the pocket, furtively took from it the wallet, which he - transferred to the pocket on the inner side of his waistcoat. He had had - no time—at least, so Goldsmith thought—to put the sham act of - the play into the wallet; and yet he felt that the man must have done so - unseen by the others in the room, or how could the papers ever have been - in the wallet? - </p> - <p> - Great heavens! The man must only have been shamming intoxication the - greater part of the night! He must have had so wide an experience of the - craft of men and the wiles of women as caused him to live in a condition - of constant suspicion of both men and women. He had clearly suspected Mrs. - Abington's invitation to supper, and had amused himself at the expense of - the actress and her other guest. He had led them both on, and had fooled - them to the top of his bent, just when they were fancying that they were - entrapping him. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith felt that, indeed, he at least had been a fool, and, as usual, - he had attained the summit of his foolishness just when he fancied he was - showing himself to be especially astute. He had chuckled over his - shrewdness in placing himself in the hands of a woman to the intent that - he might defeat the ends of the scoundrel who threatened Mary Horneck's - happiness, but now it was Jackson who was chuckling-Jackson, who had - doubtless been watching with amused interest the childish attempts made by - Mrs. Abington to entrap him. - </p> - <p> - How glibly she had talked of entrapping him! She had even gone the length - of quoting Shakespeare; she was one of those people who fancy that when - they have quoted Shakespeare they have said the last word on any subject. - But when the time came for her to cease talking and begin to act, she had - failed. She had proved to him that he had been a fool to place himself in - her hands, hoping she would be able to help him. - </p> - <p> - He laughed bitterly at his own folly. The consciousness of having failed - would have been bitter enough by itself, but now to it was added the - consciousness of having been laughed at by the man of whom he was trying - to get the better. - </p> - <p> - What was there now left for him to do? Nothing except to go to Mary, and - tell her that she had been wrong in entrusting her cause to him. She - should have entrusted it to Colonel Gwyn, or some man who would have been - ready to help her and capable of helping her—some man with a - knowledge of men—some man of resource, not one who was a mere weaver - of fictions, who was incapable of dealing with men except on paper. - Nothing was left for him but to tell her this, and to see Colonel Gwyn - achieve success where he had achieved only the most miserable of failures. - </p> - <p> - He felt that he was as foolish as a man who had built for himself a house - of cards, and had hoped to dwell in it happily for the rest of his life, - whereas the fabric had not survived the breath of the first breeze that - had swept down upon it. - </p> - <p> - He felt that, after the example which he had just had of the diabolical - cunning of the man with whom he had been contesting, it would be worse - than useless for him to hope to be of any help to Mary Horneck. He had - already wasted more than a week of valuable time. He could, at least, - prevent any more being wasted by going to Mary and telling her how great a - mistake she had made in being over-generous to him. She should never have - made such a friend of him. Dr. Johnson had been right when he said that - he, Oliver Goldsmith, had taken advantage of the gracious generosity of - the girl and her family. He felt that it was his vanity that had led him - to undertake on Mary's behalf a task for which he was utterly unsuited; - and only the smallest consolation was allowed to him in the reflection - that his awakening had come before it was too late. He had not been led - away to confess to Mary all that was in his heart. She had been saved the - unhappiness which that confession would bring to a nature so full of - feeling as hers. And he had been saved the mortification of the thought - that he had caused her pain. - </p> - <p> - The dawn was embroidering with its floss the early foliage of the trees of - the Temple before he went to his bed-room, and another hour had passed - before he fell asleep. - </p> - <p> - He did not awake until the clock had chimed the hour of ten, and he found - that his man had already brought to the table at his bedside the letters - which had come for him in the morning. He turned them over with but a - languid amount of interest. There was a letter from Griffiths, the - bookseller; another from Garrick, relative to the play which Goldsmith had - promised him; a third, a fourth and a fifth were from men who begged the - loan of varying sums for varying periods. The sixth was apparently, from - its shape and bulk, a manuscript—one of the many which were - submitted to him by men who called him their brother-poet. He turned it - over, and perceived that it had not come through the post. That fact - convinced him that it was a manuscript, most probably an epic poem, or - perhaps a tragedy in verse, which the writer might think he could get - accepted at Drury Lane by reason of his friendship with Garrick. - </p> - <p> - He let this parcel lie on the table until he had dressed, and only when at - the point of sitting down to breakfast did he break the seals. The instant - he had done so he gave a cry of surprise, for he found that the parcel - contained a number of letters addressed in Mary Horneck's handwriting to a - certain Captain Jackson at a house in the Devonshire village where she had - been staying the previous summer. - </p> - <p> - On the topmost letter there was a scrap of paper, bearing a scrawl from - Mrs. Abing ton—the spelling as well as the writing was hers— - </p> - <p> - “'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.' These are a few feathers - pluckt from our hawke, hoping that they will be a feather in the capp of - dear Dr. Goldsmith.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVI. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e was so greatly - amazed he could only sit looking mutely at the scattered letters on the - table in front of him. He was even more amazed at finding them there than - he had been the night before at not finding them in the wallet which he - had taken from Jackson's waistcoat. He thought he had arrived at a - satisfactory explanation as to how he had come to find within the wallet - the sheets of manuscript which he had had in his hand on entering the - supper room; but how was he to account for the appearance of the letters - in this parcel which he had received from Mrs. Abington? - </p> - <p> - So perplexed was he that he failed for sometime to grasp the truth—to - appreciate what was meant by the appearance of those letters on his table. - But so soon as it dawned upon him that they meant safety and happiness to - Mary, he sprang from his seat and almost shouted for joy. She was saved. - He had checkmated the villain who had sought her ruin and who had the - means to accomplish it, too. It was his astuteness that had caused him to - go to Mrs. Abington and ask for her help in accomplishing the task with - which he had been entrusted. He had, after all, not been mistaken in - applying to a woman to help him to defeat the devilish scheme of a - pitiless ruffian, and Mary Horneck had not been mistaken when she had - singled him out to be her champion, though all men and most women would - have ridiculed the idea of his assuming the rôle of a knight-errant. - </p> - <p> - His elation at that moment was in proportion to his depression, his - despair, his humiliation when he had last been in his room. His nature - knew nothing but extremes. Before retiring to his chamber in the early - morning, he had felt that life contained nothing but misery for him; but - now he felt that a future of happiness was in store for him—his - imagination failed to set any limits to the possibility of his future - happiness. He laughed at the thought of how he had resolved to go to Mary - and advise her to intrust her cause to Colonel Gwyn. The thought of - Colonel Gwyn convulsed him just now. With all his means, could Colonel - Gwyn have accomplished all that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had accomplished? - </p> - <p> - He doubted it. Colonel Gwyn might be a good sort of fellow in spite of his - formal manner, his army training, and his incapacity to see a jest, but it - was doubtful if he could have brought to a successful conclusion so - delicate an enterprise as that which he—Goldsmith—had - accomplished. Gwyn would most likely have scorned to apply to Mrs. - Abington to help him, and that was just where he would have made a huge - mistake. Any man who thought to get the better of the devil without the - aid of a woman was a fool. He felt more strongly convinced of the truth of - this as he stood with his back to the fire in his grate than he had been - when he had found the wallet containing only his own manuscript. The - previous half-hour had naturally changed his views of man and woman and - Providence and the world. - </p> - <p> - When he had picked up the letters and locked them in his desk, he ate some - breakfast, wondering all the while by what means Mrs. Abington had - obtained those precious writings; and after giving the matter an hour's - thought, he came to the conclusion that she must have felt the wallet in - the pocket of the man's cloak when she had left the table pretending to be - shocked at the disloyal expressions of her guest—she must have felt - the wallet and have contrived to extract the letters from it, substituting - for them the sham act of the play which excused his entrance to the - supper-room. - </p> - <p> - The more he thought over the matter, the more convinced he became that the - wily lady had effected her purpose in the way, he conjectured. He - recollected that she had been for a considerable time on the chair with - the cloak—much longer than was necessary for Jackson to drink the - treasonable toast; and when she returned to the table, it was only to turn - him out of the room upon a very shallow pretext. What a fool he had been - to fancy that she was in a genuine passion when she had flung her glass of - wine in the face of her guest because he had addressed her as Mrs. - Baddeley! - </p> - <p> - He had been amazed at the anger displayed by her in regard to that - particular incident, but later he had thought it possible that she had - acted the part of a jealous woman to give him a better chance of getting - the wallet out of the man's waistcoat pocket. Now, however, he clearly - perceived that her anxiety was to get out of the room in order to place - the letters beyond the man's hands. - </p> - <p> - Once again he laughed, saying out loud— - </p> - <p> - “Ah, I was right—a woman's wiles only are superior to the strategy - of a devil!” - </p> - <p> - Then he became more contemplative. The most joyful hour of his life was at - hand. He asked himself how his dear Jessamy Bride would receive the - letters which he was about to take to her. He did not think of himself in - connection with her gratitude. He left himself altogether out of - consideration in this matter. He only thought of how the girl's face would - lighten—how the white roses which he had last seen on her cheeks - would change to red when he put the letters into her hand, and she felt - that she was safe. - </p> - <p> - That was the reward for which he looked. He knew that he would feel - bitterly disappointed if he failed to see the change of the roses on her - face—if he failed to hear her fill the air with the music of her - laughter. And then—then she would be happy for evermore, and he - would be happy through witnessing her happiness. - </p> - <p> - He finished dressing, and was in the act of going to his desk for the - letters, which he hoped she would soon hold in her hand, when his servant - announced two visitors. - </p> - <p> - Signor Baretti, accompanied by a tall and very thin man, entered. The - former greeted Goldsmith, and introduced his friend, who was a compatriot - of his own, named Nicolo. - </p> - <p> - “I have not forgotten the matter which you honoured me by placing in my - hands,” said Baretti. “My friend Nicolo is a master of the art of fencing - as practised in Italy in the present day. He is under the impression, - singular though it may seem, that he spoke to you more than once during - your wanderings in Tuscany.” - </p> - <p> - “And now I am sure of it,” said Nicolo in French. He explained that he - spoke French rather better than English. “Yes, I was a student at Pisa - when Dr. Goldsmith visited that city. I have no difficulty in recognising - him.” - </p> - <p> - “And I, for my part, have a conviction that I have seen your face, sir,” - said Goldsmith, also speaking in French; “I cannot, however, recall the - circumstances of our first meeting. Can you supply the deficiency in my - memory, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “There was a students' society that met at the Boccaleone,” said Signor - Nicolo. - </p> - <p> - “I recollect it distinctly; Figli della Torre, you called yourselves,” - said Goldsmith quickly. “You were one of the orators—quite reckless, - if you will permit me to say so much.” - </p> - <p> - The man smiled somewhat grimly. - </p> - <p> - “If he had not been utterly reckless he would not be in England to-day,” - said Baretti. “Like myself, he is compelled to face your detestable - climate on account of some indiscreet references to the Italian - government, which he would certainly repeat to-morrow were he back again.” - </p> - <p> - “It brings me back to Tuscany once more, to see your face, Signor Nicolo,” - said Goldsmith. “Yes, though your Excellency had not so much of a beard - and mustacio when I saw you some years ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir, nor was your Lordship's coat quite so admirable then as it is - now, if I am not too bold to make so free a comment, sir,” said the man - with another grim smile. - </p> - <p> - “You are not quite right, my friend,” laughed Goldsmith; “for if my memory - serves me—and it does so usually on the matter of dress—I had - no coat whatsoever to my back—that was of no importance in Pisa, - where the air was full of patriotism.” - </p> - <p> - “The most dangerous epidemic that could occur in any country,” said - Baretti. “There is no Black Death that has claimed so many victims. We are - examples—Nicolo and I. I am compelled to teach Italian to a brewer's - daughter, and Nicolo is willing to transform the most clumsy Englishman—and - there are a good number of them, too—into an expert swordsman in - twelve lessons—yes, if the pupil will but practise sufficiently - afterwards.” - </p> - <p> - “We need not talk of business just now,” said Goldsmith. “I insist on my - old friends sharing a bottle of wine with me. I shall drink to - 'patriotism,' since it is the means of sending to my poor room two such - excellent friends as the Signori Baretti and Nicolo.” - </p> - <p> - He rang the bell, and gave his servant directions to fetch a couple of - bottles of the old Madeira which Lord Clare had recently sent to him—very - recently, otherwise three bottles out of the dozen would not have - remained. - </p> - <p> - The wine had scarcely been uncorked when the sound of a man's step was - heard upon the stairs, and in a moment Captain Jackson burst into the - room. - </p> - <p> - “I have found you, you rascal!” he shouted, swaggering across the room to - where Goldsmith was seated. “Now, my good fellow, I give you just one - minute to restore to me those letters which you abstracted from my pocket - last night.” - </p> - <p> - “And I give you just one minute to leave my room, you drunken blackguard,” - said Goldsmith, laying a hand on the arm of Signor Nicolo, who was in the - act of rising. “Come, sir,” he continued, “I submitted to your insults - last night because I had a purpose to carry out; but I promise you that I - give you no such license in my own house. Take your carcase away, sir; my - friends have fastidious nostrils.” - </p> - <p> - Jackson's face became purple and then white. His lips receded from his - gums until his teeth were seen as the teeth of a wolf when it is too - cowardly to attack. - </p> - <p> - “You cur!” he said through his set teeth. “I don't know what prevents me - from running you through the body.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you not? I do,” said Goldsmith. He had taken the second bottle of wine - off the table, and was toying with it in his hands. - </p> - <p> - “Come, sir,” said the bully after a pause; “I don't wish to go to Sir John - Fielding for a warrant for your arrest for stealing my property, but, by - the Lord, if you don't hand over those letters to me now I will not spare - you. I shall have you taken into custody as a thief before an hour has - passed.” - </p> - <p> - “Go to Sir John, my friend, and tell him that Dick Jackson, American spy, - is anxious to hang himself, and mention that one Oliver Goldsmith has at - hand the rope that will rid the world of one of its greatest scoundrels,” - said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - Jackson took a step or two back, and put his hand to his sword. In a - second both Baretti and Nicolo had touched the hilts of their weapons. The - bully looked from the one to the other, and then laughed harshly. - </p> - <p> - “My little poet,” he said in a mocking voice, “you fancy that because you - have got a letter or two you have drawn my teeth. Let me tell you for your - information that I have something in my possession that I can use as I - meant to use the letters.” - </p> - <p> - “And I tell you that if you use it, whatever it is, by God I shall kill - you, were you thrice the scoundrel that you are!” cried Goldsmith, leaping - up. - </p> - <p> - There was scarcely a pause before the whistle of the man's sword through - the air was heard; but Baretti gave Goldsmith a push that sent him behind - a chair, and then quietly interposed between him and Jackson. - </p> - <p> - “Pardon me, sir,” said he, bowing to Jackson, “but we cannot permit you to - stick an unarmed man. Your attempt to do so in our presence my friend and - I regard as a grave affront to us.” - </p> - <p> - “Then let one of you draw!” shouted the man. “I see that you are - Frenchmen, and I have cut the throat of a good many of your race. Draw, - sir, and I shall add you to the Frenchies that I have sent to hell.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir, I wear spectacles, as you doubtless perceive,” said Baretti. “I - do not wish my glasses to be smashed; but my friend here, though a weaker - man, may possibly not decline to fight with so contemptible a ruffian as - you undoubtedly are.” - </p> - <p> - He spoke a few words to Nicolo in Italian, and in a second the latter had - whisked out his sword and had stepped between Jackson and Baretti, putting - quietly aside the fierce lunge which the former made when Baretti had - turned partly round. - </p> - <p> - “Briccone! assassin!” hissed Baretti. “You saw that he meant to kill me, - Nicolo,” he said addressing his friend in their own tongue. - </p> - <p> - “He shall pay for it,” whispered Nicolo, pushing back a chair with his - foot until Goldsmith lifted it and several other pieces of furniture out - of the way, so as to make a clear space in the room. - </p> - <p> - “Don't kill him, friend Nicolo,” he cried. “We used to enjoy a sausage or - two in the old days at Pisa. You can make sausage-meat of a carcase - without absolutely killing the beast.” - </p> - <p> - The fencing-master smiled grimly, but spoke no word. - </p> - <p> - Jackson seemed puzzled for a few moments, and Baretti roared with - laughter, watching him hang back. The laugh of the Italian—it was - not melodious—acted as a goad upon him. He rushed upon Nicolo, - trying to beat down his guard, but his antagonist did not yield a single - inch. He did not even cease to smile as he parried the attack. His - expression resembled that of an indulgent chess player when a lad who has - airily offered to play with him opens the game. - </p> - <p> - After a few minutes' fencing, during which the Italian declined to attack, - Jackson drew back and lowered the point of his sword. - </p> - <p> - “Take a chair, sir,” said Baretti, grinning. “You will have need of one - before my friend has finished with you.” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith said nothing. The man had grossly insulted him the evening - before, and he had made Mary Horneck wretched; but he could not taunt him - now that he was at the mercy of a master-swordsman. He watched the man - breathing hard, and then nerving himself for another attack upon the - Italian. - </p> - <p> - Jackson's second attempt to get Nicolo within the range of his sword was - no more successful than his first. He was no despicable fencer, but his - antagonist could afford to play with him. The sound of his hard breathing - was a contrast to the only other sound in the room—the grating of - steel against steel. - </p> - <p> - Then the smile upon the sallow face of the fencing-master seemed gradually - to vanish. He became more than serious—surely his expression was one - of apprehension. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith became somewhat excited. He grasped Baretti by the arm, as one - of Jackson's thrusts passed within half an inch of his antagonist's - shoulder, and for the first time Nicolo took a hasty step back, and in - doing so barely succeeded in protecting himself against a fierce lunge of - the other man. - </p> - <p> - It was now Jackson's turn to laugh. He gave a contemptuous chuckle as he - pressed forward to follow up his advantage. He did not succeed in touching - Nicolo, though he went very close to him more than once, and now it was - plain that the Italian was greatly exhausted. He was breathing hard, and - the look of apprehension on his face had increased until it had actually - become one of terror. Jackson did not fail to perceive this, and malignant - triumph was in every feature of his face. Any one could see that he felt - confident of tiring out the visibly fatigued Italian, and Goldsmith, with - staring eyes, once again clutched Baretti. - </p> - <p> - Baretti's yellow skin became wrinkled up to the meeting place of his wig - and forehead in smiles. - </p> - <p> - “I should like the third button of his coat for a memento, Sandrino,” said - he. - </p> - <p> - In an instant there was a quivering flash through the air, and the third - paste button off Jackson's coat indented the wall just above Baretti's - head and fell at his feet, a scrap of the satin of the coat flying behind - it like the little pennon on a lance. - </p> - <p> - “Heavens!” whispered Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, friend Nicolo was always a great humourist,” said Baretti. “For God's - sake, Sandrino, throw them high into the air. The rush of that last was - like a bullet.” - </p> - <p> - Up to the ceiling flashed another button, and fell back upon the coat from - which it was torn. - </p> - <p> - And still Nicolo fenced away with that look of apprehension still on his - face. - </p> - <p> - “That is his fun,” said Baretti. “Oh, body of Bacchus! A great humourist!” - </p> - <p> - The next button that Nicolo cutoff with the point of his sword he caught - in his left hand and threw to Goldsmith, who also caught it. - </p> - <p> - The look of triumph vanished from Jackson's face. He drew back, but his - antagonist would not allow him to lower his sword, but followed him round - the room untiringly. He had ceased his pretence of breathing heavily, but - apparently his right arm was tired, for he had thrown his sword into his - left hand, and was now fencing from that side. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly the air became filled with floating scraps of silk and satin. - They quivered to right and left, like butterflies settling down upon a - meadow; they fluttered about by the hundred, making a pretty spectacle. - Jackson's coat and waistcoat were in tatters, yet with such consummate - dexterity did the fencingmaster cut the pieces out of both garments that - Goldsmith utterly failed to see the swordplay that produced so amazing a - result. Nicolo seemed to be fencing pretty much as usual. - </p> - <p> - And then a curious incident occurred, for the front part of one of the - man's pocket fell on the floor. - </p> - <p> - With an oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap on the floor. - The pocked being cut away, a packet of letters, held against the lining by - a few threads of silk, became visible, and in another moment Nicolo had - spitted them on his sword, and laid them on the table in a single flash. - Goldsmith knew by the look that Jackson cast at them that they were the - batch of letters which he had received in the course of his traffic with - the American rebels. - </p> - <p> - “Come, Sandrino,” said Baretti, affecting to yawn. “Finish the rascal off, - and let us go to that excellent bottle of Madeira which awaits us. Come, - sir, the carrion is not worth more than you have given him; he has kept us - from our wine too long already.” - </p> - <p> - With a curiously tricky turn of the wrist, the master cut off the right - sleeve of the man's coat close to his shoulder, and drew it in a flash - over his sword. The disclosing of the man's naked arm and the hiding of - the greater part of his weapon were comical in the extreme; and with an - oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap upon the floor, - thoroughly exhausted. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0349.jpg" alt="0349 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0349.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - Baretti picked up the sword, broke the blade across his knee, and flung - the pieces into a corner, the tattered sleeve still entangled in the - guard. - </p> - <p> - “John,” shouted Goldsmith to his servant, who was not far off. (He had - witnessed the duel through the keyhole of the door until it became too - exciting, and then he had put his head into the room.) “John, give that - man your oldest coat. It shall never be said that I turned a man naked out - of my house.” When John Eyles had left the room, Oliver turned to the - half-naked panting man. “You are possibly the most contemptible bully and - coward alive,” said he. “You did not hesitate to try and accomplish the - ruin of the sweetest girl in the world, and you came here with intent to - murder me because I succeeded in saving her from your clutches. If I let - you go now, it is because I know that in these letters, which I mean to - keep, I have such evidence against you as will hang you whenever I see fit - to use it, and I promise you to use it if you are in this country at the - end of two days. Now, leave this house, and thank my servant for giving - you his coat, and this gentleman”—he pointed to Nicolo—“for - such a lesson in fencing as, I suppose, you never before received.” - </p> - <p> - The man rose, painfully and laboriously, and took the coat with which John - Eyles returned. He looked at Goldsmith from head to foot. - </p> - <p> - “You contemptible cur!” he said, “I have not yet done with you. You have - now stolen the second packet of letters; but, by the Lord, if one of them - passes out of your hands it will be avenged. I have friends in pretty high - places, let me tell you.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not doubt it,” said Baretti. “The gallows is a high enough place for - you and your friends.” - </p> - <p> - The ruffian turned upon him in a fury. - </p> - <p> - “Look to yourself, you foreign hound!” he said, his face becoming livid, - and his lips receding from his mouth so as to leave his wolf-fangs bare as - before. “Look to yourself. You broke my sword after luring me on to be - made a fool of for your sport. Look to yourself!” - </p> - <p> - “Turn that rascal into the street, John,” cried Goldsmith, and John - bustled forward. There was fighting in the air. If it came to blows he - flattered himself that he could give an interesting exhibition of his - powers—not quite so showy, perhaps, as that given by the Italian, - but one which he was certain was more English in its style. - </p> - <p> - “No one shall lay a hand on me,” said Jackson. “Do you fancy that I am - anxious to remain in such a company?” - </p> - <p> - “Come, sir; you are in my charge, now,” said John, hustling him to the - door. “Come—out with you—sharp!” - </p> - <p> - In the room they heard the sound of the man descending the stairs slowly - and painfully. They became aware of his pause in the lobby below to put on - the coat which John had given to him, and a moment later they saw him walk - in the direction of the Temple lodge. - </p> - <p> - Then Goldsmith turned to Signor Nicolo, who was examining one of the - prints that Hogarth had presented to his early friend, who had hung them - on his wall. - </p> - <p> - “You came at an opportune moment, my friend,” said he. “You have not only - saved my life, you have afforded me such entertainment as I never have - known before. Sir, you are certainly the greatest living master of your - art.” - </p> - <p> - “The best swordsman is the best patriot,” said Baretti. - </p> - <p> - “That is why so many of your countrymen live in England,” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Alas! yes,” said Nicolo. “Happily you Englishmen are not good patriots, - or you would not be able to live in England.” - </p> - <p> - “I am not an Englishman,” said Goldsmith. “I am an Irish patriot, and - therefore I find it more convenient to live out of Ireland. Perhaps it is - not good patriotism to say, as I do, 'Better to live in England than to - starve in Ireland.' And talking of starving, sirs, reminds me that my - dinner hour is nigh. What say you, Signor Nicolo? What say you, Baretti? - Will you honour me with your company to dinner at the Crown and Anchor an - hour hence? We shall chat over the old days at Pisa and the prospects of - the Figli della Torre, Signor Nicolo. We cannot stay here, for it will - take my servant and Mrs. Ginger a good two hours to sweep up the fragments - of that rascal's garments. Lord! what a patchwork quilt Dr. Johnson's - friend Mrs. Williams could make if she were nigh.” - </p> - <p> - “Patchwork should not only be made, it should be used by the blind,” said - Baretti. “Touching the dinner you so hospitably propose, I have no - engagement for to-day, and I dare swear that Nicolo has none either.” - </p> - <p> - “He has taken part in one engagement, at least,” said Goldsmith, - </p> - <p> - “And I am now at your service,” said the fencing-master. - </p> - <p> - They went out together, Goldsmith with the precious letters in his pocket—the - second batch he put in the place of Mary Hor-neck's in his desk—and, - parting at Fleet street, they agreed to meet at the Crown and Anchor in an - hour. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVII. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was with a - feeling of deep satisfaction, such as he had never before known, that - Goldsmith walked westward to Mrs. Horneck's house. All the exhilaration - that he had experienced by watching the extraordinary exhibition of - adroitness on the part of the fencingmaster remained with him. The - exhibition had, of course, been a trifle bizarre. It had more than a - suspicion of the art of the mountebank about it. For instance, Nicolo's - pretence of being overmatched early in the contest—breathing hard - and assuming a terrified expression—yielding his ground and allowing - his opponent almost to run him through—could only be regarded as - theatrical; while his tricks with the buttons and the letters, though - amazing, were akin to the devices of a rope-dancer. But this fact did not - prevent the whole scene from having an exhilarating effect upon Goldsmith, - more especially as it represented his repayment of the debt which he owed - to Jackson. - </p> - <p> - And now to this feeling was added that of the greatest joy of his life in - having it in his power to remove from the sweetest girl in the world the - terror which she believed to be hanging over her head. He felt that every - step which he was taking westward was bringing him nearer to the - realisation of his longing-his longing to see the white roses on Mary's - cheeks change to red once more. - </p> - <p> - It was a disappointment to him to learn that Mary had gone down to Barton - with the Bunburys. Her mother, who met him in the hall, told him this with - a grave face as she brought him into a parlour. - </p> - <p> - “I think she expected you to call during the past ten days, Dr. - Goldsmith,” said the lady. “I believe that she was more than a little - disappointed that you could not find time to come to her.” - </p> - <p> - “Was she, indeed? Did she really expect me to call?” he asked. This fresh - proof of the confidence which the Jessamy Bride reposed in him was very - dear to him. She had not merely entrusted him with her enterprise on the - chance of his being able to save her; she had had confidence in his - ability to save her, and had looked for his coming to tell her of his - success. - </p> - <p> - “She seemed very anxious to see you,” said Mrs. Horneck. “I fear, dear Dr. - Goldsmith, that my poor child has something on her mind. That is her - sister's idea also. And yet it is impossible that she should have any - secret trouble; she has not been out of our sight since her visit to - Devonshire last year. At that time she had, I believe, some silly, girlish - fancy—my brother wrote to me that there had been in his - neighbourhood a certain attractive man, an officer who had returned home - with a wound received in the war with the American rebels. But surely she - has got over that foolishness!” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, yes. You may take my word for it, madam, she has got over that - foolishness,” said Goldsmith. “You may take my word for it that when she - sees me the roses will return to her cheeks.” - </p> - <p> - “I do hope so,” said Mrs. Horneck. “Yes, you could always contrive to make - her merry, Dr. Goldsmith. We have all missed you lately; we feared that - that disgraceful letter in the <i>Packet</i> had affected you. That was - why my son called upon you at your rooms. I hope he assured you that - nothing it contained would interfere with our friendship.” - </p> - <p> - “That was very kind of you, my dear madam,” said he; “but I have seen Mary - since that thing appeared.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure you have. Did you not think that she looked very ill?” - </p> - <p> - “Very ill indeed, madam; but I am ready to give you my assurance that when - I have been half an hour with her she will be on the way to recovery. You - have not, I fear, much confidence in my skill as a doctor of medicine, - and, to tell you the truth, whatever your confidence in this direction may - amount to, it is a great deal more than what I myself have. Still, I think - you will say something in my favour when you see Mary's condition begin to - improve from the moment we have a little chat together.” - </p> - <p> - “That is wherein I have the amplest confidence in you, dear Dr. Goldsmith. - Your chat with her will do more for her than all the medicine the most - skilful of physicians could prescribe. It was a very inopportune time for - her to fall sick.” - </p> - <p> - “I think that all sicknesses are inopportune. But why Mary's?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I have good reason to believe, Dr. Goldsmith, that had she not - steadfastly refused to see a certain gentleman who has been greatly - attracted by her, I might now have some happy news to convey to you.” - </p> - <p> - “The gentleman's name is Colonel Gwyn, I think.” - </p> - <p> - He spoke in a low voice and after a long pause. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, you have guessed it, then? You have perceived that the gentleman was - drawn toward her?” said the lady smiling. - </p> - <p> - “I have every reason to believe in his sincerity,” said Goldsmith. “And - you think that if Mary had been as well as she usually has been, she would - have listened to his proposals, madam?” - </p> - <p> - “Why should she not have done so, sir?” said Mrs. Horneck. - </p> - <p> - “Why not, indeed?” - </p> - <p> - “Colonel Gwyn would be a very suitable match for her,” said she. “He is, - to be sure, several years her senior; that, however, is nothing.” - </p> - <p> - “You think so—you think that a disparity in age should mean nothing - in such a case?” said Oliver, rather eagerly. - </p> - <p> - “How could any one be so narrowminded as to think otherwise?” cried Mrs. - Horneck. “Whoever may think otherwise, sir, I certainly do not. I hope I - am too good a mother, Dr. Goldsmith. Nay, sir, I could not stand between - my daughter and happiness on such a pretext as a difference in years. - After all, Colonel Gwyn is but a year or two over thirty—thirty-seven, - I believe—but he does not look more than thirty-five.” - </p> - <p> - “No one more cordially agrees with you than myself on the point to which - you give emphasis, madam,” said Goldsmith. “And you think that Mary will - see Colonel Gwyn when she returns?” - </p> - <p> - “I hope so; and therefore I hope, dear sir, that you will exert yourself - so that the bloom will be brought back to her cheeks,” said the lady. - “That is your duty, Doctor; remember that, I pray. You are to bring back - the bloom to her cheeks in order that Colonel Gwyn may be doubly attracted - to her.” - </p> - <p> - “I understand—I understand.” - </p> - <p> - He spoke slowly, gravely. - </p> - <p> - “I knew you would help us,” said Mrs. Horneck, “and so I hope that you - will lose no time in coming to us after Mary's return to-morrow. Your - Jessamy Bride will, I trust, be a real bride before many days have - passed.” - </p> - <p> - Yes, that was his duty: to help Mary to happiness. Not for him, not for - him was the bloom to be brought again to her cheeks—not for him, but - for another man. For him were the sleepless nights, the anxious days, the - hours of thought—all the anxiety and all the danger resulting from - facing an unscrupulous scoundrel. For another man was the joy of putting - his lips upon the delicate bloom of her cheeks, the joy of taking her - sweet form into his arms, of dwelling daily in her smiles, of being for - evermore beside her, of feeling hourly the pride of so priceless a - possession as her love. - </p> - <p> - That was his thought as he walked along the Strand with bent head; and - yet, before he had reached the Crown and Anchor, he said— - </p> - <p> - “Even so; I am satisfied—I am satisfied.” - </p> - <p> - It chanced that Dr. Johnson was in the tavern with Steevens, and Goldsmith - persuaded both to join his party. He was glad that he succeeded in doing - so, for he had felt it was quite possible that Baretti might inquire of - him respecting the object of Jackson's visit to Brick Court, and he could - not well explain to the Italian the nature of the enterprise which he had - so successfully carried out by the aid of Mrs. Abington. It was one thing - to take Mrs. Abington into his confidence, and quite another to confide in - Baretti. He was discriminating enough to be well aware of the fact that, - while the secret was perfectly safe in the keeping of the actress, it - would be by no means equally so if confided to Baretti, although some - people might laugh at him for entertaining an opinion so contrary to that - which was generally accepted by the world, Mrs. Abington being a woman and - Baretti a man. - </p> - <p> - He had perceived long ago that Baretti was extremely anxious to learn all - about Jackson—that he was wondering how he, Goldsmith, should have - become mixed up in a matter which was apparently of imperial importance, - for at the mention of the American rebels Baretti had opened his eyes. He - was, therefore, glad that the talk at the table was so general as to - prevent any allusion being made to the incidents of the day. - </p> - <p> - Dr. Johnson made Signor Nicolo acquainted with a few important facts - regarding the use of the sword and the limitations of that weapon, which - the Italian accepted with wonderful gravity; and when Goldsmith, on the - conversation drifting into the question of patriotism and its trials, - declared that a successful patriot was susceptible of being defined as a - man who loved his country for the benefit of himself, Dr. Johnson roared - out— - </p> - <p> - “Sir, that is very good. If Mr. Boswell were here—and indeed, sir, I - am glad that he is not—he would say that your definition was so good - as to make him certain you had stolen it from me.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir, 'tis not so good as to have been stolen from you,” said - Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” said Dr. Johnson, “I did not say that it was good enough to have - been stolen from me. I only said that it was good enough to make a very - foolish person suppose that it was stolen from me. No sensible person, Dr. - Goldsmith, would believe, first, that you would steal; secondly, that you - would steal from me; thirdly, that I would give you a chance of stealing - from me; and fourthly, that I would compose an apophthegm which when it - comes to be closely examined is not so good after all. Now, sir, are you - satisfied with the extent of my agreement with you?” - </p> - <p> - “Sir, I am more than satisfied,” said Goldsmith, while Nicolo, the cunning - master of fence, sat by with a puzzled look on his saffron face. This was - a kind of fencing of which he had had no previous experience. - </p> - <p> - After dining Goldsmith made the excuse of being required at the theatre, - to leave his friends. He was anxious to return thanks to Mrs. Abington for - managing so adroitly to accomplish in a moment all that he had hoped to - do. - </p> - <p> - He found the lady not in the green room, but in her dressing room; her - costume was not, however, the less fascinating, nor was her smile the less - subtle as she gave him her hand to kiss. He knelt on one knee, holding her - hand to his lips; he was too much overcome to be able to speak, and she - knew it. She did not mind how long he held her hand; she was quite - accustomed to such demonstrations, though few, she well knew, were of - equal sincerity to those of Oliver Goldsmith's. - </p> - <p> - “Well, my poet,” she said at last, “have you need of my services to banish - any more demons from the neighbourhood of your friends?” - </p> - <p> - “I was right,” he managed to say after another pause, “yes, I knew I was - not mistaken in you, my dear lady.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; you knew that I was equal to combat the wiles of the craftiest demon - that ever undertook the slandering of a fair damsel,” said she. “Well, - sir, you paid me a doubtful compliment—a more doubtful compliment - than the fair damsel paid to you in asking you to be her champion. But you - have not told me of your adventurous journey with our friend in the - hackney coach.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay,” he cried, “it is you who have not yet told me by what means you - became possessed of the letters which I wanted—by what magic you - substituted for them the mock act of the comedy which I carried with me - into the supper room.” - </p> - <p> - “Psha, sir!” said she, “'twas a simple matter, after all. I gathered from - a remark the fellow made when laying his cloak across the chair, that he - had the letters in one of the pockets of that same cloak. He gave me a - hint that a certain Ned Cripps, who shares his lodging, is not to be - trusted, so that he was obliged to carry about with him every document on - which he places a value. Well, sir, my well known loyalty naturally - received a great shock when he offered to drink to the American rebels, - and you saw that I left the table hastily. A minute or so sufficed me to - discover the wallet with the letters; but then I was at my wits' end to - find something to occupy their place in the receptacle. Happily my eye - caught the roll of your manuscript, which lay in your hat on the floor - beneath the chair, and heigh! presto! the trick was played. I had a - sufficient appreciation of dramatic incident to keep me hoping all the - night that you would be able to get possession of the wallet, believing it - contained the letters for which you were in search. Lord, sir! I tried to - picture your face when you drew out your own papers.” The actress lay back - on her couch and roared with laughter, Goldsmith joining in quite - pleasantly. - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” he said; “I can fancy that I see at this moment the expression which - my face wore at the time. But the sequel to the story is the most - humourous. I succeeded last night in picking the fellow's pocket, but he - paid me a visit this afternoon with the intent of recovering what he - termed his property.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, lud! Call you that humourous? How did you rid yourself of him?” - </p> - <p> - At the story of the fight which had taken place in Brick Court, Mrs. - Abington laughed heartily after a few breathless moments. - </p> - <p> - “By my faith, sir!” she cried; “I would give ten guineas to have been - there. But believe me, Dr. Goldsmith,” she added a moment afterwards, “you - will live in great jeopardy so long as that fellow remains in the town.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, my dear,” said he. “It was Baretti whom he threatened as he left my - room—not I. He knows that I have now in my possession such documents - as would hang him.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, is not that the very reason why he should make an attempt upon your - life?” cried the actress. “He may try to kill Baretti on a point of - sentiment, but assuredly he will do his best to slaughter you as a matter - of business.” - </p> - <p> - “Faith, madam, since you put it that way I do believe that there is - something in what you say,” said Goldsmith. “So I will e'en take a - hackney-coach to the Temple and get the stalwart Ginger to escort me to - the very door of my chambers.” - </p> - <p> - “Do so, sir. I am awaiting with great interest the part which you have yet - to write for me in a comedy.” - </p> - <p> - “I swear to you that it will be the best part ever written by me, my dear - friend. You have earned my everlasting gratitude.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! was the lady so grateful as all that?” cried the actress, looking at - him with one of those arch smiles of hers which even Sir Joshua Reynolds - could not quite translate to show the next century what manner of woman - was the first Lady Teazle, for the part of the capricious young wife of - the elderly Sir Peter was woven around the fascinating country girl's - smile of Mrs. Abington. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVIII. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith kept his - word. He took a hackney-coach to the Temple, and was alert all the time he - was driving lest Jackson and his friends might be waiting to make an - attack upon him. He reached his chambers without any adventure, however, - and on locking his doors, took out the second parcel of letters and set - himself to peruse their contents. - </p> - <p> - He had no need to read them all—the first that came to his hand was - sufficient to make him aware of the nature of the correspondence. It was - perfectly plain that the man had been endeavouring to traffic with the - rebels, and it was equally certain that the rebel leaders had shown - themselves to be too honourable to take advantage of the offers which he - had made to them. If this correspondence had come into the hands of - Cornwallis he would have hanged the fellow on the nearest tree instead of - merely turning him out of his regiment and shipping him back to England as - a suspected traitor. - </p> - <p> - As he locked the letters once again in his desk he felt that there was - indeed every reason to fear that Jackson would not rest until he had - obtained possession of such damning evidence of his guilt. He would - certainly either make the attempt to get back the letters, or leave the - country, in order to avoid the irretrievable ruin which would fall upon - him if any one of the packet went into the hands of a magistrate; and - Goldsmith was strongly of the belief that the man would adopt the former - course. - </p> - <p> - Only for an instant, as he laid down the compromising document, did he ask - himself how it was possible that Mary Horneck should ever have been so - blind as to be attracted to such a man, and to believe in his honesty. - </p> - <p> - He knew enough of the nature of womankind to be aware of the glamour which - attaches to a soldier who has been wounded in fighting the enemies of his - country. If Mary had been less womanly than she showed herself to be, he - would not have loved her so well as he did. Her womanly weaknesses were - dear to him, and the painful evidence that he had of the tenderness of her - heart only made him feel that she was all the more a woman, and therefore - all the more to be loved. - </p> - <p> - It was the afternoon of the next day before he set out once more for the - Hornecks. - </p> - <p> - He meant to see Mary, and then go on to Sir Joshua Reynolds's to dine. - There was to be that night a meeting of the Royal Academy, which he would - attend with the president, after Sir Joshua's usual five o'clock dinner. - It occurred to him that, as Baretti would also most probably be at the - meeting, he would do well to make him acquainted with the dangerous - character of Jackson, so that Baretti might take due precautions against - any attack that the desperate man might be induced to make upon him. No - doubt Baretti would make a good point in conversation with his friends of - the notion of Oliver Goldsmith's counselling caution to any one; but the - latter was determined to give the Italian his advice on this matter, - whatever the consequences might be. - </p> - <p> - It so happened, however, that he was unable to carry out his intention in - full, for on visiting Mrs. Horneck, he learned that Mary would not return - from Barton until late that night, and at the meeting of the Academy - Baretti failed to put in an appearance. - </p> - <p> - He mentioned to Sir Joshua that he had something of importance to - communicate to the Italian, and that he was somewhat uneasy at not having - a chance of carrying out his intention in this respect. - </p> - <p> - “You would do well, then, to come to my house for supper,” said Reynolds. - “I think it is very probable that Baretti will look in, if only to - apologise for his absence from the meeting. Miss Kauffman has promised to - come, and I have secured Johnson as well.” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith agreed, and while Johnson and Angelica Kauffman walked in front, - he followed with Reynolds some distance behind—not so far, however, - as to be out of the range of Johnson's voice. Johnson was engaged in a - discourse with his sweet companion—he was particularly fond of such - companionship—on the dignity inseparable from a classic style in - painting, and the enormity of painting men and women in the habiliments of - their period and country. Angelica Kauffman was not a painter who required - any considerable amount of remonstrance from her preceptors to keep her - feet from straying in regard to classical traditions. The artist who gave - the purest Greek features and the Roman toga alike to the Prodigal Son and - King Edward III could not be said to be capable of greatly erring from Dr. - Johnson's precepts. - </p> - <p> - All through supper the sage continued his discourse at intervals of - eating, giving his hearty commendation to Sir Joshua's conscientious - adherence to classical traditions, and shouting down Goldsmith's mild - suggestion that it might be possible to adhere to these traditions so - faithfully as to inculcate a certain artificiality of style which might - eventually prove detrimental to the best interests of art. - </p> - <p> - “What, sir!” cried Johnson, rolling like a three-decker swinging at - anchor, and pursing out his lips, “would you contend that a member of - Parliament should be painted for posterity in his every-day clothes—that - the King should be depicted as an ordinary gentleman?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, yes, sir, if the King were an ordinary gentleman,” replied - Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - Whitefoord, who never could resist the chance of making a pun, whispered - to Oliver that in respect of some Kings there was more of the ordinary - than the gentleman about them, and when Miss Reynolds insisted on his - phrase being repeated to her, Johnson became grave. - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” he cried, turning once more to Goldsmith, “there is a very flagrant - example of what you would bring about. When a monarch, even depicted in - his robes and with the awe-inspiring insignia of his exalted position, is - not held to be beyond the violation of a punster, what would he be if - shown in ordinary garb? But you, sir, in your aims after what you call the - natural, would, I believe, consider seriously the advisability of the - epitaphs in Westminster Abbey being written in English.” - </p> - <p> - “And why not, sir?” said Goldsmith; then, with a twinkle, he added, “For - my own part, sir, I hope that I may live to read my own epitaph in - Westminster Abbey written in English.” - </p> - <p> - Every one laughed, including—when the bull had been explained to her—Angelica - Kauffman. - </p> - <p> - After supper Sir Joshua put his fair guest into her chair, shutting its - door with his own hands, and shortly afterwards Johnson and Whitefoord - went off together. But still Goldsmith, at the suggestion of Reynolds, - lingered in the hope that Baretti would call. He had probably been - detained at the house of a friend, Reynolds said, and if he should pass - Leicester Square on his way home, he would certainly call to explain the - reason of his absence from the meeting. - </p> - <p> - When another half-hour had passed, however, Goldsmith rose and said that - as Sir Joshua's bed-time was at hand, it would be outrageous for him to - wait any longer. His host accompanied him to the hall, and Ralph helped - him on with his cloak. He was in the act of receiving his hat from the - hand of the servant when the hall-bell was rung with starling violence. - The ring was repeated before Ralph could take the few steps to the door. - </p> - <p> - “If that is Baretti who rings, his business must be indeed urgent,” said - Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - In another moment the door was opened, and the light of the lamp showed - the figure of Steevens in the porch. He hurried past Ralph, crying out so - as to reach the ear of Reynolds. - </p> - <p> - “A dreadful thing has happened tonight, sir! Baretti was attacked by two - men in the Haymarket, and he killed one of them with his knife. He has - been arrested, and will be charged with murder before Sir John Fielding in - the morning. I heard of the terrible business just now, and lost no time - coming to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Merciful heaven!” cried Goldsmith. “I was waiting for Baretti in order to - warn him.” - </p> - <p> - “You could not have any reason for warning him against such an attack as - was made upon him,” said Steevens. “It seems that the fellow whom Baretti - was unfortunate enough to kill was one of a very disreputable gang well - known to the constables. It was a Bow street runner who stated what his - name was.” - </p> - <p> - “And what was his name?” asked Reynolds. - </p> - <p> - “Richard Jackson,” replied Steevens. “Of course we never heard the name - before. The attack upon Baretti was the worst that could be imagined.” - </p> - <p> - “The world is undoubtedly rid of a great rascal,” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “Undoubtedly; but that fact will not save our friend from being hanged, - should a jury find him guilty,” said Steevens. “We must make an effort to - avert so terrible a thing. That is why I came here now; I tried to speak - to Baretti, but the constables would not give me permission. They carried - my name to him, however, and he sent out a message asking me to go without - delay to Sir Joshua and you, as well as Dr. Johnson and Mr. Garrick. He - hopes you may find it convenient to attend before Sir John Fielding at Bow - street in the morning.” - </p> - <p> - “That we shall,” said Sir Joshua. “He shall have the best legal advice - available in England; and, meantime, we shall go to him and tell him that - he may depend on our help, such as it is.” - </p> - <p> - The coach in which Steevens had come to Leicester Square was still - waiting, and in it they all drove to where Baretti was detained in - custody. The constables would not allow them to see the prisoner, but they - offered to convey to him any message which his friends might have, and - also to carry back to them his reply. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith was extremely anxious to get from Baretti's own lips an account - of the assault which had been made upon him; but he could not induce the - constables to allow him to go into his presence. They, however, bore in - his message to the effect that he might depend on the help of all his - friends in his emergency. - </p> - <p> - Sir Joshua sent for the watchmen by whom the arrest had been effected, and - they stated that Baretti had been seized by the crowd—afar from - reputable crowd—so soon as it was known that a man had been stabbed, - and he had been handed over to the constables, while a surgeon examined - the man's wound, but was able to do nothing for him; he had expired in the - surgeon's hands. - </p> - <p> - Baretti's statement made to the watch was that he was on his way to the - meeting of the Academy, and being very late, he was hurrying through the - Haymarket when a woman jostled him, and at the same instant two men rushed - out from the entrance to Jermyn street and attacked him with heavy sticks. - One of the men closed with him to prevent his drawing his sword, but he - succeeded in freeing one arm, and in defending himself with the small - fruit knife which he invariably carried about with him, as was the custom - in France and Italy, where fruit is the chief article of diet, he had - undoubtedly stabbed his assailant, and by a great mischance he must have - severed an artery. - </p> - <p> - The Bow street runner who had seen the dead body told Reynolds and his - friends that he recognised the man as one Jackson, who had formerly held a - commission in the army, and had been serving in America, when, being tried - by court-martial for some irregularities, he had been sent to England by - Cornwallis. He had been living by his wits for some months, and had - recently joined a very disreputable gang, who occupied a house in - Whetstone Park. - </p> - <p> - “So far from our friend having been guilty of a criminal offence, it seems - to me that he has rid the country of a vile rogue,” said Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “If the jury take that view of the business they'll acquit the gentleman,” - said the Bow street runner. “But I fancy the judge will tell them that - it's the business of the hangman only to rid the country of its rogues.” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith could not but perceive that the man had accurately defined the - view which the law was supposed to take of the question of getting rid of - the rogues, and his reflections as he drove to his chambers, having parted - from Sir Joshua Reynolds and Steevens, made him very unhappy. He could not - help feeling that Baretti was the victim of his—Goldsmith's—want - of consideration. What right had he, he asked himself, to drag Baretti - into a matter in which the Italian had no concern? He felt that a man of - the world would certainly have acted with more discretion, and if anything - happened to Baretti he would never forgive himself. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIX. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>fter a very - restless night he hastened to Johnson, but found that Johnson had already - gone to Garrick's house, and at Garrick's house Goldsmith learned that - Johnson and Garrick had driven to Edmund Burke's; so it was plain that - Baretti's friends were losing no time in setting about helping him. They - all met in the Bow Street Police Court, and Goldsmith found that Burke had - already instructed a lawyer on behalf of Baretti. His tender heart was - greatly moved at the sight of Baretti when the latter was brought into - court, and placed in the dock, with a constable on each side. But the - prisoner himself appeared to be quite collected, and seemed proud of the - group of notable persons who had come to show their friendship for him. He - smiled at Reynolds and Goldsmith, and, when the witnesses were being - examined, polished the glasses of his spectacles with the greatest - composure. He appeared to be confident that Sir John Fielding would allow - him to go free when evidence was given that Jackson had been a man of - notoriously bad character, and he seemed greatly surprised when the - magistrate announced that he was returning him for trial at the next - sessions. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith asked Sir John Fielding for permission to accompany the prisoner - in the coach that was taking him to Newgate, and his request was granted. - </p> - <p> - He clasped Baretti's hand with tears in his eyes when they set out on this - melancholy drive, saying— - </p> - <p> - “My dear friend, I shall never forgive myself for having brought you to - this.” - </p> - <p> - “Psha, sir!” said Baretti. “'Tis not you, but the foolish laws of this - country that must be held accountable for the situation of the moment. In - what country except this could a thing so ridiculous occur? A gross - ruffian attacks me, and in the absence of any civil force for the - protection of the people, I am compelled to protect myself from his - violence. It so happens that instead of the fellow killing me, I by - accident kill him, and lo! a pigheaded magistrate sends me to be tried for - my life! Mother of God! that is what is called the course of justice in - this country! The course of idiocy it had much better be called!” - </p> - <p> - “Do not be alarmed,” said Goldsmith. “When you appear before a judge and - jury you will most certainly be acquitted. But can you forgive me for - being the cause of this great inconvenience to you?” - </p> - <p> - “I can easily forgive you, having no reason to hold you in any way - responsible for this <i>contretemps</i>,” said Baretti. “But I cannot - forgive that very foolish person who sat on the Bench at Bow street and - failed to perceive that my act had saved his constables and his hangman a - considerable amount of trouble! Heavens! that such carrion as the fellow - whom I killed should be regarded sacred—as sacred as though he were - an Archbishop! Body of Bacchus! was there ever a contention so - ridiculous?” - </p> - <p> - “You will only be inconvenienced for a week or two, my dear friend,” said - Goldsmith. “It is quite impossible that you could be convicted—oh, - quite impossible. You shall have the best counsel available, and Reynolds - and Johnson and Beauclerk will speak for you.” - </p> - <p> - But Baretti declined to be pacified by such assurances. He continued - railing against England and English laws until the coach arrived at - Newgate. - </p> - <p> - It was with a very sad heart that Goldsmith, when he was left alone in the - coach, gave directions to be driven to the Hor-necks' house in - Westminster. On leaving his chambers in the morning, he had been uncertain - whether it was right for him to go at once to Bow street or to see Mary - Horneck. He felt that he should relieve Mary from the distress of mind - from which she had suffered for so long, but he came to the conclusion - that he should let nothing come between him and his duty in respect of the - man who was suffering by reason of his friendship for him, Goldsmith. Now, - however, that he had discharged his duty so far as he could in regard to - Baretti, he lost no time in going to the Jessamy Bride. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Horneck again met him in the hall. Her face was very grave, and the - signs of recent tears were visible on it. - </p> - <p> - “Dear Dr. Goldsmith,” she said, “I am in deep distress about Mary.” - </p> - <p> - “How so, madam?” he gasped, for a dreadful thought had suddenly come to - him. Had he arrived at this house only to hear that the girl was at the - point of death? - </p> - <p> - “She returned from Barton last night, seeming even more depressed than - when she left town,” said Mrs. Horneck. “But who could fancy that her - condition was so low as to be liable to such complete prostration as was - brought about by my son's announcement of this news about Signor Baretti?” - </p> - <p> - “It prostrated her?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, when Charles read out an account of the unhappy affair which is - printed in one of the papers, Mary listened breathlessly, and when he read - out the name of the man who was killed, she sank from her chair to the - floor in a swoon, just as though the man had been one of her friends, - instead of one whom none of us could ever possibly have met.” - </p> - <p> - “And now?” - </p> - <p> - “Now she is lying on the sofa in the drawingroom awaiting your coming with - strange impatience—I told her that you had been here yesterday and - also the day before. She has been talking very strangely since she awoke - from her faint—accusing herself of bringing her friends into - trouble, but evermore crying out, 'Why does he not come—why does he - not come to tell me all that there is to be told?' She meant you, dear Dr. - Goldsmith. She has somehow come to think of you as able to soothe her in - this curious imaginary distress, from which she is suffering quite as - acutely as if it were a real sorrow. Oh, I was quite overcome when I saw - the poor child lying as if she were dead before my eyes! Her condition is - the more sad, as I have reason to believe that Colonel Gwyn means to call - to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “Never mind Colonel Gwyn for the present, madam,” said Goldsmith, “Will - you have the goodness to lead me to her room? Have I not told you that I - am confident that I can restore her to health?” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, Dr. Goldsmith, if you could!—ah, if you only could! But alas, - alas!” - </p> - <p> - He followed her upstairs to the drawingroom where he had had his last - interview with Mary. Even before the door was opened the sound of sobbing - within the room came to his ears. - </p> - <p> - “Now, my dear child,” said her mother with an affectation of cheerfulness, - “you see that Dr. Goldsmith has kept his word. He has come to his Jessamy - Bride.” - </p> - <p> - The girl started up, but the struggle she had to do so showed him most - pathetically how weak she was. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, he is come he is come!” she cried. “Leave him with me, mother; he has - much to tell me.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” said he; “I have much.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Horneck left the room after kissing the girl's forehead. - </p> - <p> - She had hardly closed the door before Mary caught Goldsmith's hand - spasmodically in both her own—he felt how they were trembling-as she - cried— - </p> - <p> - “The terrible thing that has happened! He is dead—you know it, of - course? Oh, it is terrible—terrible! But the letters!—they - will be found upon him or at the place where he lived, and it will be - impossible to keep my secret longer. Will his friends—he had evil - friends, I know—will they print them, do you think? Ah, I see by - your face that you believe they will print the letters, and I shall be - undone—undone.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear,” he said, “you might be able to bear the worst news that I could - bring you; but will you be able to bear the best?” - </p> - <p> - “The best! Ah, what is the best?” - </p> - <p> - “It is more difficult to prepare for the best than for the worst, my - child. You are very weak, but you must not give way to your weakness.” - </p> - <p> - She stared at him with wistful, expectant eyes. Her hands were clasped - more tightly than ever upon his own. He saw that she was trying to speak, - but failing to utter a single word. - </p> - <p> - He waited for a few moments and then drew out of his pocket the packet of - her letters, and gave it to her. She looked at it strangely for certainly - a minute. She could not realise the truth. She could only gaze mutely at - the packet. He perceived that that gradual dawning of the truth upon her - meant the saving of her life. He knew that she would not now be - overwhelmed with the joy of being saved. - </p> - <p> - Then she gave a sudden cry. The letters dropped from her hand. She flung - her arms around his neck and kissed him again and again on the cheeks. - Quite as suddenly she ceased kissing him and laughed—not - hysterically, but joyously, as she sprang to her feet with scarcely an - effort and walked across the room to the window that looked upon the - street. He followed her with his eyes and saw her gazing out. Then she - turned round with another laugh that rippled through the room. How long - was it since he had heard her laugh in that way? - </p> - <p> - She came toward him, and then he knew that he had had his reward, for her - cheeks that had been white were now glowing with the roses of June, and - her eyes that had been dim were sparkling with gladness. - </p> - <p> - “Ah,” she cried, putting out both her hands to him. “Ah, I knew that I was - right in telling you my secret, and in asking you to help me. I knew that - you would not fail me in my hour of need, and you shall be dear to me for - evermore for having helped me. There is no one in the world like you, dear - Oliver Goldsmith. I have always felt that—so good, so true, so full - of tenderness and that sweet simplicity which has made the greatest and - best people in the world love you, as I love you, dear, dear friend! O, - you are a friend to be trusted—a friend who would be ready to die - for his friend. Gratitude—you do not want gratitude. It is well that - you do not want gratitude, for what could gratitude say to you for what - you have done? You have saved me from death—from worse than death—and - I know that the thought that you have done so will be your greatest - reward. I will always be near you, that you may see me and feel that I - live only because you stretched out your kind hand and drew me out of the - deep waters—the waters that had well-nigh closed over my head.” - </p> - <p> - He sat before her, looking up to the sweet face that looked down upon him. - His eyes were full of tears. The world had dealt hardly with him; but he - felt that his life had not been wholly barren of gladness, since he had - lived to see—even through the dimness of tears—so sweet a face - looking into his own with eyes full of the light of—was it the - gratitude of a girl? Was it the love of a woman? - </p> - <p> - He could not speak. He could not even return the pressure of the small - hands that clasped his own with all the gracious pressure of the tendrils - of a climbing flower. - </p> - <p> - “Have you nothing to say to me—no word to give me at this moment?” - she asked in a whisper, and her head was bent closer to his, and her - fingers seemed to him to tighten somewhat around his own. - </p> - <p> - “What word?” said he. “Ah, my child, what word should come from such a man - as I to such a woman as you? No, I have no word. Such complete happiness - as is mine at this moment does not seek to find expression in words. You - have given me such happiness as I never hoped for in my life. You have - understood me—you alone, and that to such as I means happiness.” - </p> - <p> - She dropped his hands so suddenly as almost to suggest that she had flung - them away from her. She took an impatient step or two in the direction of - the window. - </p> - <p> - “You talk of my understanding you,” she said in a voice that had a sob in - it. “Yes, but have you no thought of understanding me? Is it only a man's - nature that is worth trying to understand? Is a woman's not worthy of a - thought?” - </p> - <p> - He started up and seemed about to stretch his arms out to her, but with a - sudden drawing in of his breath he put his hands behind his back and - locked the fingers of both together. - </p> - <p> - Thus he stood looking at her while she had her face averted, not knowing - the struggle that was going on between the two powers that are ever in the - throes of conflict within the heart of a man who loves a woman well enough - to have no thought of himself—no thought except for her happiness. - </p> - <p> - “No,” he said at last. “No, my dear, dear child; I have no word to say to - you! I fear to speak a word. The happiness that a man builds up for - himself may be destroyed by the utterance of one word. I wish to remain - happy—watching your happiness—in silence. Perhaps I may - understand you—I may understand something of the thought which - gratitude suggests to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, gratitude!” said she in a tone that was sad even in its scornfulness. - She had not turned her head toward him. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I may understand something of your nature—the sweetest, the - tenderest that ever made a woman blessed; but I understand myself better, - and I know in what direction lies my happiness—in what direction - lies your happiness.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! are you sure that they are two—that they are separate?” said - she. And now she moved her head slowly so that she was looking into his - face. - </p> - <p> - There was a long pause. She could not see the movement of his hands. He - still held them behind him. At last he said slowly— - </p> - <p> - “I am sure, my dear one. Ah, I am but too sure. Would to God there were a - chance of my being mistaken! Ah, dear, dear child, it is my lot to look on - happiness through another man's eyes. And, believe me, there is more - happiness in doing so than the world knows of. No, no! Do not speak—for - God's sake, do not speak to me! Do not say those words which are trembling - on your lips, for they mean unhappiness to both of us.” - </p> - <p> - She continued looking at him; then suddenly, with a little cry, she turned - away, and throwing herself down on the sofa, burst into tears, with her - face upon one of the arms, which her hands held tightly. - </p> - <p> - After a time he went to her side and laid a hand upon her hair. - </p> - <p> - She raised her head and looked up to him with streaming eyes. She put a - hand out to him, saying in a low but clear voice— - </p> - <p> - “You are right. Oh, I know you are right. I will not speak that word; but - I can never—never cease to think of you as the best—the - noblest—the truest of men. You have been my best friend—my - only friend—and there is no dearer name that a man can be called by - a woman.” - </p> - <p> - He bent his head and kissed her on the forehead, but spoke no word. - </p> - <p> - A moment afterwards Mrs. Horneck entered the room. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, mother, mother!” cried the girl, starting up, “I knew that I was - right—I knew that Dr. Goldsmith would be able to help me. Ah, I am a - new girl since he came to see me. I feel that I am well once more—that - I shall never be ill again! Oh, he is the best doctor in the world!” - </p> - <p> - “Why, what a transformation there is already!” said her mother. “Ah, Dr. - Goldsmith was always my dear girl's friend!” - </p> - <p> - “Friend—friend!” she said slowly, almost gravely. “Yes, he was - always my friend, and he will be so forever—my friend—our - friend.” - </p> - <p> - “Always, always,” said Mrs. Horneck. “I am doubly glad to find that you - have cast away your fit of melancholy, my dear, because Colonel Gwyn has - just called and expresses the deepest anxiety regarding your condition. - May I not ask him to come up in order that his mind may be relieved by - seeing you?” - </p> - <p> - “No, no! I will not see Colonel Gwyn to-day,” cried the girl. “Send him - away—send him away. I do not want to see him. I want to see no one - but our good friend Oliver Goldsmith. Ah, what did Colonel Gwyn ever do - for me that I should wish to see him?” - </p> - <p> - “My dear Mary——” - </p> - <p> - “Send him away, dear mother. I tell you that indeed I am not yet - sufficiently recovered to be able to have a visitor. Dr. Goldsmith has not - yet given me a good laugh, and till you come and find us laughing together - as we used to laugh in the old days, you cannot say that I am myself - again.” - </p> - <p> - “I will not do anything against your inclinations, child,” said Mrs. - Horneck. “I will tell Colonel Gwyn to renew his visit to you next week.” - </p> - <p> - “Do, dear mother,” cried the girl, laughing. “Say next week, or next year, - sweetest of mothers, or—best of all—say that he had better - come by and by, and then add, in the true style of Mr. Garrick, that 'by - and by is easily said.'” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXX. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>s he went to his - chambers to dress before going to dine with the Dillys in the Poultry, - Goldsmith was happier than he had been for years. He had seen the light - return to the face that he loved more than all the faces in the world, and - he had been strong enough to put aside the temptation to hear her confess - that she returned the love which he bore her, but which he had never - confessed to her. He felt happy to know that the friendship which had been - so great a consolation to him for several years—the friendship for - the family who had been so good and so considerate to him—was the - same now as it had always been. He felt happy in the reflection that he - had spoken no word that would tend to jeopardise that friendship. He had - seen enough of the world to be made aware of the fact that there is no - more potent destroyer of friendship than love. He had put aside the - temptation to speak a word of love; nay, he had prevented her from - speaking what he believed would be a word of love, although the speaking - of that word would have been the sweetest sound that had ever fallen upon - his ears. - </p> - <p> - And that was how he came to feel happy. - </p> - <p> - And yet, that same night, when he was sitting alone in his room, he found - a delight in adding to that bundle of manuscripts which he had dedicated - to her and which some weeks before he had designed to destroy. He added - poem after poem to the verses which Johnson had rightly interpreted—verses - pulsating with the love that was in his heart—verses which Mary - Horneck could not fail to interpret aright should they ever come before - her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “But they shall never come before her eyes,” he said. “Ah, never—never! - It is in my power to avert at least that unhappiness from her life.” - </p> - <p> - And yet before he went to sleep he had a thought that perhaps one day she - might read those verses of his—yes, perhaps one day. He wondered if - that day was far off or nigh. - </p> - <p> - When he had been by her side, after Colonel Gwyn had left the house, he - had told her the story of the recovery of her letters; he did not, - however, think it necessary to tell her how the man had come to entertain - his animosity to Baretti; and she thus regarded the latter's killing of - Jackson as an accident. - </p> - <p> - After the lapse of a day or two he began to think if it might not be well - for him to consult with Edmund Burke as to whether it would be to the - advantage of Baretti or otherwise to submit evidence as to the threats - made use of by Jackson in regard to Baretti. He thought that it might be - possible to do so without introducing the name of Mary Horneck. But Burke, - after hearing the story—no mention of the name of Mary Horneck being - made by Goldsmith—came to the conclusion that it would be unwise to - introduce at the trial any question of animosity on the part of the man - who had been killed, lest the jury might be led to infer—as, indeed, - they might have some sort of reason for doing-that the animosity on - Jackson's part meant animosity on Baretti's part. Burke considered that a - defence founded upon the plea of accident was the one which was most - likely to succeed in obtaining from a jury a verdict of acquittal. If it - could be shown that the man had attacked Baretti as impudently as some of - the witnesses for the Crown were ready to admit that he did, Burke and his - legal advisers thought that the prisoner had a good chance of obtaining a - verdict. - </p> - <p> - The fact that neither Burke nor any one else spoke with confidence of the - acquittal had, however, a deep effect upon Goldsmith. His sanguine nature - had caused him from the first to feel certain of Baretti's safety, and any - one who reads nowadays an account of the celebrated trial would - undoubtedly be inclined to think that his feeling in this matter was fully - justified. That there should have been any suggestion of premeditation in - the unfortunate act of self-defence on the part of Baretti seems amazing - to a modern reader of the case as stated by the Crown. But as Edmund Burke - stated about that time in the House of Commons, England was a gigantic - shambles. The barest evidence against a prisoner was considered sufficient - to bring him to the gallows for an offence which nowadays, if proved - against him on unmistakable testimony, would only entail his incarceration - for a week. Women were hanged for stealing bread to keep their children - from that starvation which was the result of the kidnapping of their - husbands to serve in the navy; and yet Burke's was the only influential - voice that was lifted up against a system in comparison with which slavery - was not only tolerable, but commendable. - </p> - <p> - Baretti was indeed the only one of that famous circle of which Johnson was - the centre, who felt confident that he would be acquitted. For all his - railing against the detestable laws of the detestable country—which, - however, he found preferable to his own—he ridiculed the possibility - of his being found guilty. It was Johnson who considered it within the - bounds of his duty to make the Italian understand that, however absurd was - the notion of his being carted to the gallows, the likelihood was that he - would experience the feelings incidental to such an excursion. - </p> - <p> - He went full of this intention with Reynolds to visit the prisoner at - Newgate, and it may be taken for granted that he discharged his duty with - his usual emphasis. It is recorded, however, on the excellent authority of - Boswell, that Baretti was quite unmoved by the admonition of the sage. - </p> - <p> - It is also on authority of Boswell that we learn that Johnson was guilty - of what appears to us nowadays as a very gross breach of good taste as - well as of good feeling, when, on the question of the likelihood of - Baretti's failing to obtain a verdict being discussed, he declared that if - one of his friends were fairly hanged he should not suffer, but eat his - dinner just the same as usual. It is fortunate, however, that we know - something of the systems adopted by Johnson when pestered by the idiotic - insistence of certain trivial matters by Boswell, and the record of - Johnson's pretence to appear a callous man of the world probably deceived - no one in the world except the one man whom it was meant to silence. - </p> - <p> - But, however callous Dr. Johnson may have pretended to be—however - insincere Tom Davis the bookseller may—according to Johnson—have - been, there can be no doubt that poor Goldsmith was in great trepidation - until the trial was over. He gave evidence in favour of Baretti, though - Boswell, true to his detestation of the man against whom he entertained an - envy that showed itself every time he mentioned his name, declined to - mention this fact, taking care, however, that Johnson got full credit for - appearing in the witness-box with Burke, Garrick and Beauclerk. - </p> - <p> - Baretti was acquitted, the jury being satisfied that, as the fruit-knife - was a weapon which was constantly carried by Frenchmen and Italians, they - might possibly go so far as to assume that it had not been bought by the - prisoner solely with the intention of murdering the man who had attacked - him in the Haymarket. The carrying of the fruit-knife seems rather a - strange turning-point of a case heard at a period when the law permitted - men to carry swords presumably for their own protection. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith's mind was set at ease by the acquittal of Baretti, and he - joined in the many attempts that were made to show the sympathy which was - felt—or, as Boswell would have us believe Johnson thought, was - simulated—by his friends for Baretti. He gave a dinner in honour of - the acquittal, inviting Johnson, Burke, Garrick, and a few others of the - circle, and he proposed the health of their guest, which, he said, had not - been so robust of late as to give all his friends an assurance that he - would live to a ripe old age. He also toasted the jury and the counsel, as - well as the turnkeys of Newgate and the usher of the Old Bailey. - </p> - <p> - When the trial was over, however, he showed that the strain to which he - had been subjected was too great for him. His health broke down, and he - was compelled to leave his chambers and hurry off to his cottage on the - Edgware Road, hoping to be benefitted by the change to the country, and - trusting also to be able to make some progress with the many works which - he had engaged himself to complete for the booksellers. He had, in - addition, his comedy to write for Garrick, and he was not unmindful of his - promise to give Mrs. Abington a part worthy of her acceptance. - </p> - <p> - He returned at rare intervals to town, and never failed at such times to - see his Jessamy Bride, with whom he had resumed his old relations of - friendship. When she visited her sister at Barton she wrote to him in her - usual high spirits. Little Comedy also sent him letters full of the fun in - which she delighted to indulge with him, and he was never too busy to - reply in the same strain. The pleasant circle at Bun-bury's country house - wished to have him once again in their midst, to join in their pranks, and - to submit, as he did with such good will, to their practical jests. - </p> - <p> - He did not go to Barton. He had made up his mind that that was one of the - pleasures of life which he should forego. At Barton he knew that he would - see Mary day by day, and he could not trust himself to be near her - constantly and yet refrain from saying the words which would make both of - them miserable. He had conquered himself once, but he was not sure that he - would be as strong a second time. - </p> - <p> - This perpetual struggle in which he was engaged—this constant - endeavour to crush out of his life the passion which alone made life - endurable to him, left him worn and weak, so it was not surprising that, - when a coach drove up to his cottage one day, after many months had - passed, and Mrs. Horneck stepped out, she was greatly shocked at the - change which was apparent in his appearance. - </p> - <p> - “Good heaven, Dr. Goldsmith!” she cried when she entered his little - parlour, “you are killing yourself by your hard work. Sir Joshua said he - was extremely apprehensive in regard to your health the last time he saw - you, but were he to see you now, he would be not merely apprehensive but - despairing.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, my dear madam,” he said. “I am only suffering from a slight attack - of an old enemy of mine. I am not so strong as I used to be; but let me - assure you that I feel much better since you have been good enough to give - me an opportunity of seeing you at my humble home. When I caught sight of - you stepping out of the coach I received a great shock for a moment; I - feared that—ah, I cannot tell you all that I feared.” - </p> - <p> - “However shocked you were, dear Dr. Goldsmith, you were not so shocked as - I was when you appeared before me,” said the lady. “Why, dear sir, you are - killing yourself. Oh, we must change all this. You have no one here to - give you the attention which your condition requires.” - </p> - <p> - “What, madam! Am not I a physician myself?” said the Doctor, making a - pitiful attempt to assume his old manner. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, sir! every moment I am more shocked,” said she. “I will take you in - hand. I came here to beg of you to go to Barton in my interests, but now I - will beg of you to go thither in your own.” - </p> - <p> - “To Barton? Oh, my dear madam——” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir, I insist! Ah! I might have known you better than to fancy I - should easier prevail upon you by asking you to go to advance your own - interests rather than mine. You were always more ready to help others than - to help yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “How is it possible, dear lady, that you need my poor help?” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! I knew the best way to interest you. Dear friend, I know of no one - who could be of the same help to us as you.” - </p> - <p> - “There is no one who would be more willing, madam.” - </p> - <p> - “You have proved it long ago, Dr. Goldsmith. When Mary had that mysterious - indisposition, was not her recovery due to you? She announced that it was - you, and you only, who had brought her back to life.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! my dear Jessamy Bride was always generous. Surely she is not again in - need of my help.” - </p> - <p> - “It is for her sake I come to you to-day, Dr. Goldsmith. I am sure that - you are interested in her future—in the happiness which we all are - anxious to secure for her.” - </p> - <p> - “Happiness? What happiness, dear madam?” - </p> - <p> - “I will tell you, sir. I look on you as one of our family—nay, I can - talk with you more confidentially than I can with my own son.” - </p> - <p> - “You have ever been indulgent to me, Mrs. Horneck.” - </p> - <p> - “And you have ever been generous, sir; that is why I am here to-day. I - know that Mary writes to you. I wonder if she has yet told you that - Colonel Gwyn made her an offer with my consent.” - </p> - <p> - “No; she has not told me that.” - </p> - <p> - He spoke slowly, rising from his chair, but endeavoring to restrain the - emotion which he felt. - </p> - <p> - “It is not unlike Mary to treat the matter as if it were finally settled, - and so not worthy of another thought,” said Mrs. Horneck. - </p> - <p> - “Finally settled?” repeated Goldsmith. “Then she has accepted Colonel - Gwyn's proposal?” - </p> - <p> - “On the contrary, sir, she rejected it,” said the mother. - </p> - <p> - He resumed his seat. Was the emotion which he experienced at that moment - one of gladness? - </p> - <p> - “Yes, she rejected a suitor whom we all considered most eligible,” said - the lady. “Colonel Gwyn is a man of good family, and his own character is - irreproachable. He is in every respect a most admirable man, and I am - convinced that my dear child's happiness would be assured with him—and - yet she sends him away from her.” - </p> - <p> - “That is possibly because she knows her own mind—her own heart, I - should rather say; and that heart the purest in the world.” - </p> - <p> - “Alas! she is but a girl.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, to my mind, she is something more than a girl. No man that lives is - worthy of her.” - </p> - <p> - “That may be true, dear friend; but no girl would thank you to act too - rigidly on that assumption—an assumption which would condemn her to - live and die an old maid. Now, my dear Dr. Goldsmith, I want you to take a - practical and not a poetical view of a matter which so closely concerns - the future of one who is dear to me, and in whom I am sure you take a - great interest.” - </p> - <p> - “I would do anything for her happiness.” - </p> - <p> - “I know it. Well you have long been aware, I am sure, that she regards you - with the greatest respect and esteem—nay, if I may say it, with - affection as well.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! affection—affection for me?” - </p> - <p> - “You know it. If you were her brother she could not have a warmer regard - for you. And that is why I have come to you to-day to beg of you to yield - to the entreaties of your friends at Barton and pay them a visit. Mary is - there, and I hope you will see your way to use your influence with her on - behalf of Colonel Gwyn.” - </p> - <p> - “What! I, madam?” - </p> - <p> - “Has my suggestion startled you? It should not have done so. I tell you, - my friend, there is no one to whom I could go in this way, saving - yourself. Indeed, there is no one else who would be worth going to, for no - one possesses the influence over her that you have always had. I am - convinced, Dr. Goldsmith, that she would listen to your persuasion while - turning a deaf ear to that of any one else. You will lend us your - influence, will you not, dear friend?” - </p> - <p> - “I must have time to think—to think. How can I answer you at once in - this matter? Ah, you cannot know what my decision means to me.” - </p> - <p> - He had left his chair once more and was standing against the fireplace - looking into the empty grate. - </p> - <p> - “You are wrong,” she said in a low tone. “You are wrong; I know what is in - your thoughts—in your heart. You fear that if Mary were married she - would stand on a different footing in respect to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! a different footing!” - </p> - <p> - “I think that you are in error in that respect,” said the lady. “Marriage - is not such a change as some people seem to fancy it is. Is not Katherine - the same to you now as she was before she married Charles Bunbury?” - </p> - <p> - He looked at her with a little smile upon his face. How little she knew of - what was in his heart! - </p> - <p> - “Ah, yes, my dear Little Comedy is unchanged,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “And your Jessamy Bride would be equally unchanged,” said Mrs. Horneck. - </p> - <p> - “But where lies the need for her to marry at once?” he inquired. “If she - were in love with Colonel Gwyn there would be no reason why they should - not marry at once; but if she does not love him——” - </p> - <p> - “Who can say that she does not love him?” cried the lady. “Oh, my dear Dr. - Goldsmith, a young woman is herself the worst judge in all the world of - whether or not she loves one particular man. I give you my word, sir, I - was married for five years before I knew that I loved my husband. When I - married him I know that I was under the impression that I actually - disliked him. Marriages are made in heaven, they say, and very properly, - for heaven only knows whether a woman really loves a man, and a man a - woman. Neither of the persons in the contract is capable of pronouncing a - just opinion on the subject.” - </p> - <p> - “I think that Mary should know what is in her own heart.” - </p> - <p> - “Alas! alas! I fear for her. It is because I fear for her I am desirous of - seeing her married to a good man—a man with whom her future - happiness would be assured. You have talked of her heart, my friend; alas! - that is just why I fear for her. I know how her heart dominates her life - and prevents her from exercising her judgment. A girl who is ruled by her - heart is in a perilous way. I wonder if she told you what her uncle, with - whom she was sojourning in Devonshire, told me about her meeting a certain - man there—my brother did not make me acquainted with his name—and - being so carried away with some plausible story he told that she actually - fancied herself in love with him—actually, until my brother, - learning that the man was a disreputable fellow, put a stop to an affair - that could only have had a disastrous ending. Ah! her heart——” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, she told me all that. Undoubtedly she is dominated by her heart.” - </p> - <p> - “That is, I repeat, why I tremble for her future. If she were to meet at - some time, when perhaps I might not be near her, another adventurer like - the fellow whom she met in Devonshire, who can say that she would not - fancy she loved him? What disaster might result! Dear friend, would you - desire to save her from the fate of your Olivia?” - </p> - <p> - There was a long pause before he said— - </p> - <p> - “Madam, I will do as you ask me. I will go to Mary and endeavour to point - out to her that it is her duty to marry Colonel Gwyn.” - </p> - <p> - “I knew you would grant my request, my dear, dear friend,” cried the - mother, catching his hand and pressing it. “But I would ask of you not to - put the proposal to her quite in that way. To suggest that a girl with a - heart should marry a particular man because her duty lies in that - direction would be foolishness itself. Duty? The word is abhorrent to the - ear of a young woman whose heart is ripe for love.” - </p> - <p> - “You are a woman.” - </p> - <p> - “I am one indeed; I know what are a woman's thoughts—her longings—her - hopes—and alas! her self-deceptions. A woman's heart—ah, Dr. - Goldsmith, you once put into a few lines the whole tragedy of a woman's - life. What experience was it urged you to write those lines?— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - 'When lovely woman stoops to folly. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And finds too late. . .' - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - To think that one day, perhaps a child of mine should sing that song of - poor Olivia!” He did not tell her that Mary had already quoted the lines - in his hearing. He bowed his head, saying— - </p> - <p> - “I will go to her.” - </p> - <p> - “You will be saving her—ah, sir, will you not be saving yourself,” - cried Mrs. Horneck. - </p> - <p> - He started slightly. - </p> - <p> - “Saving myself? What can your meaning be, Mrs. Horneck?” - </p> - <p> - “I tell you I was shocked beyond measure when I entered this room and saw - you,” she replied. “You are ill, sir; you are very ill, and the change to - the garden at Barton will do you good. You have been neglecting yourself—yes, - and some one who will nurse you back to life. Oh, Barton is the place for - you!” - </p> - <p> - “There is no place I should like better to die at,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “To die at?” she said. “Nonsense, sir! you are I trust, far from death - still. Nay, you will find life, and not death, there. Life is there for - you.” - </p> - <p> - “Your daughter Mary is there,” said he. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXI. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e wrote that very - evening, after Mrs. Horneck had taken her departure, one of his merry - letters to Katherine Bunbury, telling her that he had resolved to yield - gracefully to her entreaties to visit her, and meant to leave for Barton - the next day. When that letter was written he gave himself up to his - thoughts. - </p> - <p> - All his thoughts were of Mary. He was going to place a barrier between her - and himself. He was going to give himself a chance of life by making it - impossible for him to love her. This writer of books had brought himself - to think that if Mary Horneck were to marry Colonel Gwyn he, Oliver - Goldsmith, would come to think of her as he thought of her sister—with - the affection which exists between good friends. - </p> - <p> - While her mother had been talking to him about her and her loving heart, - he had suddenly become possessed of the truth: it was her sympathetic - heart that had led her to make the two mistakes of her life. First, she - had fancied that she loved the impostor whom she had met in Devonshire, - and then she had fancied that she loved him, Oliver Goldsmith. He knew - what she meant by the words which she had spoken in his presence. He knew - that if he had not been strong enough to answer her as he had done that - day, she would have told him that she loved him. - </p> - <p> - Her mother was right. She was in great danger through her liability to - follow the promptings of her heart. If already she had made two such - mistakes as he had become aware of, into what disaster might not she be - led in the future? - </p> - <p> - Yes; her mother was right. Safety for a girl with so tender a heart was to - be found only in marriage—marriage with such a man as Colonel Gwyn - undoubtedly was. He recollected the details of Colonel Gwyn's visit to - himself, and how favourably impressed he had been with the man. He - undoubtedly possessed every trait of character that goes to constitute a - good man and a good husband. Above all, he was devoted to Mary Horneck, - and there was no man who would be better able to keep her from the dangers - which surrounded her. - </p> - <p> - Yes, he would go to Barton and carry out Mrs. Horneck's request. He would, - moreover, be careful to refrain from any mention of the word duty, which - would, the lady had declared, if introduced into his argument, tend to - frustrate his intention. - </p> - <p> - He went down to Barton by coach the next day. He felt very ill indeed, and - he was not quite so confident as Mrs. Horneck that the result of his visit - would be to restore him to perfect health. His last thought before leaving - was that if Mary was made happy nothing else was worth a moment's - consideration. - </p> - <p> - She met him with a chaise driven by Bunbury, at the cross roads, where the - coach set him down; and he could not fail to perceive that she was even - more shocked than her mother had been at his changed appearance. While - still on the top of the coach he saw her face lighted with pleasure the - instant she caught sight of him. She waved her hand toward him, and - Bunbury waved his whip. But the moment he had swung himself painfully and - laboriously to the ground, he saw the look of amazement both on her face - and on that of her brother-in-law. - </p> - <p> - She was speechless, but it was not in the nature of Bunbury to be so. - </p> - <p> - “Good Lord! Noll, what have you been doing to yourself?” he cried. “Why, - you're not like the same man. Is he, Mary?” - </p> - <p> - Mary only shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “I have been ill,” said Oliver. “But I am better already, having seen you - both with your brown country faces. How is my Little Comedy? Is she ready - to give me another lesson in loo?” - </p> - <p> - “She will give you what you need most, you may be certain,” said Bunbury, - while the groom was strapping on his carpet-bag. “Oh! yes; we will take - care that you get rid of that student's face of yours,” he continued. - “Yes, and those sunken eyes! Good Lord! what a wreck you are! But we'll - build you up again, never fear! Barton is the place for you and such as - you, my friend.” - </p> - <p> - “I tell you I am better already,” cried Goldsmith; and then, as the chaise - drove off, he glanced at the girl sitting opposite to him. Her face had - become pale, her eyes were dim. She had spoken no word to him; she was not - even looking at him. She was gazing over the hedgerows and the ploughed - fields. - </p> - <p> - Bunbury rattled away in unison with the rattling of the chaise along the - uneven road. He roared with laughter as he recalled some of the jests - which had been played upon Goldsmith when he had last been at Barton; but - though Oliver tried to smile in response, Mary was silent. When the chaise - arrived at the house, however, and Little Comedy welcomed her guest at the - great door, her high spirits triumphed over even the depressing effect of - her husband's artificial hilarity. She did not betray the shock which she - experienced on observing how greatly changed was her friend since he had - been with her and her sister at Ranelagh. She met him with a laugh and a - cry of “You have never come to us without your scratch-wig? If you have - forgot it, you will e'en have to go back for it.” - </p> - <p> - The allusion to the merriment which had made the house noisy when he had - last been at Barton caused Oliver to brighten up somewhat; and later on, - at dinner, he yielded to the influence of Katherine Bun-bury's splendid - vitality. Other guests were at the table, and the genial chat quickly - became general. After dinner, he sang several of his Irish songs for his - friends in the drawing-room, Mary playing an accompaniment on the - harpsichord. Before he went to his bed-room he was ready to confess that - Mrs. Horneck had judged rightly what would be the effect upon himself of - his visit to the house he loved. He felt better—better than he had - been for months. - </p> - <p> - In the morning he was pleased to find that Mary seemed to have recovered - her usual spirits. She walked round the grounds with him and her sister - after breakfast, and laughed without reservation at the latter's amusing - imitation, after the manner of Garrick, of Colonel Gwyn's declaration of - his passion, and of Mary's reply to him. She had caught very happily the - manner of the suitor, though of course she made a burlesque of the scene, - especially in assuming the fluttered demureness which she declared she had - good reason for knowing had frightened the lover so greatly as to cause - him to talk of the evil results of drinking tea, when he had meant to talk - about love. - </p> - <p> - She had such a talent for this form of fun, and she put so much character - into her casual travesties of every one whom she sought to imitate, she - never gave offence, as a less adroit or less discriminating person would - be certain to have done. Mary laughed even more heartily than Goldsmith at - the account her sister gave of the imaginary scene. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith soon found that the proposal of Colonel Gwyn had passed into the - already long list of family jests, and he saw that he was expected to - understand the many allusions daily made to the incident of his rejection. - A new nickname had been found by her brother-in-law for Mary, and of - course Katherine quickly discovered one that was extremely appropriate to - Colonel Gwyn; and thus, with sly glances and good-humoured mirth, the - hours passed as they had always done in the house which humoured mirth, - the hours passed as they had always done in the house which had ever been - so delightful to at least one of the guests. - </p> - <p> - He could not help feeling, however, before his visit had reached its - fourth day, that the fact of their treating in this humourous fashion an - incident which Mrs. Horneck had charged him to treat very seriously was - extremely embarrassing to his mission. How was he to ask Mary to treat as - the most serious incident in her life the one which was every day treated - before her eyes with levity by her sister and her husband? - </p> - <p> - And yet he felt daily the truth of what Mrs. Horneck had said to him—that - Mary's acceptance of Colonel Gwyn would be an assurance of her future such - as might not be so easily found again. He feared to think what might be in - store for a girl who had shown herself to be ruled only by her own - sympathetic heart. - </p> - <p> - He resolved that he would speak to her without delay respecting Colonel - Gwyn; and though he was afraid that at first she might be disposed to - laugh at his attempt to put a more serious complexion upon her rejection - of the suitor whom her mother considered most eligible, he had no doubt - that he could bring her to regard the matter with some degree of gravity. - </p> - <p> - The opportunity for making an attempt in this direction occurred on the - afternoon of the fourth day of his visit. He found himself alone with Mary - in the still-room. She had just put on an apron in order to put new covers - on the jars of preserved walnuts. As she stood in the middle of the - many-scented room, surrounded by bottles of distilled waters and jars of - preserved fruits and great Worcester bowls of potpourri, with bundles of - sweet herbs and drying lavenders suspended from the ceiling, Charles - Bunbury, passing along the corridor with his dogs, glanced in. - </p> - <p> - “What a housewife we have become!” he cried. “Quite right, my dear; the - head of the Gwyn household will need to be deft.” - </p> - <p> - Mary laughed, throwing a sprig of thyme at him, and Oliver spoke before - the dog's paws sounded on the polished oak of the staircase. - </p> - <p> - “I am afraid, my Jessamy Bride,” said he, “that I do not enter into the - spirit of this jest about Colonel Gwyn so heartily as your sister or her - husband.” - </p> - <p> - “'Tis foolish on their part,” said she. “But Little Comedy is ever on the - watch for a subject for her jests, and Charles is an active abettor of her - in her folly. This particular jest is, I think, a trifle threadbare by - now.” - </p> - <p> - “Colonel Gwyn is a gentleman who deserves the respect of every one,” said - he. - </p> - <p> - “Indeed, I agree with you,” she cried. “I agree with you heartily. I do - not know a man whom I respect more highly. Had I not every right to feel - flattered by his attention?” - </p> - <p> - “No—no; you have no reason to feel flattered by the attention of any - man from the Prince down—or should I say up?” he replied. - </p> - <p> - “'Twould be treason to say so,” she laughed. “Well, let poor Colonel Gwyn - be. What a pity 'tis Sir Isaac Newton did not discover a new way of - treating walnuts for pickling! That discovery would have been more - valuable to us than his theory of gravitation, which, I hold, never saved - a poor woman a day's work.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not want to let Colonel Gwyn be,” said he quietly. “On the contrary, - I came down here specially to talk of him.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, I perceive that you have been speaking with my mother,” said she, - continuing her work. - </p> - <p> - “Mary, my dear, I have been thinking about you very earnestly of late,” - said he. - </p> - <p> - “Only of late!” she cried. “Ah! I flattered myself that I had some of your - thoughts long ago as well.” - </p> - <p> - “I have always thought of you with the truest affection, dear child. But - latterly you have never been out of my thoughts.” She ceased her work and - looked towards him gratefully—attentively. He left his seat and went - to her side. - </p> - <p> - “My sweet Jessamy Bride,” said he, “I have thought of your future with - great uneasiness of heart. I feel towards you as—as—perhaps a - father might feel, or an elder brother. My happiness in the future is - dependent upon yours, and alas! I fear for you; the world is full of - snares.” - </p> - <p> - “I know that,” she quietly said. “Ah, you know that I have had some - experience of the snares. If you had not come to my help what shame would - have been mine!” - </p> - <p> - “Dear child, there was no blame to be attached to you in that painful - affair,” said he. “It was your tender heart that led you astray at first, - and thank God you have the same good heart in your bosom. But alas! 'tis - just the tenderness of your heart that makes me fear for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay; it can become as steel upon occasions,” said she. “Did not I send - Colonel Gwyn away from me?” - </p> - <p> - “You were wrong to do so, my Mary,” he said. “Colonel Gwyn is a good man—he - is a man with whom your future would be sure. He would be able to shelter - you from all dangers—from the dangers into which your own heart may - lead you again as it led you before.” - </p> - <p> - “You have come here to plead the cause of Colonel Gwyn?” said she. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he replied. “I believe him to be a good man. I believe that as his - wife you would be safe from all the dangers which surround such a girl as - you in the world.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! my dear friend,” she cried. “I have seen enough of the world to know - that a woman is not sheltered from the dangers of the world from the day - she marries. Nay, is it not often the case that the dangers only begin to - beset her on that day?” - </p> - <p> - “Often—often. But it would not be so with you, dear child—at - least, not if you marry Colonel Gwyn.” - </p> - <p> - “Even if I do not love him? Ah! I fear that you have become a worldly man - all at once, Dr. Goldsmith. You counsel a poor weak girl from the - standpoint of her matchmaking mother.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, God knows, my sweet Mary, what it costs me to speak to you in this - way. God knows how much sweeter it would be for me to be able to think of - you always as I think of you know—bound to no man—the dearest - of all my friends. I know it would be impossible for me to occupy the same - position as I now do in regard to you if you were married. Ah! I have seen - that there is no more potent divider of friendship than marriage.” - </p> - <p> - “And yet you urge upon me to marry Colonel Gwyn?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—yes—I say I do think it would mean the assurance of your—your - happiness—yes, happiness in the future.” - </p> - <p> - “Surely no man ever had so good a heart as you!” she cried. “You are ready - to sacrifice yourself—I mean you are ready to forego all the - pleasure which our meeting, as we have been in the habit of meeting for - the past four years, gives you, for the sake of seeing me on the way to - happiness—or what you fancy will be happiness.” - </p> - <p> - “I am ready, my dear child; you know what the sacrifice means to me.” - </p> - <p> - “I do,” she said after a pause. “I do, because I know what it would mean - to me. But you shall not be called to make that sacrifice. I will not - marry Colonel Gwyn.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay—nay—do not speak so definitely,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “I will speak definitely,” she cried. “Yes, the time is come for me to - speak definitely. I might agree to marry Colonel Gwyn in the hope of being - happy if I did not love some one else; but loving some one else with all - my heart, I dare not—oh! I dare not even entertain the thought of - marrying Colonel Gwyn.” - </p> - <p> - “You love some one else?” he said slowly, wonderingly. For a moment there - went through his mind the thought— - </p> - <p> - “<i>Her heart has led her astray once again.</i>'” - </p> - <p> - “I love some one else with all my heart and all my strength,” she cried; - “I love one who is worthy of all the love of the best that lives in the - world. I love one who is cruel enough to wish to turn me away from his - heart, though that heart of his has known the secret of mine for long.” - </p> - <p> - Now he knew what she meant. He put his hands together before her, saying - in a hushed voice— - </p> - <p> - “Ah, child—child—spare me that pain—let me go from you.” - </p> - <p> - “Not till you hear me,” she said. “Ah! cannot you perceive that I love you—only - you, Oliver Goldsmith?” - </p> - <p> - “Hush—for God's sake!” he cried. - </p> - <p> - “I will not hush,” she said. “I will speak for love's sake—for the - sake of that love which I bear you—for the sake of that love which I - know you return.” - </p> - <p> - “Alas—alas!” - </p> - <p> - “I know it. Is there any shame in such a girl as I am confessing her love - for such a man as you? I think that there is none. The shame before heaven - would be in my keeping silence—in marrying a man I do not love. Ah! - I have known you as no one else has known you. I have understood your - nature—so sweet—so simple—so great—so true. I - thought last year when you saved me from worse than death that the feeling - which I had for you might perhaps be gratitude; but now I have come to - know the truth.” - </p> - <p> - He laid his hand on her arm, saying in a whisper— - </p> - <p> - “Stop—stop—for God's sake, stop! I—I—do not love - you.” - </p> - <p> - She looked at him and laughed at first. But as his head fell, her laugh - died away. There was a long silence, during which she kept her eyes fixed - upon him, as he stood before her looking at the floor. - </p> - <p> - “You do not love me?” she said in a slow whisper. “Will you say those - words again with your eyes looking into mine?” - </p> - <p> - “Do not humiliate me further,” he said. “Have some pity upon me.” - </p> - <p> - “No—no; pity is not for me,” she said. “If you spoke the truth when - you said those words, speak it again now. Tell me again that you do not - love me.” - </p> - <p> - “You say you know me,” he cried, “and yet you think it possible that I - could take advantage of this second mistake that your kind and sympathetic - heart has made for your own undoing. Look there—there—into - that glass, and see what a terrible mistake your heart has made.” - </p> - <p> - He pointed to a long, narrow mirror between the windows. It reflected an - exquisite face and figure by the side of a face on which long suffering - and struggle, long years of hardship and toil, had left their mark—a - figure attenuated by want and ill-health. - </p> - <p> - “Look at that ludicrous contrast, my child,” he said, “and you will see - what a mistake your heart has made. Have I not heard the jests which have - been made when we were walking together? Have I not noticed the pain they - gave you? Do you think me capable of increasing that pain in the future? - Do you think me capable of bringing upon your family, who have been kinder - than any living beings to me, the greatest misfortune that could befall - them? Nay, nay, my dear child; you cannot think that I could be so base.” - </p> - <p> - “I will not think of anything except that I love the man who is best - worthy of being loved of all men in the world,” said she. “Ah, sir, cannot - you perceive that your attitude toward me now but strengthens my affection - for you?” - </p> - <p> - “Mary—Mary—this is madness!” - </p> - <p> - “Listen to me,” she said. “I feel that you return my affection; but I will - put you to the test. If you can look into my face and tell me that you do - not love me I will marry Colonel Gwyn.” - </p> - <p> - There was another pause before he said— - </p> - <p> - “Have I not spoken once? Why should you urge me on to so painful an - ordeal? Let me go—let me go.” - </p> - <p> - “Not until you answer me—not until I have proved you. Look into my - eyes, Oliver Goldsmith, and speak those words to me that you spoke just - now.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, dear child——” - </p> - <p> - “You cannot speak those words.” There was another long silence. The - terrible struggle that was going on in the heart of that man whose words - are now so dear to the hearts of so many million men and women, was - maintained in silence. No one but himself could hear the tempter's voice - whispering to him to put his arms round the beautiful girl who stood - before him, and kiss her on her cheeks, which were now rosy with - expectation. - </p> - <p> - He lifted up his head. His lips moved, He put out a hand to her a little - way, but with a moan he drew it back. Then he looked into her eyes, and - said slowly— - </p> - <p> - “It is the truth. I do not love you with the heart of a lover.” - </p> - <p> - “That is enough. Leave me! My heart is broken!” - </p> - <p> - She fell into a chair, and covered her face with her hands. - </p> - <p> - He looked at her for a moment; then, with a cry of agony, he went out of - the room—out of the house. - </p> - <p> - In his heart, as he wandered on to the high road, there was not much of - the exaltation of a man who knows that he has overcome an unworthy - impulse. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXII. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen he did not - return toward night Charles Bunbury and his wife became alarmed. He had - only taken his hat and cloak from the hall as he went out; he had left no - line to tell them that he did not mean to return. - </p> - <p> - Bunbury questioned Mary about him. Had he not been with her in the - still-room, he inquired. - </p> - <p> - She told him the truth—as much of the truth as she could tell. - </p> - <p> - “I am afraid that his running away was due to me,” she said. “If so, I - shall never forgive myself.” - </p> - <p> - “What can be your meaning, my dear?” he inquired. “I thought that you and - he had always been the closest friends.” - </p> - <p> - “If we had not been such friends we should never have quarreled,” said - she. “You know that our mother has had her heart set upon my acceptance of - Colonel Gwyn. Well, she went to see Goldsmith at his cottage, and begged - of him to come to me with a view of inducing me to accept the proposal of - Colonel Gwyn.” - </p> - <p> - “I heard nothing of that,” said he, with a look of astonishment. “And so I - suppose when he began to be urgent in his pleading you got annoyed and - said something that offended him.” - </p> - <p> - She held down her head. - </p> - <p> - “You should be ashamed of yourself,” said he “Have you not seen long ago - that that man is no more than a child in simplicity?” - </p> - <p> - “I am ashamed of myself,” said she. “I shall never forgive myself for my - harshness.” - </p> - <p> - “That will not bring him back,” said her brother-in-law. “Oh! it is always - the best of friends who part in this fashion.” - </p> - <p> - Two days afterwards he told his wife that he was going to London. He had - so sincere an attachment for Goldsmith, his wife knew very well that he - felt that sudden departure of his very deeply, and that he would try and - induce him to return. - </p> - <p> - But when Bunbury came back after the lapse of a couple of days, he came - back alone. His wife met him in the chaise when the coach came up. His - face was very grave. - </p> - <p> - “I saw the poor fellow,” he said. “I found him at his chambers in Brick - Court. He is very ill indeed.” - </p> - <p> - “What, too ill to be moved?” she cried. He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “Far too ill to be moved,” he said. “I never saw a man in worse condition. - He declared, however, that he had often had as severe attacks before now, - and that he has no doubt he will recover. He sent his love to you and to - Mary. He hopes you will forgive him for his rudeness, he says.” - </p> - <p> - “His rudeness! his rudeness!” said Katherine, her eyes streaming with - tears. “Oh, my poor friend—my poor friend!” She did not tell her - sister all that her husband had said to her. Mary was, of course, very - anxious to hear how Oliver was, but Katherine only said that Charles had - seen him and found him very ill. The doctor who was in attendance on him - had promised to write if he thought it advisable for him to have a change - to the country. - </p> - <p> - The next morning the two sisters were sitting together when the postboy's - horn sounded. They started up simultaneously, awaiting a letter from the - doctor. - </p> - <p> - No letter arrived, only a narrow parcel, clumsily sealed, addressed to - Miss Hor-neck in a strange handwriting. - </p> - <p> - When she had broken the seals she gave a cry, for the packet contained - sheet after sheet in Goldsmith's hand—poems addressed to her—the - love-songs which his heart had been singing to her through the long - hopeless years. - </p> - <p> - She glanced at one, then at another, and another, with beating heart. - </p> - <p> - She started up, crying— - </p> - <p> - “Ah! I knew it, I knew it! He loves me—he loves me as I love him—only - his love is deep, while mine was shallow! Oh, my dear love—he loves - me, and now he is dying! Ah! I know that he is dying, or he would not have - sent me these; he would have sacrificed himself—nay, he has - sacrificed himself for me—for me!” - </p> - <p> - She threw herself on a sofa and buried her face in her hands. - </p> - <p> - “My dear—dear sister,” said Katherine, “is it possible that you—you——” - </p> - <p> - “That I loved him, do you ask?” cried Mary, raising her head. “Yes, I - loved him—I love him still—I shall never love any one else, - and I am going to him to tell him so. Ah! God will be good—God will - be good. My love shall live until I go to him.” - </p> - <p> - “My poor child!” said her sister. “I could never have guessed your secret. - Come away. We will go to him together.” - </p> - <p> - They left by the coach that day, and early the next morning they went - together to Brick Court. - </p> - <p> - A woman weeping met them at the foot of the stairs. They recognised Mrs. - Abington. - </p> - <p> - “Do not tell me that I am too late—for God's sake say that he still - lives!” cried Mary. - </p> - <p> - The actress took her handkerchief from her eyes. - </p> - <p> - She did not speak. She did not even shake her head. She only looked at the - girl, and the girl understood. - </p> - <p> - She threw herself into her sister's arms. - </p> - <p> - “He is dead!” she cried. “But, thank God, he did not die without knowing - that one woman in the world loved him truly for his own sake.” - </p> - <p> - “That surely is the best thought that a man can have, going into the - Presence,” said Mrs. Abington. “Ah, my child, I am a wicked woman, but I - know that while you live your fondest reflection will be that the thought - of your love soothed the last hours of the truest man that ever lived. Ah, - there was none like him—a man of such sweet simplicity that every - word he spoke came from his heart. Let others talk about his works; you - and I love the man, for we know that he was greater and not less than - those works. And now he is in the presence of God, telling the Son who on - earth was born of a woman that he had all a woman's love.” - </p> - <p> - Mary put her arm about the neck of the actress, and kissed her. - </p> - <p> - She went with her sister among the weeping men and women—he had been - a friend to all—up the stairs and into the darkened room. - </p> - <p> - She threw herself on her knees beside the bed. - </p> - <h3> - THE END. - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JESSAMY BRIDE *** - -***** This file should be named 51951-h.htm or 51951-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/5/51951/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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- <head>
- <title>
- The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore
- </title>
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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Jessamy Bride, by Frank Frankfort Moore
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-
-
-
-Title: The Jessamy Bride
-
-Author: Frank Frankfort Moore
-
-Illustrator: C. Allan Gilbert
-
-Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51951]
-Last Updated: March 13, 2018
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JESSAMY BRIDE ***
-
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-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
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-</pre>
-
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- THE JESSAMY BRIDE
- </h1>
- <h2>
- By Frank Frankfort Moore
- </h2>
- <h4>
- Author Of “The Impudent Comedian,” Etc.
- </h4>
- <h3>
- With Pictures in Color by C. Allan Gilbert
- </h3>
- <h4>
- New York
- </h4>
- <h4>
- Duffield & Company
- </h4>
- <h3>
- 1906
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0008.jpg" alt="0008 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0008.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0009.jpg" alt="0009 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0009.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <h3>
- THE JESSAMY BRIDE
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER I.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ir,” said Dr.
- Johnson, “we have eaten an excellent dinner, we are a company of
- intelligent men—although I allow that we should have difficulty in
- proving that we are so if it became known that we sat down with a
- Scotchman—and now pray do not mar the self-satisfaction which
- intelligent men experience after dining, by making assertions based on
- ignorance and maintained by sophistry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, sir,” cried Goldsmith, “I doubt if the self-satisfaction of even the
- most intelligent of men—whom I take to be myself—is interfered
- with by any demonstration of an inferior intellect on the part of
- another.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Edmund Burke laughed, understanding the meaning of the twinkle in
- Goldsmith's eye. Sir Joshua Reynolds, having reproduced—with some
- care—that twinkle, turned the bell of his ear-trumpet with a smile
- in the direction of Johnson; but Boswell and Garrick sat with solemn
- faces. The former showed that he was more impressed than ever with the
- conviction that Goldsmith was the most blatantly conceited of mankind, and
- the latter—as Burke perceived in a moment—was solemn in
- mimicry of Boswell's solemnity. When Johnson had given a roll or two on
- his chair and had pursed out his lips in the act of speaking, Boswell
- turned an eager face towards him, putting his left hand behind his ear so
- that he might not lose a word that might fall from his oracle. Upon
- Garrick's face was precisely the same expression, but it was his right
- hand that he put behind his ear.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith and Burke laughed together at the marvellous imitation of the
- Scotchman by the actor, and at exactly the same instant the conscious and
- unconscious comedians on the other side of the table turned their heads in
- the direction first of Goldsmith, then of Burke. Both faces were identical
- as regards expression. It was the expression of a man who is greatly
- grieved. Then, with the exactitude of two automatic figures worked by the
- same machinery, they turned their heads again toward Johnson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir,” said Johnson, “your endeavour to evade the consequences of
- maintaining a silly argument by thrusting forward a question touching upon
- mankind in general, suggests an assumption on your part that my
- intelligence is of an inferior order to your own, and that, sir, I cannot
- permit to pass unrebuked.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir,” cried Boswell, eagerly, “I cannot believe that Dr. Goldsmith's
- intention was so monstrous.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the very fact of your believing that, sir, amounts almost to a
- positive proof that the contrary is the case,” roared Johnson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pray, sir, do not condemn me on such evidence,” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Men have been hanged on less,” remarked Burke. “But, to return to the
- original matter, I should like to know upon what facts——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, sir, to introduce facts into any controversy on a point of art would
- indeed be a departure,” said Goldsmith solemnly. “I cannot countenance a
- proceeding which threatens to strangle the imagination.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you require yours to be particularly healthy just now, Doctor. Did
- you not tell us that you were about to write a Natural History?” said
- Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I remarked that I had got paid for doing so—that's not just
- the same thing,” laughed Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, the money is in hand; the Natural History is left to the
- imagination,” said Reynolds. “That is the most satisfactory arrangement.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, for the author,” said Burke. “Some time ago it was the book which
- was in hand, and the payment was left to the imagination.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “These sallies are all very well in their way,” said Garrick, “but their
- brilliance tends to blind us to the real issue of the question that Dr.
- Goldsmith introduced, which I take it was, Why should not acting be
- included among the arts? As a matter of course, the question possesses no
- more than a casual interest to any of the gentlemen present, with the
- exception of Mr. Burke and myself. I am an actor and Mr. Burke is a
- statesman—another branch of the same profession—and therefore
- we are vitally concerned in the settlement of the question.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The matter never rose to the dignity of being a question, sir,” said
- Johnson. “It must be apparent to the humblest intelligence—nay, even
- to Boswell's—that acting is a trick, not a profession—a
- diversion, not an art. I am ashamed of Dr. Goldsmith for having contended
- to the contrary.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It must only have been in sport, sir,” said Boswell mildly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir, Dr. Goldsmith may have earned reprobation,” cried Johnson, “but he
- has been guilty of nothing so heinous as to deserve the punishment of
- having you as his advocate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, sir, surely Mr. Boswell is the best one in the world to pronounce an
- opinion as to what was said in sport, and what in earnest,” said
- Goldsmith. “His fine sense of humour——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir, have you seen the picture which he got painted of himself on his
- return from Corsica?” shouted Johnson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gentlemen, these diversions may be well enough for you,” said Garrick,
- “but in my ears they sound as the jests of the crowd must in the ears of a
- wretch on his way to Tyburn. Think, sirs, of the position occupied by Mr.
- Burke and myself at the present moment. Are we to be branded as outcasts
- because we happen to be actors?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Undoubtedly you at least are, Davy,” cried Johnson. “And good enough for
- you too, you rascal!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And, for my part, I would rather be an outcast with David Garrick than
- become chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury,” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Goldsmith, let me tell you that it is unbecoming in you, who have
- relations in the church, to make such an assertion,” said Johnson sternly.
- “What, sir, does friendship occupy a place before religion, in your
- estimation?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Archbishop could easily get another chaplain, sir, but whither could
- the stage look for another Garrick?” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha! Sir, the puppets which we saw last week in Panton street delighted
- the town more than ever Mr. Garrick did,” cried Johnson; and when he
- perceived that Garrick coloured at this sally of his, he lay back in his
- chair and roared with laughter.
- </p>
- <p>
- Reynolds took snuff.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Goldsmith said he could act as adroitly as the best of the puppets—I
- heard him myself,” said Boswell.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was only his vain boasting which you have so frequently noted with
- that acuteness of observation that makes you the envy of our circle,” said
- Burke. “You understand the Irish temperament perfectly, Mr. Boswell. But
- to resort to the original point raised by Goldsmith; surely, Dr. Johnson,
- you will allow that an actor of genius is at least on a level with a
- musician of genius.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir, I will allow that he is on a level with a fiddler, if that will
- satisfy you,” replied Johnson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Surely, sir, you must allow that Mr. Garrick's art is superior to that of
- Signor Piozzi, whom we heard play at Dr. Burney's,” said Burke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir; David Garrick has the good luck to be an Englishman, and Piozzi
- the ill luck to be an Italian,” replied Johnson. “Sir, 't is no use
- affecting to maintain that you regard acting as on a level with the arts.
- I will not put an affront upon your intelligence by supposing that you
- actually believe what your words would imply.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can take your choice, Mr. Burke,” said Goldsmith: “whether you will
- have the affront put upon your intelligence or your sincerity.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry that I am compelled to leave the company for a space, just as
- there seems to be some chance of the argument becoming really interesting
- to me personally,” said Garrick, rising; “but the fact is that I rashly
- made an engagement for this hour. I shall be gone for perhaps twenty
- minutes, and meantime you may be able to come to some agreement on a
- matter which, I repeat, is one of vital importance to Mr. Burke and
- myself; and so, sirs, farewell for the present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He gave one of those bows of his, to witness which was a liberal education
- in the days when grace was an art, and left the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If Mr. Garrick's bow does not prove my point, no argument that I can
- bring forward will produce any impression upon you, sir,” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The dog is well enough,” said Johnson; “but he has need to be kept in his
- place, and I believe that there is no one whose attempts to keep him in
- his place he will tolerate as he does mine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what do you suppose is Mr. Garrick's place, sir?” asked Goldsmith.
- “Do you believe that if we were all to stand on one another's shoulders,
- as certain acrobats do, with Garrick on the shoulder of the topmost man,
- we should succeed in keeping him in his proper place?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir,” said Dr. Johnson, “your question is as ridiculous as anything you
- have said to-night, and to say so much, sir, is, let me tell you, to say a
- good deal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What a pity it is that honest Goldsmith is so persistent in his attempts
- to shine,” whispered Boswell to Burke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Tis a great pity, truly, that a lark should try to make its voice heard
- in the neighbourhood of a Niagara,” said Burke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pray, sir, what is a Niagara?” asked Boswell.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A Niagara?” said Burke. “Better ask Dr. Goldsmith; he alluded to it in
- his latest poem. Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Boswell wishes to know what a Niagara
- is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir,” said Goldsmith, who had caught every word of the conversation in
- undertone. “Sir, Niagara is the Dr. Johnson of the New World.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER II.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he conversation
- took place in the Crown and Anchor tavern in the Strand, where the party
- had just dined. Dr. Johnson had been quite as good company as usual. There
- was a general feeling that he had rarely insulted Boswell so frequently in
- the course of a single evening—but then, Boswell had rarely so laid
- himself open to insult as he had upon this evening—and when he had
- finished with the Scotchman, he turned his attention to Garrick, the
- opportunity being afforded him by Oliver Goldsmith, who had been unguarded
- enough to say a word or two regarding that which he termed “the art of
- acting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Goldsmith, I am ashamed of you, sir,” cried the great dictator. “Who
- gave you the authority to add to the number of the arts 'the art of
- acting'? We shall hear of the art of dancing next, and every tumbler who
- kicks up the sawdust will have the right to call himself an artist. Madame
- Violante, who gave Peggy Woffington her first lesson on the tight rope,
- will rank with Miss Kauffman, the painter—nay, every poodle that
- dances on its hind leg's in public will be an artist.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was in vain that Goldsmith endeavoured to show that the admission of
- acting to the list of arts scarcely entailed such consequences as Johnson
- asserted would be inevitable, if that admission were once made; it was in
- vain that Garrick asked if the fact that painting was included among the
- arts, caused sign painters to claim for themselves the standing of
- artists; and, if not, why there was any reason to suppose that the
- tumblers to whom Johnson had alluded would advance their claims to be on a
- level with the highest interpreters of the emotions of humanity. Dr.
- Johnson roared down every suggestion that was offered to him most
- courteously by his friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, in the exuberance of his spirits, he insulted Boswell and told Burke
- he did not know what he was talking about. In short, he was thoroughly
- Johnsonian, and considered himself the best of company, and eminently
- capable of pronouncing an opinion as to what were the elements of a
- clubable man.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had succeeded in driving one of his best friends out of the room, and
- in reducing the others of the party to silence—all except Boswell,
- who, as usual, tried to-start him upon a discussion of some subtle point
- of theology. Boswell seemed invariably to have adopted this course after
- he had been thoroughly insulted, and to have been, as a rule, very
- successful in its practice: it usually led to his attaining to the
- distinction of another rebuke for him to gloat over.
- </p>
- <p>
- He now thought that the exact moment had come for him to find out what Dr.
- Johnson thought on the subject of the immortality of the soul.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pray, sir,” said he, shifting his chair so as to get between Reynolds'
- ear-trumpet and his oracle—his jealousy of Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet
- was as great as his jealousy of Goldsmith. “Pray, sir, is there any
- evidence among the ancient Egyptians that they believed that the soul of
- man was imperishable?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir,” said Johnson, after a huge roll or two, “there is evidence that the
- ancient Egyptians were in the habit of introducing a <i>memento mori</i>
- at a feast, lest the partakers of the banquet should become too merry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, sir?” said Boswell eagerly, as Johnson made a pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, sir, we have no need to go to the trouble of introducing such an
- object, since Scotchmen are so plentiful in London, and so ready to accept
- the offer of a dinner,” said Johnson, quite in his pleasantest manner.
- </p>
- <p>
- Boswell was more elated than the others of the company at this sally. He
- felt that he, and he only, could succeed in drawing his best from Johnson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, Dr. Johnson, you are too hard on the Scotch,” he murmured, but in no
- deprecatory tone. He seemed to be under the impression that every one
- present was envying him, and he smiled as if he felt that it was necessary
- for him to accept with meekness the distinction of which he was the
- recipient.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, Goldy,” cried Johnson, turning his back upon Boswell, “you must not
- be silent, or I will think that you feel aggrieved because I got the
- better of you in the argument.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Argument, sir?” said Goldsmith. “I protest that I was not aware that any
- argument was under consideration. You make short work of another's
- argument, Doctor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “'T is due to the logical faculty which I have in common with Mr. Boswell,
- sir,” said Johnson, with a twinkle.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The logical faculty of the elephant when it lies down on its tormentor,
- the wolf,” muttered Goldsmith, who had just acquired some curious facts
- for his Animated Nature.
- </p>
- <p>
- At that moment one of the tavern waiters entered the room with a message
- to Goldsmith that his cousin, the Dean, had just arrived and was anxious
- to obtain permission to join the party.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My cousin, the Dean! What Dean'? What does the man mean?” said Goldsmith,
- who appeared to be both surprised and confused.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, sir,” said Boswell, “you have told us more than once that you had a
- cousin who was a dignitary of the church.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have I, indeed?” said Goldsmith. “Then I suppose, if I said so, this must
- be the very man. A Dean, is he?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir, it is ill-mannered to keep even a curate waiting in the common room
- of a tavern,” said Johnson, who was not the man to shrink from any sudden
- addition to his audience of an evening. “If your relation were an
- Archbishop, sir, this company would be worthy to receive him. Pray give
- the order to show him into this room.” Goldsmith seemed lost in thought.
- He gave a start when Johnson had spoken, and in no very certain tone told
- the waiter to lead the clergyman up to the room. Oliver's face undoubtedly
- wore an expression of greater curiosity than that of any of his friends,
- before the waiter returned, followed by an elderly and somewhat undersized
- clergyman wearing a full bottomed wig and the bands and apron of a
- dignitary of the church. He walked stiffly, with an erect carriage that
- gave a certain dignity to his short figure. His face was white, but his
- eyebrows were extremely bushy. He had a slight squint in one eye.
- </p>
- <p>
- The bow which he gave on entering the room was profuse but awkward. It
- contrasted with the farewell salute of Garrick on leaving the table twenty
- minutes before. Every one present, with the exception of Oliver, perceived
- in a moment a family resemblance in the clergyman's bow to that with which
- Goldsmith was accustomed to receive his friends. A little jerk which the
- visitor gave in raising his head was laughably like a motion made by
- Goldsmith, supplemental to his usual bow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gentlemen,” said the visitor, with a wave of his hand, “I entreat of you
- to be seated.” His voice and accent more than suggested Goldsmith's,
- although he had only a suspicion of an Irish brogue. If Oliver had made an
- attempt to disown his relationship, no one in the room would have regarded
- him as sincere. “Nay, gentlemen, I insist,” continued the stranger; “you
- embarrass me with your courtesy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir,” said Johnson, “you will not find that any company over which I have
- the honour to preside is found lacking in its duty to the church.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am the humblest of its ministers, sir,” said the stranger, with a
- deprecatory bow. Then he glanced round the room, and with an exclamation
- of pleasure went towards Goldsmith. “Ah! I do not need to ask which of
- this distinguished company is my cousin Nolly—I beg your pardon,
- Oliver—ah, old times—old times!” He had caught Goldsmith's
- hands in both his own and was looking into his face with a pathetic air.
- Goldsmith seemed a little embarrassed. His smile was but the shadow of a
- smile. The rest of the party averted their heads, for in the long silence
- that followed the exclamation of the visitor, there was an element of
- pathos.
- </p>
- <p>
- Curiously enough, a sudden laugh came from Sir Joshua Reynolds, causing
- all faces to be turned in his direction. An aspect of stern rebuke was now
- worn by Dr. Johnson. The painter hastened to apologise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I ask your pardon, sir,” he said, gravely, “but—sir, I am a painter—my
- name is Reynolds—and—well, sir, the family resemblance between
- you and our dear friend Dr. Goldsmith—a resemblance that perhaps
- only a painter's eye could detect—seemed to me so extraordinary as
- you stood together, that——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not another word, sir, I entreat of you,” cried the visitor. “My cousin
- Oliver and I have not met for—how many years is it, Nolly? Not
- eleven—no, it cannot be eleven—and yet——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, sir,” said Oliver, “time is fugitive—very fugitive.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head sadly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am pleased to hear that you have acquired this knowledge, which the
- wisdom of the ancients has crystallised in a phrase,” said the stranger.
- “But you must present me to your friends, Noll—Oliver, I mean. You,
- sir”—he turned to Reynolds—“have told me your name. Am I
- fortunate enough to be face to face with Sir Joshua Reynolds? Oh, there
- can be no doubt about it. Oliver dedicated his last poem to you. Sir, I am
- your servant. And you, sir”—he turned to Burke—“I seem to have
- seen your face somewhere—it is strangely familiar——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That gentleman is Mr. Burke, sir,” said Goldsmith. He was rapidly
- recovering his embarrassment, and spoke with something of an air of pride,
- as he made a gesture with his right hand towards Burke. The clergyman made
- precisely the same gesture with his left hand, crying——
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, Mr. Edmund Burke, the friend of liberty—the friend of the
- people?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The same, sir,” said Oliver. “He is, besides, the friend of Oliver
- Goldsmith.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then he is my friend also,” said the clergyman. “Sir, to be in a position
- to shake you by the hand is the greatest privilege of my life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do me great honor, sir,” said Burke.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith was burning to draw the attention of his relative to Dr.
- Johnson, who on his side was looking anything but pleased at being so far
- neglected.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Burke, you are our countryman—Oliver's and mine—and I
- know you are sound on the Royal Marriage Act. I should dearly like to have
- a talk with you on that iniquitous measure. You opposed it, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “With all my power, sir,” said Burke. “Give me your hand again, sir. Mrs.
- Luttrel was an honour to her sex, and it is she who confers an honour upon
- the Duke of Cumberland, not the other way about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are with me, Mr. Burke? Eh, what is the matter, Cousin Noll? Why do
- you work with your arm that way?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are other gentlemen in the room, Mr. Dean,” said Oliver.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They can wait,” cried Mr. Dean. “They are certain to be inferior to Mr.
- Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds. If I should be wrong, they will not feel
- mortified at what I have said.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is Mr. Boswell, sir,” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Boswell—of where, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Boswell, of—of Scotland, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Scotland, the land where the clergymen write plays for the theatre. Your
- clergymen might be better employed, Mr.—Mr.——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Boswell, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Boswell. Yes, I hope you will look into this matter should you ever
- visit your country again—a remote possibility, from all that I can
- learn of your countrymen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, sir, since Mr. Home wrote his tragedy of 'Douglas'——”
- began Boswell, but he was interrupted by the stranger.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, you would condone his offence?” he cried. “The fact of your having
- a mind to do so shows that the clergy of your country are still sadly lax
- in their duty, sir. They should have taught you better.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And this is Dr. Johnson, sir,” said Goldsmith in tones of triumph.
- </p>
- <p>
- His relation sprang from his seat and advanced to the head of the table,
- bowing profoundly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Johnson,” he cried, “I have long desired to meet you, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am your servant, Mr. Dean,” said Johnson, towering above him as he got—somewhat
- awkwardly—upon his feet. “No gentleman of your cloth, sir—leaving
- aside for the moment all consideration of the eminence in the church to
- which you have attained—fails to obtain my respect.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad of that, sir,” said the Dean. “It shows that you, though a
- Non-conformist preacher, and, as I understand, abounding in zeal on behalf
- of the cause of which you are so able an advocate, are not disposed to
- relinquish the example of the great Wesley in his admiration for the
- church.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir,” said Johnson, with great dignity, but with a scowl upon his face.
- “Sir, you are the victim of an error as gross as it is unaccountable. I am
- not a Non-conformist—on the contrary, I would give the rogues no
- quarter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir,” said the clergyman, with the air of one administering a rebuke to a
- subordinate. “Sir, such intoleration is unworthy of an enlightened country
- and an age of some culture. But I ask your pardon; finding you in the
- company of distinguished gentlemen, I was, led to believe that you were
- the great Dr. Johnson, the champion of the rights of conscience. I regret
- that I was mistaken.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir!” cried Goldsmith, in great consternation—for Johnson was
- rendered speechless through being placed in the position of the rebuked,
- instead of occupying his accustomed place as the rebuker. “Sir, this is
- the great Dr. Johnson—nay, there is no Dr. Johnson but one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Tis so like your good nature, Cousin Oliver, to take the side of the
- weak,” said the clergyman, smiling. “Well, well, we will take the honest
- gentleman's greatness for granted; and, indeed, he is great in one sense:
- he is large enough to outweigh you and me put together in one scale. To
- such greatness we would do well to bow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heavens, sir!” said Boswell in a whisper that had something of awe in it.
- “Is it possible that you have never heard of Dr. Samuel Johnson?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alas! sir,” said the stranger, “I am but a country parson. I cannot be
- expected to know all the men who are called great in London. Of course,
- Mr. Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds have a European reputation; but you, Mr.—Mr.—ah!
- you see I have e'en forgot your worthy name, sir, though I doubt not you
- are one of London's greatest. Pray, sir, what have you written that
- entitles you to speak with such freedom in the presence of such gentlemen
- as Mr. Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and—I add with pride—Oliver
- Goldsmith?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am the friend of Dr. Johnson, sir,” muttered Boswell.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And he has doubtless greatness enough—avoirdupois—to serve
- for both! Pray, Oliver, as the gentleman from Scotland is too modest to
- speak for himself, tell me what he has written.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has written many excellent works, sir, including an account of
- Corsica,” said Goldsmith, with some stammering.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And his friend, Dr. Johnson, has he attained to an equally dizzy altitude
- in literature?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are surely jesting, sir,” said Goldsmith. “The world is familiar with
- Dr. Johnson's Dictionary.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alas, I am but a country parson, as you know, Oliver, and I have no need
- for a dictionary, having been moderately well educated. Has the work
- appeared recently, Dr. Johnson?”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0037.jpg" alt="0037 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0037.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- But Dr. Johnson had turned his back upon the stranger, and had picked up a
- volume which Tom Davies, the bookseller, had sent to him at the Crown and
- Anchor, and had buried his face in its pages, bending it, as was his wont,
- until the stitching had cracked, and the back was already loose.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your great friend, Noll, is no lover of books, or he would treat them
- with greater tenderness,” said the clergyman. “I would fain hope that the
- purchasers of his dictionary treat it more fairly than he does the work of
- others. When did he bring out his dictionary?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Eighteen years ago,” said Oliver.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what books has he written within the intervening years?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has been a constant writer, sir, and is the most highly esteemed of
- our authors.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir, but give me a list of his books published within the past
- eighteen years, so that I may repair my deplorable ignorance. You, cousin,
- have written many works that the world would not willingly be without; and
- I hear that you are about to add to that already honourable list; but your
- friend—oh, you have deceived me, Oliver!—he is no true worker
- in literature, or he would—nay, he could not, have remained idle all
- these years. How does he obtain his means of living if he will not use his
- pen?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has a pension from the King, sir,” stuttered Oliver. “I tell you, sir,
- he is the most learned man in Europe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His is a sad case,” said the clergyman. “To refrain from administering to
- him the rebuke which he deserves would be to neglect an obvious duty.” He
- took a few steps towards Johnson and raised his head. Goldsmith fell into
- a chair and buried his face in his hands; Boswell's jaw fell; Burke and
- Reynolds looked by turns grave and amused. “Dr. Johnson,” said the
- stranger, “I feel that it is my duty as a clergyman to urge upon you to
- amend your way of life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir,” shouted Johnson, “if you were not a clergyman I would say that you
- were a very impertinent fellow!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your way of receiving a rebuke which your conscience—if you have
- one—tells you that you have earned, supplements in no small measure
- the knowledge of your character which I have obtained since entering this
- room, sir. You may be a man of some parts, Dr. Johnson, but you have
- acknowledged yourself to be as intolerant in matters of religion as you
- have proved yourself to be intolerant of rebuke, offered to you in a
- friendly spirit. It seems to me that your habit is to browbeat your
- friends into acquiescence with every dictum that comes from your lips,
- though they are workers—not without honour—at that profession
- of letters which you despise—nay, sir, do not interrupt me. If you
- did not despise letters, you would not have allowed eighteen years of your
- life to pass without printing at least as many books. Think you, sir, that
- a pension was granted to you by the state to enable you to eat the bread
- of idleness while your betters are starving in their garrets? Dr. Johnson,
- if your name should go down to posterity, how do you think you will be
- regarded by all discriminating men? Do you think that those tavern dinners
- at which you sit at the head of the table and shout down all who differ
- from you, will be placed to your credit to balance your love of idleness
- and your intolerance? That is the question which I leave with you; I pray
- you to consider it well; and so, sir, I take my leave of you. Gentlemen,
- Cousin Oliver, farewell, sirs. I trust I have not spoken in vain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He made a general bow—an awkward bow—and walked with some
- dignity to the door. Then he turned and bowed again before leaving the
- room.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER III.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen he had
- disappeared, the room was very silent.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly Goldsmith, who had remained sitting at the table with his face
- buried in his hands, started up, crying out, “'Rasse-las, Prince of
- Abyssinia'! How could I be so great a fool as to forget that he published
- 'Rasselas' since the Dictionary?” He ran to the door and opened it,
- calling downstairs: “'Rasselas, Prince of Abysinia'!” “Rasselas, Prince of
- Abyssinia'!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir!” came the roar of Dr. Johnson. “Close that door and return to your
- chair, if you desire to retain even the smallest amount of the respect
- which your friends once had for you. Cease your bawling, sir, and behave
- decently.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith shut the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did you a gross injustice, sir,” said he, returning slowly to the
- table. “I allowed that man to assume that you had published no book since
- your Dictionary. The fact is, that I was so disturbed at the moment I
- forgot your 'Rasselas.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you had mentioned that book, you would but have added to the force of
- your relation's contention, Dr. Goldsmith,” said Johnson. “If I am
- suspected of being an idle dog, the fact that I have printed a small
- volume of no particular merit will not convince my accuser of my
- industry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Those who know you, sir,” cried Goldsmith, “do not need any evidence of
- your industry. As for that man——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let the man alone, sir,” thundered Johnson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pray, why should he let the man alone, sir?” said Boswell.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because, in the first place, sir, the man is a clergyman, in rank next to
- a Bishop; in the second place, he is a relative of Dr. Goldsmith's; and,
- in the third place, he was justified in his remarks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no, sir,” said Boswell. “We deny your generous plea of justification.
- Idle! Think of the dedications which you have written even within the
- year.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha! Sir, the more I think of them the—well, the less I think of
- them, if you will allow me the paradox,” said Johnson. “Sir, the man is
- right, and there's an end on't. Dr. Goldsmith, you will convey my
- compliments to your cousin, and assure him of my good will. I can forgive
- him for everything, sir, except his ignorance respecting my Dictionary.
- Pray what is his name, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His name, sir, his name?” faltered Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir, his name. Surely the man has a name,” said Johnson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “His name, sir, is—is—God help me, sir, I know not what is his
- name.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nonsense, Dr. Goldsmith! He is your cousin and a Dean. Mr. Boswell tells
- me that he has heard you refer to him in conversation; if you did so in a
- spirit of boasting, you erred.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For some moments Goldsmith was silent. Then, without looking up, he said
- in a low tone:
- </p>
- <p>
- “The man is no cousin of mine; I have no relative who is a Dean.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, you need not deny it,” cried Boswell. “You boasted of
- him quite recently, and in the presence of Mr. Garrick, too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Boswell's ear is acute, Goldsmith,” said Burke with a smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “His ears are so long, sir, one is not surprised to find the unities of
- nature are maintained when one hears his voice,” remarked Goldsmith in a
- low tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here comes Mr. Garrick himself,” said Reynolds as the door was opened and
- Garrick returned, bowing in his usual pleasant manner as he advanced to
- the chair which he had vacated not more than half an hour before. “Mr.
- Garrick is an impartial witness on this point.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whatever he may be on some other points,” remarked Burke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gentlemen,” said Garrick, “you seem to be somewhat less harmonious than
- you were when I was compelled to hurry away to keep my appointment. May I
- inquire the reason of the difference?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may not, sir!” shouted Johnson, seeing that Boswell was burning to
- acquaint Garrick with what had occurred. Johnson quickly perceived that it
- would be well to keep the visit of the clergyman a secret, and he knew
- that it would have no chance of remaining one for long if Garrick were to
- hear of it. He could imagine Garrick burlesquing the whole scene for the
- entertainment of the Burney girls or the Horneck family. He had heard more
- than once of the diversion which his old pupil at Lichfield had created by
- his mimicry of certain scenes in which he, Johnson, played an important
- part. He had been congratulating himself upon the fortunate absence of the
- actor during the visit of the clergyman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may tell Mr. Garrick nothing, sir,” he repeated, as Garrick looked
- with a blank expression of interrogation around the company.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir,” said Boswell, “my veracity is called in question.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is a question of your veracity, sir, in comparison with the issues
- that have been in the balance during the past half-hour?” cried Johnson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir, one question,” said Burke, seeing that Boswell had collapsed.
- “Mr. Garrick—have you heard Dr. Goldsmith boast of having a Dean for
- a relative?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, no, sir,” replied Garrick; “but I heard him say that he had a
- brother who deserved to be a Dean.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so I had,” cried Goldsmith. “Alas! I cannot say that I have now. My
- poor brother died a country clergyman a few years ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am a blind man so far as evidence bearing upon things seen is
- concerned,” said Johnson; “but it seemed to me that some of the man's
- gestures—nay, some of the tones of his voice as well—resembled
- those of Dr. Goldsmith. I should like to know if any one at the table
- noticed the similarity to which I allude.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I certainly noticed it,” cried Boswell eagerly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your evidence is not admissible, sir,” said Johnson. “What does Sir
- Joshua Reynolds say?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, sir,” said Reynolds with a laugh, and a glance towards Garrick, “I
- confess that I noticed the resemblance and was struck by it, both as
- regards the man's gestures and his voice. But I am as convinced that he
- was no relation of Dr. Goldsmith's as I am of my own existence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But if not, sir, how can you account for——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Boswell's inquiry was promptly checked by Johnson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Be silent, sir,” he thundered. “If you have left your manners in Scotland
- in an impulse of generosity, you have done a foolish thing, for the gift
- was meagre out of all proportion to the needs of your country in that
- respect. Sir, let me tell you that the last word has been spoken touching
- this incident. I will consider any further reference to it in the light of
- a personal affront.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After a rather awkward pause, Garrick said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I begin to suspect that I have been more highly diverted during the past
- half-hour than any of this company.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Davy,” said Johnson, “the accuracy of your suspicion is wholly
- dependent on your disposition to be entertained. Where have you been, sir,
- and of what nature was your diversion?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir,” said Garrick, “I have been with a poet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So have we, sir—with the greatest poet alive—the author of
- 'The Deserted Village'—and yet you enter to find us immoderately
- glum,” said Johnson. He was anxious to show his friend Goldsmith that he
- did not regard him as accountable for the visit of the clergyman whom he
- quite believed to be Oliver's cousin, in spite of the repudiation of the
- relationship by Goldsmith himself, and the asseveration of Reynolds.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, sir, mine was not a poet such as Dr. Goldsmith,” said Garrick. “Mine
- was only a sort of poet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And pray, sir, what is a sort of poet?” asked Boswell.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A sort of poet, sir, is one who writes a sort of poetry,” replied
- Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- He then began a circumstantial account of how he had made an appointment
- for the hour at which he had left his friends, with a gentleman who was
- anxious to read to him some portions of a play which he had just written.
- The meeting was to take place in a neighbouring coffee-house in the
- Strand; but even though the distance which he had to traverse was short,
- it had been the scene of more than one adventure, which, narrated by
- Garrick, proved comical to an extraordinary degree.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A few yards away I almost ran into the arms of a clergyman—he wore
- the bands and apron of a Dean,” he continued, “not seeming to notice the
- little start which his announcement caused in some directions. The man
- grasped me by the arm,” he continued, “doubtless recognising me from my
- portraits—for he said he had never seen me act—and then began
- an harangue on the text of neglected opportunities. It seemed, however,
- that he had no more apparent example of my sins in this direction than my
- neglect to produce Dr. Goldsmith's 'Good-Natured Man.' Faith, gentlemen,
- he took it quite as a family grievance.” Suddenly he paused, and looked
- around the party; only Reynolds was laughing, all the rest were grave. A
- thought seemed to strike the narrator. “What!” he cried, “it is not
- possible that this was, after all, Dr. Goldsmith's cousin, the Dean,
- regarding whom you interrogated me just now? If so,'tis an extraordinary
- coincidence that I should have encountered him—unless—good
- heavens, gentlemen! is it the case that he came here when I had thrown him
- off?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir,” cried Oliver, “I affirm that no relation of mine, Dean or no Dean,
- entered this room!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, sir, you may look to find him at your chambers in Brick Court on
- your return,” said Garrick. “Oh, yes, Doctor!—a small man with the
- family bow of the Goldsmiths—something like this.” He gave a comical
- reproduction of the salutation of the clergyman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I tell you, sir, once and for all, that the man is no relation of mine,”
- protested Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And let that be the end of the matter,” declared Johnson, with no lack of
- decisiveness in his voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, sir, I assure you I have no desire to meet the gentleman again,”
- laughed Garrick. “I got rid of him by a feint, just as he was endeavouring
- to force me to promise a production of a dramatic version of 'The Deserted
- Village'—he said he had the version at his lodging, and meant to
- read it to his cousin—I ask your pardon, sir, but he said 'cousin.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir, let us have no more of this—cousin or no cousin,” roared
- Johnson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is my prayer, sir—I utter it with all my heart and soul,” said
- Garrick. “It was about my poet I meant to speak—my poet and his
- play. What think you of the South Seas and the visit of Lieutenant Cook as
- the subject of a tragedy in blank verse, Dr. Johnson?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think, Davy, that the subject represents so magnificent a scheme of
- theatrical bankruptcy you would do well to hand it over to that scoundrel
- Foote,” said Johnson pleasantly. He was by this time quite himself again,
- and ready to pronounce an opinion on any question with that finality which
- carried conviction with it—yes, to James Boswell.
- </p>
- <p>
- For the next half-hour Garrick entertained his friends with the details of
- his interview with the poet who—according to his account—had
- designed the drama of “Otaheite” in order to afford Garrick an opportunity
- of playing the part of a cannibal king, dressed mainly in feathers, and
- beating time alternately with a club and a tomahawk, while he delivered a
- series of blank verse soliloquies and apostrophes to Mars, Vulcan and
- Diana.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The monarch was especially devoted to Diana,” said Garrick. “My poet
- explained that, being a hunter, he would naturally find it greatly to his
- advantage to say a good word now and again for the chaste goddess; and
- when I inquired how it was possible that his Majesty of Otaheite could
- know anything about Diana, he said the Romans and the South Sea Islanders
- were equally Pagans, and that, as such, they had equal rights in the Pagan
- mythology; it would be monstrously unjust to assume that the Romans should
- claim a monopoly of Diana.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Boswell interrupted him to express the opinion that the poet's contention
- was quite untenable, and Garrick said it was a great relief to his mind to
- have so erudite a scholar as Boswell on his side in the argument, though
- he admitted that he thought there was a good deal in the poet's argument.
- </p>
- <p>
- He adroitly led on his victim to enter into a serious argument on the
- question of the possibility of the Otaheitans having any definite notion
- of the character and responsibilities assigned to Diana in the Roman
- mythology; and after keeping the party in roars of laughter for half an
- hour, he delighted Boswell by assuring him that his eloquence and the
- force of his arguments had removed whatever misgivings he, Garrick,
- originally had, that he was doing the poet an injustice in declining his
- tragedy.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the party were about to separate, Goldsmith drew Johnson apart—greatly
- to the pique of Boswell—and said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Johnson, I have a great favour to ask of you, sir, and I hope you
- will see your way to grant it, though I do not deserve any favour from
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You deserve no favour, Goldy,” said Johnson, laying his hand on the
- little man's shoulder, “and therefore, sir, you make a man who grants you
- one so well satisfied with himself he should regard himself your debtor.
- Pray, sir, make me your debtor by giving me a chance of granting you a
- favour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You say everything better than any living man, sir,” cried Goldsmith.
- “How long would it take me to compose so graceful a sentence, do you
- suppose? You are the man whom I most highly respect, sir, and I am anxious
- to obtain your permission to dedicate to you the comedy which I have
- written and Mr. Colman is about to produce.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Goldsmith,” said Johnson, “we have been good friends for several
- years now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Long before Mr. Boswell came to town, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Undoubtedly, sir—long before you became recognised as the most
- melodious of our poets—the most diverting of our play-writers. I
- wrote the prologue to your first play, Goldy, and I'll stand sponsor for
- your second—nay, sir, not only so, but I'll also go to see it, and
- if it be damned, I'll drink punch with you all night and talk of my
- tragedy of 'Irene,' which was also damned; there's my hand on it, Dr.
- Goldsmith.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith pressed the great hand with both of his own, and tears were in
- his eyes and his voice as he said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your generosity overpowers me, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IV.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>oswell, who was
- standing to one side watching—-his eyes full of curiosity and his
- ears strained to catch by chance a word—the little scene that was
- being enacted in a corner of the room, took good care that Johnson should
- be in his charge going home. This walk to Johnson's house necessitated a
- walk back to his own lodgings in Piccadilly; but this was nothing to
- Boswell, who had every confidence in his own capability to extract from
- his great patron some account of the secrets which had been exchanged in
- the corner.
- </p>
- <p>
- For once, however, he found himself unable to effect his object—nay,
- when he began his operations with his accustomed lightness of touch,
- Johnson turned upon him, saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir, I observe what is your aim, and I take this opportunity to tell you
- that if you make any further references, direct or indirect, to man, woman
- or child, to the occurrences of this evening, you will cease to be a
- friend of mine. I have been humiliated sufficiently by a stranger, who had
- every right to speak as he did, but I refuse to be humiliated by you,
- sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Boswell expressed himself willing to give the amplest security for his
- good behaviour. He had great hope of conferring upon his patron a month of
- inconvenience in making a tour of the west coast of Scotland during the
- summer.
- </p>
- <p>
- The others of the party went northward by one of the streets off the
- Strand into Coventry street, and thence toward Sir Joshua's house in
- Leicester Square, Burke walking in front with his arm through Goldsmith's,
- and Garrick some way behind with Reynolds. Goldsmith was very eloquent in
- his references to the magnanimity of Johnson, who, he said, in spite of
- the fact that he had been grossly insulted by an impostor calling himself
- his, Goldsmith's, cousin, had consented to receive the dedication of the
- new comedy. Burke, who understood the temperament of his countryman, felt
- that he himself might surpass in eloquence even Oliver Goldsmith if he
- took for his text the magnanimity of the author of “The Good Natured Man.”
- He, however, refrained from the attempt to prove to his companion that
- there were other ways by which a man could gain a reputation for
- generosity than by permitting the most distinguished writer of the age to
- dedicate a comedy to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of the other couple Garrick was rattling away in the highest spirits,
- quite regardless of the position of Reynolds's ear-trumpet. Reynolds was
- as silent as Burke for a considerable time; but then, stopping at a corner
- so as to allow Goldsmith and his companion to get out of ear-shot, he laid
- his hand on Garrick's arm, laughing heartily as he said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are a pretty rascal, David, to play such a trick upon your best
- friends. You are a pretty rascal, and a great genius, Davy—the
- greatest genius alive. There never has been such an actor as you, Davy,
- and there never will be another such.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir,” said Garrick, with an overdone expression of embarrassment upon his
- face, every gesture that he made corresponding. “Sir, I protest that you
- are speaking in parables. I admit the genius, if you insist upon it, but
- as for the rascality—well, it is possible, I suppose, to be both a
- great genius and a great rascal; there was our friend Benvenuto, for
- example, but——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only a combination of genius and rascality could have hit upon such a
- device as that bow which you made, Davy,” said Reynolds. “It presented
- before my eyes a long vista of Goldsmiths—all made in the same
- fashion as our friend on in front, and all striving—-and not
- unsuccessfully, either—to maintain the family tradition of the
- Goldsmith bow. And then your imitation of your imitation of the same
- movement—how did we contain ourselves—Burke and I?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You fancy that Burke saw through the Dean, also?” said Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm convinced that he did.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But he will not tell Johnson, I would fain hope.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are very anxious that Johnson should not know how it was he was
- tricked. But you do not mind how you pain a much more generous man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean Goldsmith? Faith, sir, I do mind it greatly. If I were not
- certain that he would forthwith hasten to tell Johnson, I would go to him
- and confess all, asking his forgiveness. But he would tell Johnson and
- never forgive me, so I'll e'en hold my tongue.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will not lose a night's rest through brooding on Goldsmith's pain,
- David.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was an impulse of the moment that caused me to adopt that device, my
- friend. Johnson is past all argument, sir. That sickening sycophant,
- Boswell, may find happiness in being insulted by him, but there are others
- who think that the Doctor has no more right than any ordinary man to offer
- an affront to those whom the rest of the world respects.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He will allow no one but himself to attack you, Davy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And by my soul, sir, I would rather that he allowed every one else to
- attack me if he refrained from it himself. Where is the generosity of a
- man who, with the force and influence of a dozen men, will not allow a bad
- word to be said about you, but says himself more than the whole dozen
- could say in as many years? Sir, do the pheasants, which our friend Mr.
- Bunbury breeds so successfully, regard him as a pattern of generosity
- because he won't let a dozen of his farmers have a shot at them, but
- preserves them for his own unerring gun? By the Lord Harry, I would
- rather, if I were a pheasant, be shot at by the blunderbusses of a dozen
- yokels than by the fowling-piece of one good marksman, such as Bunbury. On
- the same principle, I have no particular liking to be preserved to make
- sport for the heavy broadsides that come from that literary three-decker,
- Johnson.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have sympathy with your contentions, David; but we all allow your old
- schoolmaster a license which would be permitted to no one else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That license is not a game license, Sir Joshua; and so I have made up my
- mind that if he says anything more about the profession of an actor being
- a degrading-one—about an actor being on the level with a fiddler—nay,
- one of the puppets of Panton street, I will teach my old schoolmaster a
- more useful lesson than he ever taught to me. I think it is probable that
- he is at this very moment pondering upon those plain truths which were
- told to him by the Dean.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And poor Goldsmith has been talking so incessantly and so earnestly to
- Burke, I am convinced that he feels greatly pained as well as puzzled by
- that inopportune visit of the clergyman who exhibited such striking
- characteristics of the Goldsmith family.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, did I not bear testimony in his favour—declaring that he had
- never alluded to a relation who was a Dean?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes; you did your best to place us all at our ease, sir. You were
- magnanimous, David—as magnanimous as the surgeon who cuts off an
- arm, plunges the stump into boiling pitch, and then gives the patient a
- grain or two of opium to make him sleep. But I should not say a word: I
- have seen you in your best part, Mr. Garrick, and I can give the heartiest
- commendation to your powers as a comedian, while condemning with equal
- force the immorality of the whole proceeding.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They had now arrived at Reynolds's house in Leicester Square, Goldsmith
- and Burke—the former still talking eagerly—having waited for
- them to come up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gentlemen,” said Reynolds, “you have all gone out of your accustomed way
- to leave me at my own door. I insist on your entering to have some
- refreshment. Mr. Burke, you will not refuse to enter and pronounce an
- opinion as to the portrait at which I am engaged of the charming Lady
- Betty Hamilton.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>O matre pulchra filia pulchrior</i>” said Goldsmith; but there was not
- much aptness in the quotation, the mother of Lady Betty having been the
- loveliest of the sisters Gunning, who had married first the Duke of
- Hamilton, and, later, the Duke of Argyll.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before they had rung the bell the hall door was opened by Sir Joshua's
- servant, Ralph, and a young man, very elegantly dressed, was shown out by
- the servant.
- </p>
- <p>
- He at once recognised Sir Joshua and then Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, my dear Sir Joshua,” he cried, “I have to entreat your forgiveness
- for having taken the liberty of going into your painting-room in your
- absence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your Lordship has every claim upon my consideration,” said Sir Joshua. “I
- cannot doubt which of my poor efforts drew you thither.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The fact is, Sir Joshua, I promised her Grace three days ago to see the
- picture, and as I think it likely that I shall meet her tonight, I made a
- point of coming hither. The Duchess of Argyll is not easily put aside when
- she commences to catechise a poor man, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot hope, my Lord, that the picture of Lady Betty commended itself
- to your Lordship's eye,” said Sir Joshua.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The picture is a beauty, my dear Sir Joshua,” said the young man, but
- with no great show of ardour. “It pleases me greatly. Your macaw is also a
- beauty. A capital notion of painting a macaw on a pedestal by the side of
- the lady, is it not, Mr. Garrick—two birds with the one stone, you
- know?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “True, sir,” said Garrick. “Lady Betty is a bird of Paradise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's as neatly said as if it were part of a play,” said the young man.
- “Talking of plays, there is going to be a pretty comedy enacted at the
- Pantheon to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it not a mask?” said Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, finer sport even than that,” laughed the youth. “We are going to do
- more for the drama in an hour, Mr. Garrick, than you have done in twenty
- years, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At the Pantheon, Lord Stanley?” inquired Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come to the Pantheon and you shall see all that there is to be seen,”
- cried Lord Stanley. “Who are your friends? Have I had the honour to be
- acquainted with them?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your Lordship must have met Mr. Burke and Dr. Goldsmith,” said Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have often longed for that privilege,” said Lord Stanley, bowing in
- reply to the salutation of the others. “Mr. Burke's speech on the Marriage
- Bill was a fine effort, and Mr. Goldsmith's comedy has always been my
- favourite. I hear that you are at present engaged upon another, Dr.
- Goldsmith. That is good news, sir. Oh, 't were a great pity if so
- distinguished a party missed the sport which is on foot tonight! Let me
- invite you all to the Pantheon—here are tickets to the show. You
- will give me a box at your theatre, Garrick, in exchange, on the night
- when Mr. Goldsmith's new play is produced.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alas, my Lord,” said Garrick, “that privilege will be in the hands of Mr.
- Col-man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, at t' other house? Mr. Garrick, I'm ashamed of you. Nevertheless,
- you will come to the comedy at the Pantheon to-night. I must hasten to act
- my part. But we shall meet there, I trust.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He bowed with his hat in his hand to the group, and hastened away with an
- air of mystery.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What does he mean?” asked Reynolds.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is what I have been asking myself,” replied Garrick. “By heavens, I
- have it!” he cried after a pause of a few moments. “I have heard rumours
- of what some of our young bloods swore to do, since the managers of the
- Pantheon, in an outburst of virtuous indignation at the orgies of Vauxhall
- and Ranelagh, issued their sheet of regulations prohibiting the entrance
- of actresses to their rotunda. Lord Conway, I heard, was the leader of the
- scheme, and it seems that this young Stanley is also one of the plot. Let
- us hasten to witness the sport. I would not miss being-present for the
- world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not so eager,” said Sir Joshua. “I have my work to engage me early
- in the morning, and I have lost all interest in such follies as seem to be
- on foot.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have not, thank heaven!” cried Garrick; “nor has Dr. Goldsmith, I'll
- swear. As for Burke—well, being a member of Parliament, he is a
- seasoned rascal; and so good-night to you, good Mr. President.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We need a frolic,” cried Goldsmith. “God knows we had a dull enough
- dinner at the Crown and Anchor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “An Irishman and a frolic are like—well, let us say like Lady Betty
- and your macaw, Sir Joshua,” said Burke. “They go together very
- naturally.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER V.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ir Joshua entered
- his house, and the others hastened northward to the Oxford road, where the
- Pantheon had scarcely been opened more than a year for the entertainment
- of the fashionable world—a more fashionable world, it was hoped,
- than was in the habit of appearing at Ranelagh and Vauxhall. From a
- hundred to a hundred and fifty years ago, rank and fashion sought their
- entertainment almost exclusively at the Assembly Rooms when the weather
- failed to allow of their meeting at the two great public gardens. But as
- the government of the majority of these places invariably became lax—there
- was only one Beau Nash who had the cleverness to perceive that an
- autocracy was the only possible form of government for such assemblies—the
- committee of the Pantheon determined to frame so strict a code of rules,
- bearing upon the admission of visitors, as should, they believed, prevent
- the place from falling to the low level of the gardens.
- </p>
- <p>
- In addition to the charge of half-a-guinea for admission to the rotunda,
- there were rules which gave the committee the option of practically
- excluding any person whose presence they might regard as not tending to
- maintain the high character of the Pantheon; and it was announced in the
- most decisive way that upon no consideration would actresses be allowed to
- enter.
- </p>
- <p>
- The announcements made to this effect were regarded in some directions as
- eminently salutary. They were applauded by all persons who were
- sufficiently strict to prevent their wives or daughters from going to
- those entertainments that possessed little or no supervision. Such persons
- understood the world and the period so indifferently as to be optimists in
- regard to the question of the possibility of combining Puritanism and
- promiscuous entertainments terminating long after midnight. They hailed
- the arrival of the time when innocent recreation would not be incompatible
- with the display of the richest dresses or the most sumptuous figures.
- </p>
- <p>
- But there was another, and a more numerous set, who were very cynical on
- the subject of the regulation of beauty and fashion at the Pantheon. The
- best of this set shrugged their shoulders, and expressed the belief that
- the supervised entertainments would be vastly dull. The worst of them
- published verses full of cheap sarcasm, and proper names with asterisks
- artfully introduced in place of vowels, so as to evade the possibility of
- actions for libel when their allusions were more than usually scandalous.
- </p>
- <p>
- While the ladies of the committee were applauding one another and
- declaring that neither threats nor sarcasms would prevail against their
- resolution, an informal meeting was held at White's of the persons who
- affirmed that they were more affected than any others by the carrying out
- of the new regulations; and at the meeting they resolved to make the
- management aware of the mistake into which they had fallen in endeavouring
- to discriminate between the classes of their patrons.
- </p>
- <p>
- When Garrick and his friends reached the Oxford road, as the thoroughfare
- was then called, the result of this meeting was making itself felt. The
- road was crowded with people who seemed waiting for something unusual to
- occur, though of what form it was to assume no one seemed to be aware. The
- crowd were at any rate good-humoured. They cheered heartily every coach
- that rolled by bearing splendidly dressed ladies to the Pantheon and to
- other and less public entertainments. They waved their hats over the
- chairs which, similarly burdened, went swinging along between the bearers,
- footmen walking on each side and link-boys running in advance, the glare
- of their torches giving additional redness to the faces of the hot fellows
- who had the chair-straps over their shoulders. Every now and again an
- officer of the Guards would come in for the cheers of the people, and
- occasionally a jostling match took place between some supercilious young
- beau and the apprentices, through the midst of whom he attempted to force
- his way. More than once swords flashed beneath the sickly illumination of
- the lamps, but the drawers of the weapons regretted their impetuosity the
- next minute, for they were quickly disarmed, either by the crowd closing
- with them or jolting them into the kennel, which at no time was savoury.
- Once, however, a tall young fellow, who had been struck by a stick, drew
- his sword and stood against a lamp-post preparatory to charging the crowd.
- It looked as if those who interfered with him would suffer, and a space
- was soon cleared in front of him. At that instant, however, he was thrown
- to the ground by the assault of a previously unseen foe: a boy dropped
- upon him from the lamp-post and sent his sword flying, while the crowd
- cheered and jeered in turn.
- </p>
- <p>
- At intervals a roar would arise, and the people would part before the
- frantic flight of a pickpocket, pursued and belaboured in his rush by a
- dozen apprentices, who carried sticks and straps, and were well able to
- use both.
- </p>
- <p>
- But a few minutes after Garrick, Goldsmith and Burke reached the road, all
- the energies of the crowds seemed to be directed upon one object, and
- there was a cry of, “Here they come—here she comes—a cheer for
- Mrs. Baddeley!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “O Lord,” cried Garrick, “they have gone so far as to choose Sophia
- Baddeley for their experiment!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Their notion clearly is not to do things by degrees,” said Goldsmith.
- “They might have begun with a less conspicuous person than Mrs. Baddeley.
- There are many gradations in colour between black and white.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But not between black and White's,” said Burke. “This notion is well
- worthy of the wit of White's.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sophia is not among the gradations that Goldsmith speaks of,” said
- Garrick. “But whatever be the result of this jerk into prominence, it
- cannot fail to increase her popularity at the playhouse.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's the standpoint from which a good manager regards such a scene as
- this,” said Burke. “Sophia will claim an extra twenty guineas a week after
- to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “By my soul!” cried Goldsmith, “she looks as if she would give double that
- sum to be safe at home in bed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The cheers of the crowd increased as the chair containing Mrs. Baddeley,
- the actress, was borne along, the lady smiling in a half-hearted way
- through her paint. On each side of the chair, but some short distance in
- front, were four link-boys in various liveries, shining with gold and
- silver lace. In place of footmen, however, there walked two rows of
- gentlemen on each side of the chair. They were all splendidly dressed, and
- they carried their swords drawn. At the head of the escort on one side was
- the well known young Lord Conway, and at the other side Mr. Hanger,
- equally well known as a leader of fashion. Lord Stanley was immediately
- behind his friend Conway, and almost every other member of the lady's
- escort was a young nobleman or the heir to a peerage.
- </p>
- <p>
- The lines extended to a second chair, in which Mrs. Abington was seated,
- smiling——“Very much more naturally than Mrs. Baddeley,” Burke
- remarked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes,” cried Goldsmith, “she was always the better actress. I am
- fortunate in having her in my new comedy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Duchesses have become jealous of the sway of Mrs. Abington,” said
- Garrick, alluding to the fact that the fashions in dress had been for
- several years controlled by that lovely and accomplished actress.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And young Lord Conway and his friends have become tired of the sway of
- the Duchesses,” said Burke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My Lord Stanley looked as if he were pretty nigh weary of his Duchess's
- sway,” said Garrick. “I wonder if he fancies that his joining that band
- will emancipate him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If so he is in error,” said Burke. “The Duchess of Argyll will never let
- him out of her clutches till he is safely married to the Lady Betty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Till then, do you say?” said Goldsmith. “Faith, sir, if he fancies he
- will escape from her clutches by marrying her daughter he must have had a
- very limited experience of life. Still, I think the lovely young lady is
- most to be pitied. You heard the cold way he talked of her picture to
- Reynolds.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The engagement of Lord Stanley, the heir to the earldom of Derby, to Lady
- Betty Hamilton, though not formally announced, was understood to be a <i>fait
- accompli</i>; but there were rumours that the young man had of late been
- making an effort to release himself—that it was only with difficulty
- the Duchess managed to secure his attendance in public upon her daughter,
- whose portrait was being painted by Reynolds.
- </p>
- <p>
- The picturesque procession went slowly along amid the cheers of the
- crowds, and certainly not without many expressions of familiarity and
- friendliness toward the two ladies whose beauty of countenance and of
- dress was made apparent by the flambeaux of the link-boys, which also
- gleamed upon the thin blades of the ladies' escort. The actresses were
- plainly more popular than the committee of the Pantheon.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was only when the crowds were closing in on the end of the procession
- that a voice cried—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Woe unto them! Woe unto Aholah and Aholibah! Woe unto ye who follow them
- to your own destruction! Turn back ere it be too late!” The discordant
- note came from a Methodist preacher who considered the moment a seasonable
- one for an admonition against the frivolities of the town.
- </p>
- <p>
- The people did not seem to agree with him in this matter. They sent up a
- shout of laughter, and half a dozen youths began a travesty of a Methodist
- service, introducing all the hysterical cries and moans with which the
- early followers of Wesley punctuated their prayers. In another direction a
- ribald parody of a Methodist hymn was sung by women as well as men; but
- above all the mockery the stern, strident voice of the preacher was heard.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By my soul,” said Garrick, “that effect is strikingly dramatic. I should
- like to find some one who would give me a play with such a scene.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A good-looking young officer in the uniform of the Guards, who was in the
- act of hurrying past where Garrick and his friends stood, turned suddenly
- round.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll take your order, sir,” he cried. “Only you will have to pay me
- handsomely.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, Captain Horneck? Is 't possible that you are a straggler from the
- escort of the two ladies who are being feted to-night?” said Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hush, man, for Heaven's sake,” cried Captain Horneck—Goldsmith's
- “Captain in lace.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If Mr. Burke had a suspicion that I was associated with such a rout he
- would, as the guardian of my purse if not of my person, give notice to my
- Lord Albemarle's trustees, and then the Lord only knows what would
- happen.” Then he turned to Goldsmith. “Come along, Nolly, my friend,” he
- cried, putting his arm through Oliver's; “if you want a scene for your new
- comedy you will find it in the Pantheon to-night. You are not wearing the
- peach-bloom coat, to be sure, but, Lord, sir! you are not to be resisted,
- whatever you wear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You, at any rate, are not to be resisted, my gallant Captain,” said
- Goldsmith. “I have half a mind to see the sport when the ladies' chairs
- stop at the porch of the Pantheon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “As a matter of course you will come,” said young Horneck. “Let us hasten
- out of range of that howling. What a time for a fellow to begin to
- preach!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He hurried Oliver away, taking charge of him through the crowd with his
- arm across his shoulder. Garrick and Burke followed as rapidly as they
- could, and Charles Horneck explained to them, as well as to his companion,
- that he would have been in the escort of the actress, but for the fact
- that he was about to marry the orphan daughter of Lord Albemarle, and that
- his mother had entreated him not to do anything that might jeopardise the
- match.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are more discreet than Lord Stanley,” said Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay,” said Goldsmith. “'Tis not a question of discretion, but of the
- means to an end. Our Captain in lace fears that his joining the escort
- would offend his charming bride, but Lord Stanley is only afraid that his
- act in the same direction will not offend his Duchess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have hit the nail on the head, as usual, Nolly,” said the Captain.
- “Poor Stanley is anxious to fly from his charmer through any loop-hole.
- But he'll not succeed. Why, sir, I'll wager that if her daughter Betty and
- the Duke were to die, her Grace would marry him herself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, assuming that a third Duke was not forthcoming,” said Burke.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VI.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he party found, on
- approaching the Pantheon, the advantage of being under the guidance of
- Captain Horneck. Without his aid they would have had considerable
- difficulty getting near the porch of the building, where the crowds were
- most dense. The young guardsman, however, pushed his way quite
- good-humouredly, but not the less effectively, through the people, and was
- followed by Goldsmith, Garrick and Burke being a little way behind. But as
- soon as the latter couple came within the light of the hundred lamps which
- hung around the porch, they were recognised and cheered by the crowd, who
- made a passage for them to the entrance just as Mrs. Baddeley's chair was
- set down.
- </p>
- <p>
- The doors had been hastily closed and half-a-dozen constables stationed in
- front with their staves. The gentlemen of the escort formed in a line on
- each side of her chair to the doors, and when the lady stepped out—she
- could not be persuaded to do so for some time—and walked between the
- ranks of her admirers, they took off their hats and lowered the points of
- their swords, bowing to the ground with greater courtesy than they would
- have shown to either of the royal Duchesses, who just at that period were
- doing their best to obtain some recognition.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Baddeley had rehearsed the “business” of the part which she had to
- play, but she was so nervous that she forgot her words on finding herself
- confronted by the constables. She caught sight of Garrick standing at one
- side of the door with his hat swept behind him as he bowed with exquisite
- irony as she stopped short, and the force of habit was too much for her.
- Forgetting that she was playing the part of a <i>grande dame</i>, she
- turned in an agony of fright to Garrick, raising her hands—one
- holding a lace handkerchief, the other a fan—crying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “La! Mr. Garrick, I'm so fluttered that I've forgot my words. Where's the
- prompter, sir? Pray, what am I to say now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, madam, I am not responsible for this production,” said Garrick
- gravely, and there was a roar of laughter from the people around the
- porch.
- </p>
- <p>
- The young gentlemen who had their swords drawn were, however, extremely
- serious. They began to perceive the possibility of their heroic plan
- collapsing into a merry burlesque, and so young Mr. Hanger sprang to the
- side of the lady.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madam,” he cried, “honour me by accepting my escort into the Pantheon.
- What do you mean, sirrah, by shutting that door in the face of a lady
- visitor?” he shouted to the liveried porter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir, we have orders from the management to permit no players to enter,”
- replied the man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nevertheless, you will permit this lady to enter,” said the young
- gentleman. “Come, sir, open the doors without a moment's delay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot act contrary to my orders, sir,” replied the man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, Mr. Hanger,” replied the frightened actress, “I wish not to be the
- cause of a disturbance. Pray, sir, let me return to my chair.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gentlemen,” cried Mr. Hanger to his friends, “I know that it is not your
- will that we should come in active contest with the representatives of
- authority; but am I right in assuming that it is your desire that our
- honoured friend, Mrs. Baddeley, should enter the Pantheon?” When the cries
- of assent came to an end he continued, “Then, sirs, the responsibility for
- bloodshed rests with those who oppose us. Swords to the front! You will
- touch no man with a point unless he oppose you. Should a constable assault
- any of this company you will run him through without mercy. Now,
- gentlemen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In an instant thirty sword-blades were radiating from the lady, and in
- that fashion an advance was made upon the constables, who for a few
- moments stood irresolute, but then—the points of a dozen swords were
- within a yard of their breasts—lowered their staves and slipped
- quietly aside. The porter, finding himself thus deserted, made no attempt
- to withstand single-handed an attack converging upon the doors; he hastily
- went through the porch, leaving the doors wide apart.
- </p>
- <p>
- To the sound of roars of laughter and shouts of congratulation from the
- thousands who blocked the road, Mrs. Baddeley and her escort walked
- through the porch and on to the rotunda beyond, the swords being sheathed
- at the entrance.
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed as if all the rank and fashion of the town had come to the
- rotunda this night. Peeresses were on the raised dais by the score, some
- of them laughing, others shaking their heads and doing their best to look
- scandalised. Only one matron, however, felt it imperative to leave the
- assembly and to take her daughters with her. She was a lady whose first
- husband had divorced her, and her daughters were excessively plain, in
- spite of their masks of paint and powder.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Duchess of Argyll stood in the centre of the dais by the side of her
- daughter, Lady Betty Hamilton, her figure as graceful as it had been
- twenty years before, when she and her sister Maria, who became Countess of
- Coventry, could not walk down the Mall unless under the protection of a
- body of soldiers, so closely were they pressed by the fashionable mob
- anxious to catch a glimpse of the beautiful Miss Gunnings. She had no
- touch of carmine or powder to obscure the transparency of her complexion,
- and her wonderful long eyelashes needed no darkening to add to their
- silken effect. Her neck and shoulders were white, not with the cold
- whiteness of snow, but with the pearl-like charm of the white rose. The
- solid roundness of her arms, and the grace of every movement that she made
- with them, added to the delight of those who looked upon that lovely
- woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her daughter had only a measure of her mother's charm. Her features were
- small, and though her figure was pleasing, she suggested nothing of the
- Duchess's elegance and distinction.
- </p>
- <p>
- Both mother and daughter looked at first with scorn in their eyes at the
- lady who stood at one of the doors of the rotunda, surrounded by her body
- guard; but when they perceived that Lord Stanley was next to her, they
- exchanged a few words, and the scorn left their eyes. The Duchess even
- smiled at Lady Ancaster, who stood near her, and Lady Ancaster shrugged
- her shoulders almost as naturally as if she had been a Frenchwoman.
- </p>
- <p>
- Cynical people who had been watching the Duchess's change of countenance
- also shrugged their shoulders (indifferently), saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Her Grace will not be inexorable; the son-in-law upon whom she has set
- her heart, and tried to set her daughter's heart as well, must not be
- frightened away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Captain Horneck had gone up to his <i>fiancee</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were not in that creature's train, I hope,” said the lady.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I? Dear child, for what do you take me?” he said. “No, I certainly was
- not in her train. I was with my friend Dr. Goldsmith.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you had been among that woman's escort, I should never have forgiven
- you the impropriety,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- (She was inflexible as a girl, but before she had been married more than a
- year she had run away with her husband's friend, Mr. Scawen.)
- </p>
- <p>
- By this time Lord Conway had had an interview with the management, and now
- returned with two of the gentlemen who comprised that body to where Mrs.
- Baddeley was standing simpering among her admirers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madam,” said Lord Conway, “these gentlemen are anxious to offer you their
- sincere apologies for the conduct of their servants to-night, and to
- express the hope that you and your friends will frequently honour them by
- your patronage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And those were the very words uttered by the spokesman of the management,
- with many humble bows, in the presence of the smiling actress.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now you can send for Mrs. Abing-ton,” said Lord Stanley. “She agreed
- to wait in her chair until this matter was settled.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She can take very good care of herself,” said Mrs. Baddeley somewhat
- curtly. Her fright had now vanished, and she was not disposed to underrate
- the importance of her victory. She had no particular wish to divide the
- honours attached to her position with another woman, much less with one
- who was usually regarded as better-looking than herself. “Mrs. Abington is
- a little timid, my Lord,” she continued; “she may not find herself quite
- at home in this assembly.'Tis a monstrous fine place, to be sure; but for
- my part, I think Vauxhall is richer and in better taste.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But in spite of the indifference of Mrs. Baddeley, a message was conveyed
- to Mrs. Abington, who had not left her chair, informing her of the honours
- which were being done to the lady who had entered the room, and when this
- news reached her she lost not a moment in hurrying through the porch to
- the side of her sister actress.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then a remarkable incident occurred, for the Duchess of Argyll and
- Lady Ancaster stepped down from their dais and went to the two actresses,
- offering them hands, and expressing the desire to see them frequently at
- the assemblies in the rotunda.
- </p>
- <p>
- The actresses made stage courtesies and returned thanks for the
- condescension of the great ladies. The cynical ones laughed and shrugged
- their shoulders once more.
- </p>
- <p>
- Only Lord Stanley looked chagrined. He perceived that the Duchess was
- disposed to regard his freak in the most liberal spirit, and he knew that
- the point of view of the Duchess was the point of view of the Duchess's
- daughter. He felt rather sad as he reflected upon the laxity of mothers
- with daughters yet unmarried. Could it be that eligible suitors were
- growing scarce?
- </p>
- <p>
- Garrick was highly amused at the little scene that was being played under
- his eyes; he considered himself a pretty fair judge of comedy, and he was
- compelled to acknowledge that he had never witnessed any more highly
- finished exhibition of this form of art.
- </p>
- <p>
- His friend Goldsmith had not waited at the door for the arrival of Mrs.
- Abington. He was not wearing any of the gorgeous costumes in which he
- liked to appear at places of amusement, and so he did not intend to remain
- in the rotunda for longer than a few minutes; he was only curious to see
- what would be the result of the bold action of Lord Conway and his
- friends. But when he was watching the act of condescension on the part of
- the Duchess and the Countess, and had had his laugh with Burke, he heard a
- merry voice behind him saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is Dr. Goldsmith a modern Marius, weeping over the ruin of the Pantheon?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay,” cried another voice, “Dr. Goldsmith is contemplating the writing of
- a history of the attempted reformation of society in the eighteenth
- century, through the agency of a Greek temple known as the Pantheon on the
- Oxford road.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned and stood face to face with two lovely laughing girls and a
- handsome elder lady, who was pretending to look scandalised.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, my dear Jessamy Bride—and my sweet Little Comedy!” he cried, as
- the girls caught each a hand of his. He had dropped his hat in the act of
- making his bow to Mrs. Horneck, the mother of the two girls, Mary and
- Katherine—the latter the wife of Mr. Bunbury. “Mrs. Horneck, madam,
- I am your servant—and don't I look your servant, too,” he added,
- remembering that he was not wearing his usual gala dress.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You look always the same good friend,” said the lady.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay,” laughed Mrs. Bunbury, “if he were your servant he would take care,
- for the honour of the house, that he was splendidly dressed; it is not
- that snuff-coloured suit we should have on him, but something gorgeous.
- What would you say to a peach-bloom coat, Dr. Goldsmith?”
- </p>
- <p>
- (His coat of this tint had become a family joke among the Hornecks and
- Bun-burys.)
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, if the bloom remain on the peach it would be well enough in your
- company, madam,” said Goldsmith, with a face of humorous gravity. “But a
- peach with the bloom off would be more congenial to the Pantheon after
- to-night.” He gave a glance in the direction of the group of actresses and
- their admirers.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Horneck looked serious, her two daughters looked demurely down.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The air is tainted,” said Goldsmith, solemnly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Mrs. Bunbury, with a charming mock demureness. “'T is as you
- say: the Pantheon will soon become as amusing as Ranelagh.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I said not so, madam,” cried Goldsmith, shaking-his head. “As amusing—-amusing——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “As Ranelagh. Those were your exact words, Doctor, I assure you,”
- protested Little Comedy. “Were they not, Mary?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, undoubtedly those were his words—only he did not utter them,”
- replied the Jessamy Bride.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There, now, you will not surely deny your words in the face of two such
- witnesses!” said Mrs. Bunbury.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I could deny nothing to two such faces,” said Goldsmith, “even though one
- of the faces is that of a little dunce who could talk of Marius weeping
- over the Pantheon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And why should not he weep over the Pantheon if he saw good cause for
- it?” she inquired, with her chin in the air.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, why not indeed? Only he was never within reach of it, my dear,” said
- Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha! I daresay Marius was no better than he need be,” cried the young
- lady.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Few men are even so good as it is necessary for them to be,” said Oliver.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That depends upon their own views as to the need of being good,” remarked
- Mary.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so I say that Marius most likely made many excursions to the Pantheon
- without the knowledge of his biographer,” cried her sister, with an air of
- worldly wisdom of which a recent bride was so well qualified to be an
- exponent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Twere vain to attempt to contend against such wisdom,” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, all things are possible, with a Professor of Ancient History to the
- Royal Academy of Arts,” said a lady who had come up with Burke at that
- moment—a small but very elegant lady with distinction in every
- movement, and withal having eyes sparkling with humour.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith bowed low—again over his fallen hat, on the crown of which
- Little Comedy set a very dainty foot with an aspect of the sweetest
- unconsciousness. She was a tom-boy down to the sole of that dainty foot.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In the presence of Mrs. Thrale,” Goldsmith began, but seeing the
- ill-treatment to which his hat was subjected, he became confused, and the
- compliment which he had been elaborating dwindled away in a murmur.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it not the business of a professor to contend with wisdom, Dr.
- Goldsmith?” said Mrs. Thrale.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madam, if you say that it is so, I will prove that you are wrong by
- declining to argue out the matter with you,” said the Professor of Ancient
- History.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Horneck's face shone with appreciation of her dear friend's
- quickness; but the lively Mrs. Thrale was, as usual, too much engrossed in
- her own efforts to be brilliant to be able to pay any attention to the
- words of so clumsy a person as Oliver Goldsmith, and one who, moreover,
- declined to join with so many other distinguished persons in accepting her
- patronage.
- </p>
- <p>
- She found it to her advantage to launch into a series of sarcasms—most
- of which had been said at least once before—at the expense of the
- Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster, and finding that Goldsmith was more
- busily, engaged in listening to Mrs. Bunbury's mock apologies for the
- injury she had done to his hat than in attending to her <i>jeux d'esprit</i>,
- she turned her back upon him, and gave Burke and Mrs. Horneck the benefit
- of her remarks.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith continued taking part in the fun made by Little Comedy, pointing
- out to her the details of his hat's disfigurement, when, suddenly turning
- in the direction of Mary Horneck, who was standing behind her mother, the
- jocular remark died on his lips. He saw the expression of dismay—worse
- than dismay—which was on the girl's face as she gazed across the
- rotunda.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VII.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith followed
- the direction of her eyes and saw that their object was a man in the
- uniform of an officer, who was chatting with Mrs. Abingdon. He was a
- showily handsome man, though his face bore evidence of some dissipated
- years, and there was an undoubted swagger in his bearing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Meanwhile Goldsmith watched him. The man caught sight of Miss Horneck and
- gave a slight start, his jaw falling for an instant—only for an
- instant, however; then he recovered himself and made an elaborate bow to
- the girl across the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith turned to Miss Horneck and perceived that her face had become
- white; she returned very coldly the man's recognition, and only after the
- lapse of some seconds. Goldsmith possessed naturally both delicacy of
- feeling and tact. He did not allow the girl to see that he had been a
- witness of a <i>rencontre</i> which evidently was painful to her; but he
- spoke to her sister, who was amusing her husband by a scarcely noticeable
- imitation of a certain great lady known to both of them; and, professing
- himself woefully ignorant as to the <i>personnel</i> of the majority of
- the people who were present, inquired first what was the name of a
- gentleman wearing a star and talking to a group of apparently interested
- ladies, and then of the officer whom he had seen make that elaborate bow.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Bunbury was able to tell him who was the gentleman with the star, but
- after glancing casually at the other man, she shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have never seen him before,” she said. “I don't think he can be any one
- in particular. The people whom we don't know are usually nobodies—until
- we come to know them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is quite reasonable,” said he. “It is a distinction to become your
- friend. It will be remembered in my favour when my efforts as Professor at
- the Academy are forgotten.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His last sentence was unheard, for Mrs. Bunbury was giving all her
- attention to her sister, of whose face she had just caught a glimpse.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heavens, child!” she whispered to her, “what is the matter with you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What should be the matter with me?” said Mary. “What, except—oh,
- this place is stifling! And the managers boasted that it would be cool and
- well ventilated at all times!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear girl, you'll be quite right when I take you into the air,” said
- Bunbury.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no; I do not need to leave the rotunda; I shall be myself in a
- moment,” said the girl somewhat huskily and spasmodically. “For heaven's
- sake don't stare so, child,” she added to her sister, making a pitiful
- attempt to laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, my dear——” began Mrs. Bunbury; she was interrupted by
- Mary.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay,” she cried, “I will not have our mother alarmed, and—well,
- every one knows what a tongue Mrs. Thrale has. Oh, no; already the
- faintness has passed away. What should one fear with a doctor in one's
- company? Come, Dr. Goldsmith, you are a sensible person. You do not make a
- fuss. Lend me your arm, if you please.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “With all pleasure in life,” cried Oliver.
- </p>
- <p>
- He offered her his arm, and she laid her hand upon it. He could feel how
- greatly she was trembling.
- </p>
- <p>
- When they had taken a few steps away Mary looked back at her sister and
- Bunbury and smiled reassuringly at them. Her companion saw that,
- immediately afterwards, her glance went in the direction of the officer
- who had bowed to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take me up to one of the galleries, my dear friend,” she said. “Take me
- somewhere—some place away from here—any place away from here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He brought her to an alcove off one of the galleries where only one sconce
- with wax candles was alight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should you tremble, my dear girl?” said he. “What is there to be
- afraid of? I am your friend—you know that I would die to save you
- from the least trouble.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Trouble? Who said anything about trouble?” she cried. “I am in no trouble—only
- for the trouble I am giving you, dear Goldsmith. And you did not come in
- the bloom-tinted coat after all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He made no reply to her spasmodic utterances. The long silence was broken
- only by the playing of the band, following Madame Agujari's song—the
- hum of voices and laughter from the well-dressed mob in the rotunda and
- around the galleries.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last the girl put her hand again upon his arm, saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder what you think of this business, my dear friend—I wonder
- what you think of your Jessamy Bride.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think nothing but what is good of you, my dear,” said he tenderly. “But
- if you can tell me of the matter that troubles you, I think I may be able
- to make you see that it should not be a trouble to you for a moment. Why,
- what can possibly have happened since we were all so merry in France
- together?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing—nothing has happened—I give you my word upon it,” she
- said. “Oh, I feel that you are altogether right. I have no cause to be
- frightened—no cause to be troubled. Why, if it came to fighting,
- have not I a brother? Ah, I had much better say nothing more. You could
- not understand—psha! there is nothing to be understood, dear Dr.
- Goldsmith; girls are foolish creatures.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it nothing to you that we have been friends so long, dear child?” said
- he. “Is it not possible for you to let me have your confidence? Think if
- it be possible, Mary. I am not a wise man where my own affairs are
- concerned, but I feel that for others—for you, my dear—ah,
- child, don't you know that if you share a secret trouble with another its
- poignancy is blunted?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have never had consolation except from you,” said the girl. “But this—this—oh,
- my friend, by what means did you look into a woman's soul to enable you to
- write those lines—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- 'When lovely woman stoops to folly,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And finds too late. . . '?”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long pause before he started up, with his hand pressed to his
- forehead. He looked at her strangely for a moment, and then walked slowly
- away from her with his head bent. Before he had taken more than a dozen
- steps, however, he stopped, and, after another moment of indecision,
- hastened back to her and offered her his hand, saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am but a man; I can think nothing of you but what is good.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said; “it is only a woman who can think everything that is evil
- about a woman. It is not by men that women are deceived to their own
- destruction, but by women.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She sprang to her feet and laid her hand upon his arm once again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let us go away,” she said. “I am sick of this place. There is no corner
- of it that is not penetrated by the Agujari's singing. Was there ever any
- singing so detestable? And they pay her fifty guineas a song! I would pay
- fifty guineas to get out of earshot of the best of her efforts.” Her laugh
- had a shrill note that caused it to sound very pitiful to the man who
- heard it.
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke no word, but led her tenderly back to where her mother was
- standing with Burke and her son.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do hope that you have not missed Agujari's last song,” said Mrs.
- Horneck. “We have been entranced with its melody.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no; I have missed no note of it—no note. Was there ever
- anything so delicious—so liquid-sweet? Is it not time that we went
- homeward, mother? I do feel a little tired, in spite of the Agujari.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At what an admirable period we have arrived in the world's history!” said
- Burke. “It is the young miss in these days who insists on her mother's
- keeping good hours. How wise we are all growing!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mary was always a wise little person,” said Mrs. Horneck.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wise? Oh, let us go home!” said the girl wearily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Goldsmith will, I am sure, direct our coach to be called,” said her
- mother.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith bowed and pressed his way to the door, where he told the janitor
- to call for Mrs. Horneck's coach.
- </p>
- <p>
- He led Mary out of the rotunda, Burke having gone before with the elder
- lady. Goldsmith did not fail to notice the look of apprehension on the
- girl's face as her eyes wandered around the crowd in the porch. He could
- hear the little sigh of relief that she gave after her scrutiny.
- </p>
- <p>
- The coach had drawn up at the entrance, and the little party went out into
- the region of flaring links and pitch-scented smoke. While Goldsmith was
- in the act of helping Mary Horneck up the steps, he was furtively glancing
- around, and before she had got into a position for seating herself by the
- side of her mother, he dropped her hand in so clumsy a way that several of
- the onlookers laughed. Then he retreated, bowing awkwardly, and, to crown
- his stupidity, he turned round so rapidly and unexpectedly that he ran
- violently full-tilt against a gentleman in uniform, who was hurrying to
- the side of the chariot as if to take leave of the ladies.
- </p>
- <p>
- The crowd roared as the officer lost his footing for a moment and
- staggered among the loiterers in the porch, not recovering himself until
- the vehicle had driven away. Even then Goldsmith, with disordered wig, was
- barring the way to the coach, profusely apologising for his awkwardness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Curse you for a lout!” cried the officer.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith put his hat on his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look you, sir!” he said. “I have offered you my humblest apologies for
- the accident. If you do not choose to accept them, you have but got to say
- as much and I am at your service. My name is Goldsmith, sir—Oliver
- Goldsmith—and my friend is Mr. Edmund Burke. I flatter myself that
- we are both as well known and of as high repute as yourself, whoever you
- may be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The onlookers in the porch laughed, those outside gave an encouraging
- cheer, while the chairmen and linkmen, who were nearly all Irish, shouted
- “Well done, your Honour! The little Doctor and Mr. Burke forever!” For
- both Goldsmith and Burke were as popular with the mob as they were in
- society.
- </p>
- <p>
- While Goldsmith stood facing the scowling officer, an elderly gentleman,
- in the uniform of a general and with his breast covered with orders,
- stepped out from the side of the porch and shook Oliver by the hand. Then
- he turned to his opponent, saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Goldsmith is my friend, sir. If you have any quarrel with him you can
- let me hear from you. I am General Oglethorpe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Or if it suits you better, sir,” said another gentleman coming to
- Goldsmith's side, “you can send your friend to my house. My name is Lord
- Clare.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My Lord,” cried the man, bowing with a little swagger, “I have no quarrel
- with Dr. Goldsmith. He has no warmer admirer than myself. If in the heat
- of the moment I made use of any expression that one gentleman might not
- make use of toward another, I ask Dr. Goldsmith's pardon. I have the
- honour to wish your Lordship good-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He bowed and made his exit.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VIII.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Goldsmith
- reached his chambers in Brick Court, he found awaiting him a letter from
- Colman, the lessee of Covent Garden Theatre, to let him know that Woodward
- and Mrs. Abington had resigned their parts in his comedy which had been in
- rehearsal for a week, and that he, Colman, felt they were right in doing
- so, as the failure of the piece was so inevitable. He hoped that Dr.
- Goldsmith would be discreet enough to sanction its withdrawal while its
- withdrawal was still possible.
- </p>
- <p>
- He read this letter—one of several which he had received from Colman
- during the week prophesying disaster—without impatience, and threw
- it aside without a further thought. He had no thought for anything save
- the expression that had been on the face of Mary Horneck as she had spoken
- his lines—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “When lovely woman stoops to folly,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And finds too late....”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “Too late——” She had not got beyond those words. Her voice had
- broken, as he had often believed that his beloved Olivia's voice had
- broken, when trying to sing her song in which a woman's despair is
- enshrined for all ages. Her voice had broken, though not with the stress
- of tears. It would not have been so full of despair if tears had been in
- her eyes. Where there are tears there is hope. But her voice....
- </p>
- <p>
- What was he to believe? What was he to think regarding that sweet girl who
- had, since the first day he had known her, treated him as no other human
- being had ever treated him? The whole family of the Hornecks had shown
- themselves to be his best friends. They insisted on his placing himself on
- the most familiar footing in regard to their house, and when Little Comedy
- married she maintained the pleasant intimacy with him which had begun at
- Sir Joshua Reynolds's dinner-table. The days that he spent at the
- Bunburys' house at Barton were among the pleasantest of his life.
- </p>
- <p>
- But, fond though he was of Mrs. Bun-bury, her sister Mary, his “Jessamy
- Bride,” drew him to her by a deeper and warmer affection. He had felt from
- the first hour of meeting her that she understood his nature—that in
- her he had at last found some one who could give him the sympathy which he
- sought. More than once she had proved to him that she recognised the
- greatness of his nature—his simplicity, his generosity, the
- tenderness of his heart for all things that suffered, his trustfulness,
- that caused him to be so frequently imposed upon, his intolerance of
- hypocrisy and false sentiment, though false sentiment was the note of the
- most successful productions of the day. Above all, he felt that she
- recognised his true attitude in relation to English literature. If he was
- compelled to work in uncongenial channels in order to earn his daily
- bread, he himself never forgot what he owed to English literature. How
- nobly he discharged this debt his “Traveller,” “The Vicar of Wakefield,”
- “The Deserted Village,” and “The Good Natured Man” testified at intervals.
- He felt that he was the truest poet, the sincerest dramatist, of the
- period, and he never allowed the work which he was compelled to do for the
- booksellers to turn him aside from his high aims.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was because Mary Horneck proved to him daily that she understood what
- his aims were he regarded her as different from all the rest of the world.
- She did not talk to him of sympathising with him, but she understood him
- and sympathised with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he lay back in his chair now asking himself what he should think of
- her, he recalled every day that he had passed in her company, from the
- time of their first meeting at Reynolds's house until he had accompanied
- her and her mother and sister on the tour through France. He remembered
- how, the previous year, she had stirred his heart on returning from a long
- visit to her native Devonshire by a clasp of the hand and a look of
- gratitude, as she spoke the name of the book which he had sent to her with
- a letter. “The Vicar of Wakefield” was the book, and she had said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can never, never know what it has been to me—what it has done
- for me.” Her eyes had at that time been full of tears of gratitude—of
- affection, and the sound of her voice and the sight of her liquid eyes had
- overcome him. He knew there was a bond between them that would not be
- easily severed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0105.jpg" alt="0105 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0105.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- But there were no tears in her eyes as she spoke the words of Olivia's
- song.
- </p>
- <p>
- What was he to think of her?
- </p>
- <p>
- One moment she had been overflowing with girlish merriment, and then, on
- glancing across the hall, her face had become pale and her mood had
- changed from one of merriment to one of despair—the despair of a
- bird that finds itself in the net of the fowler.
- </p>
- <p>
- What was he to think of her?
- </p>
- <p>
- He would not wrong her by a single thought. He thought no longer of her,
- but of the man whose sudden appearance before her eyes had, he felt
- certain, brought about her change of mood.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was his certainty of feeling on this matter that had caused him to
- guard her jealously from the approach of that man, and, when he saw him
- going toward the coach, to prevent his further advance by the readiest
- means in his power. He had had no time to elaborate any scheme to keep the
- man away from Mary Horneck, and he had been forced to adopt the most
- rudimentary scheme to carry out his purpose.
- </p>
- <p>
- Well, he reflected upon the fact that if the scheme was rudimentary it had
- proved extremely effective. He had kept the man apart from the girls, and
- he only regretted that the man had been so easily led to regard the
- occurrence as an accident. He would have dearly liked to run the man
- through some vital part.
- </p>
- <p>
- What was that man to Mary Horneck that she should be in terror at the very
- sight of him? That was the question which presented itself to him, and his
- too vivid imagination had no difficulty in suggesting a number of answers
- to it, but through all he kept his word to her: he thought no ill of her.
- He could not entertain a thought of her that was not wholly good. He felt
- that her concern was on account of some one else who might be in the power
- of that man. He knew how generous she was—how sympathetic. He had
- told her some of his own troubles, and though he did so lightly, as was
- his custom, she had been deeply affected on hearing of them. Might it not
- then be that the trouble which affected her was not her own, but
- another's?
- </p>
- <p>
- Before he went to bed he had brought himself to take this view of the
- incident of the evening, and he felt much easier in his mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- Only he felt a twinge of regret when he reflected that the fellow whose
- appearance had deprived Mary Horneck of an evening's pleasure had escaped
- with no greater inconvenience than would be the result of an ordinary
- shaking. His contempt for the man increased as he recalled how he had
- declined to prolong the quarrel. If he had been anything of a man he would
- have perceived that he was insulted, not by accident but design, and would
- have been ready to fight.
- </p>
- <p>
- Whatever might be the nature of Mary Horneck's trouble, the killing of the
- man would be a step in the right direction.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not until his servant, John Eyles, had awakened him in the morning
- that he recollected receiving a letter from Colman which contained some
- unpleasant news. He could not at first remember the details of the news,
- but he was certain that on receiving it he had a definite idea that it was
- unpleasant. When he now read Colman's letter for the second time he found
- that his recollection of his first impression was not at fault. It was
- just his luck: no man was in the habit of writing more joyous letters or
- receiving more depressing than Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- He hurried off to the theatre and found Colman in his most disagreeable
- mood. The actor and actress who had resigned their parts were just those
- to whom he was looking, Colman declared, to pull the play through. He
- could not, however, blame them, he frankly admitted. They were, he said,
- dependent for a livelihood upon their association with success on the
- stage, and it could not be otherwise than prejudicial to their best
- interests to be connected with a failure.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was too much, even for the long suffering Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it not somewhat premature to talk of the failure of a play that has
- not yet been produced, Mr. Colman?” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It might be in respect to most plays, sir,” replied Colman; “but in
- regard to this particular play, I don't think that one need be afraid to
- anticipate by a week or two the verdict of the playgoers. Two things in
- this world are inevitable, sir: death and the damning of your comedy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall try to bear both with fortitude,” said Goldsmith quietly, though
- he was inwardly very indignant with the manager for his gratuitous
- predictions of failure—predictions which from the first his attitude
- in regard to the play had contributed to realise. “I should like to have a
- talk with Mrs. Abington and Woodward,” he added.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are in the green room,” said the manager. “I must say that I was in
- hope, Dr. Goldsmith, that your critical judgment of your own work would
- enable you to see your way to withdraw it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I decline to withdraw it, sir,” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have been a manager now for some years,” said Colman, “and, speaking
- from the experience which I have gained at this theatre, I say without
- hesitation that I never had a piece offered to me which promised so
- complete a disaster as this, sir. Why, 'tis like no other comedy that was
- ever wrote.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is a feature which I think the playgoers will not be slow to
- appreciate,” said Goldsmith. “Good Lord! Mr. Colman, cannot you see that
- what the people want nowadays is a novelty?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, sir; but there are novelties and novelties, and this novelty of yours
- is not to their taste.'T is not a comedy of the pothouse that's the
- novelty genteel people want in these days; and mark my words, sir, the
- bringing on of that vulgar young boor—what's the fellow's name?—Lumpkin,
- in his pothouse, and the unworthy sneers against the refinement and
- sensibility of the period—the fellow who talks of his bear only
- dancing to the genteelest of tunes—all this, Dr. Goldsmith, I pledge
- you my word and reputation as a manager, will bring about an early fall of
- the curtain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “An early fall of the curtain?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Even so, sir; for the people in the house will not permit another scene
- beyond that of your pothouse to be set.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let me tell you, Mr. Colman, that the Three Pigeons is an hostelry, not a
- pothouse.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The playgoers will damn it if it were e'en a Bishop's palace.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Which you think most secure against such a fate. Nay, sir, let us not
- apply the doctrine of predestination to a comedy. Men have gone mad
- through believing that they had no chance of being saved from the Pit.
- Pray let not us take so gloomy a view of the hereafter of our play.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of <i>your</i> play, sir, by your leave. I have no mind to accept even a
- share of its paternity, though I know that I cannot escape blame for
- having anything to do with its production.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you are so anxious to decline the responsibilities of a father in
- respect to it, sir, I must beg that you will not feel called upon to act
- with the cruelty of a step-father towards it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith bowed in his pleasantest manner as he left the manager's office
- and went to the green room.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IX.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he attitude of
- Colman in regard to the comedy was quite in keeping with the traditions of
- the stage of the eighteenth century, nor was it so contrary to the
- traditions of the nineteenth century. Colman, like the rest of his
- profession—not even excepting Garrick—possessed only a small
- amount of knowledge as to what playgoers desired to have presented to
- them. Whatever successes he achieved were certainly not due to his own
- acumen. He had no idea that audiences had grown tired of stilted blank
- verse tragedies and comedies constructed on the most conventional lines,
- with plentiful allusions to heathen deities, but a plentiful lack of human
- nature. Such plays had succeeded in his hands previously, and he could see
- no reason why he should substitute for them anything more natural. He had
- no idea that playgoers were ready to hail with pleasure a comedy founded
- upon scenes of everyday life, not upon the spurious sentimentality of an
- artificial age.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had produced “The Good Natured Man” some years before, and had made
- money by the transaction. But the shrieks of the shallow critics who had
- condemned the introduction of the low-life personages into that play were
- still ringing in his ears; so, when he found that the leading
- characteristics of these personages were not only introduced but actually
- intensified in the new comedy, which the author had named provisionally
- “The Mistakes of a Night,” he at first declined to have anything to do
- with it. But, fortunately, Goldsmith had influential friends—friends
- who, like Dr. Johnson and Bishop Percy, had recognised his genius when he
- was living in a garret and before he had written anything beyond a few
- desultory essays—and they brought all their influence to bear upon
- the Covent Garden manager. He accepted the comedy, but laid it aside for
- several months, and only grudgingly, at last, consented to put it in
- rehearsal.
- </p>
- <p>
- Daily, when Goldsmith attended the rehearsals, the manager did his best to
- depreciate the piece, shaking his head over some scenes, shrugging his
- shoulders over others, and asking the author if he actually meant to allow
- certain portions of the dialogue to be spoken as he had written them.
- </p>
- <p>
- This attitude would have discouraged a man less certain of his position
- than Goldsmith. It did not discourage him, however, but its effect was
- soon perceptible upon the members of the company. They rehearsed in a
- half-hearted way, and accepted Goldsmith's suggestions with demur.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the end of a week Gentleman Smith, who had been cast for Young Marlow,
- threw up the part, and Colman inquired of Goldsmith if he was serious in
- his intention to continue rehearsing the piece. In a moment Goldsmith
- assured him that he meant to perform his part of the contract with the
- manager, and that he would tolerate no backing out of that same contract
- by the manager. At his friend Shuter's suggestion, the part was handed
- over to Lee Lewes.
- </p>
- <p>
- After this, it might at least have been expected that Colman would make
- the best of what he believed to be a bad matter, and give the play every
- chance of success. On the contrary, however, he was stupid even for the
- manager of a theatre, and was at the pains to decry the play upon every
- possible occasion. Having predicted failure for it, he seemed determined
- to do his best to cause his prophecies to be realized. At rehearsal he
- provoked Goldsmith almost beyond endurance by his sneers, and actually
- encouraged the members of his own company in their frivolous complaints
- regarding their dialogue. He spoke the truth to Goldsmith when he said he
- was not surprised that Woodward and Mrs. Abington had thrown up their
- parts: he would have been greatly surprised if they had continued
- rehearsing.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the unfortunate author now entered the green room, the buzz of
- conversation which had been audible outside ceased in an instant. He knew
- that he had formed the subject of the conversation, and he could not doubt
- what was its nature. For a moment he was tempted to turn round and go back
- to Colman in order to tell him that he would withdraw the play. The
- temptation lasted but a moment, however: the spirit of determination which
- had carried him through many difficulties—that spirit which Reynolds
- appreciated and had embodied in his portrait—came to his aid. He
- walked boldly into the green room and shook hands with both Woodward and
- Mrs. Abington.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am greatly mortified at the news which I have just had from Mr.
- Colman,” he said; “but I am sure that you have not taken this serious step
- without due consideration, so I need say no more about it. Mr. Colman will
- be unable to attend this rehearsal, but he is under an agreement with me
- to produce my comedy within a certain period, and he will therefore
- sanction any step I may take on his behalf. Mr. Quick will, I hope, honour
- me by reading the part of Tony Lumpkin and Mrs. Bulk-ley that of Miss
- Hardcastle, so that there need be no delay in the rehearsal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The members of the company were somewhat startled by the tone adopted by
- the man who had previously been anything but fluent in his speech, and who
- had submitted with patience to the sneers of the manager. They now began
- to perceive something of the character of the man whose life had been a
- fierce struggle with adversity, but who even in his wretched garret knew
- what was due to himself and to his art, and did not hesitate to kick
- downstairs the emissary from the government that offered him employment as
- a libeller.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir,” cried the impulsive Mrs. Bulkley, putting out her hand to him—“Sir,
- you are not only a genius, you are a man as well, and it will not be my
- fault if this comedy of yours does not turn out a success. You have been
- badly treated, Dr. Goldsmith, and you have borne your ill-treatment nobly.
- For myself, sir, I say that I shall be proud to appear in your piece.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madam,” said Goldsmith, “you overwhelm me with your kindness. As for
- ill-treatment, I have nothing to complain of so far as the ladies and
- gentlemen of the company are concerned, and any one who ventures to assert
- that I bear ill-will toward Mr. Woodward and Mrs. Abington I shall regard
- as having put an affront upon me. Before a fortnight has passed I know
- that they will be overcome by chagrin at their rejection of the
- opportunity that was offered them of being associated with the success of
- this play, for it will be a success, in spite of the untoward
- circumstances incidental to its birth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He bowed several times around the company, and he did it so awkwardly that
- he immediately gained the sympathy and good-will of all the actors: they
- reflected how much better they could do it, and that, of course, caused
- them to feel well disposed towards Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean to give the comedy another name, sir, I think,” said Shuter, who
- was cast for the part of Old Hardcastle.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may be sure that a name will be forthcoming,” said Goldsmith. “Lord,
- sir, I am too good a Christian not to know that if an accident was to
- happen to my bantling before it is christened it would be damned to a
- certainty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The rehearsal this day was the most promising that had yet taken place.
- Col-man did not put in an appearance, consequently the disheartening
- influence of his presence was not felt. The broadly comical scenes were
- acted with some spirit, and though it was quite apparent to Goldsmith that
- none of the company believed that the play would be a success, yet the
- members did not work, as they had worked hitherto, on the assumption that
- its failure was inevitable.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the whole, he left the theatre with a lighter heart than he had had
- since the first rehearsal. It was not until he returned to his chambers to
- dress for the evening that he recollected he had not yet arrived at a
- wholly satisfactory solution of the question which had kept him awake
- during the greater part of the night.
- </p>
- <p>
- The words that Mary Horneck had spoken and the look there was in her eyes
- at the same moment had yet to be explained.
- </p>
- <p>
- He seated himself at his desk with his hand to his head, his elbow resting
- on a sheet of paper placed ready for his pen. After half-an-hour's thought
- his hand went mechanically to his tray of pens. Picking one up with a
- sigh, he began to write.
- </p>
- <p>
- Verse after verse appeared upon the paper—the love-song of a man who
- feels that love is shut out from his life for evermore, but whose only
- consolation in life is love.
- </p>
- <p>
- After an hour's fluent writing he laid down the pen and once again rested
- his head on his hand. He had not the courage to read what he had written.
- His desk was full of such verses, written with unaffected sincerity when
- every one around him was engaged in composing verses which were regarded
- worthy of admiration only in proportion as they were artificial.
- </p>
- <p>
- He wondered, as he sat there, what would be the result of his sending to
- Mary Horneck one of those poems which his heart had sung to her. Would she
- be shocked at his presumption in venturing to love her? Would his
- delightful relations with her and her family be changed when it became
- known that he had not been satisfied with the friendship which he had
- enjoyed for some years, but had hoped for a response to his deeper
- feeling?
- </p>
- <p>
- His heart sank as he asked himself the question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How is it that I seem ridiculous as a lover even to myself?” he muttered.
- “Why has God laid upon me the curse of being a poet? A poet is the
- chronicler of the loves of others, but it is thought madness should he
- himself look for the consolation of love. It is the irony of life that the
- man who is most capable of deep feeling should be forced to live in
- loneliness. How the world would pity a great painter who was struck blind—a
- great orator struck dumb! But the poet shut out from love receives no pity—no
- pity on earth—no pity in heaven.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He bowed his head down to his hands, and remained in that attitude for an
- hour. Then he suddenly sprang to his feet. He caught up the paper which he
- had just covered with verses, and was in the act of tearing it. He did not
- tear the sheet quite across, however; it fell from his hand to the desk
- and lay there, a slight current of air from a window making the torn edge
- rise and fall as though it lay upon the beating heart of a woman whose
- lover was beside her—that was what the quivering motion suggested to
- the poet who watched it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I would have torn it in pieces and made a ruin of it!” he said.
- “Alas! alas! for the poor torn, fluttering heart!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He dressed himself and went out, but to none of his accustomed haunts,
- where he would have been certain to meet with some of the distinguished
- men who were rejoiced to be regarded as his friends. In his mood he knew
- that friendship could afford him no solace.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew that to offer a man friendship when love is in his heart is like
- giving a loaf of bread to one who is dying of thirst.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER X.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>or the next two
- days Goldsmith was fully occupied making such changes in his play as were
- suggested to him in the course of the rehearsals. The alterations were not
- radical, but he felt that they would be improvements, and his judgment was
- rarely at fault. Moreover, he was quick to perceive in what direction the
- strong points and the weak points of the various members of the company
- lay, and he had no hesitation in altering the dialogue so as to give them
- a better chance of displaying their gifts. But not a line of what Colman
- called the “pot-house scene” would he change, not a word of the scene
- where the farm servants are being trained to wait at table would he allow
- to be omitted.
- </p>
- <p>
- Colman declined to appear upon the stage during the rehearsals. He seems
- to have spent all his spare time walking from coffee house to coffee house
- talking about the play, its vulgarity, and the certainty of the fate that
- was in store for it. It would have been impossible, had he not adopted
- this remarkable course, for the people of the town to become aware, as
- they certainly did, what were his ideas regarding the comedy. When it was
- produced with extraordinary success, the papers held the manager up to
- ridicule daily for his false predictions, and every day a new set of
- lampoons came from the coffee-house wits on the same subject.
- </p>
- <p>
- But though the members of the company rehearsed the play loyally, some of
- them were doubtful about the scene at the Three Pigeons, and did not
- hesitate to express their fears to Goldsmith. They wondered if he might
- not see his way to substitute for that scene one which could not possibly
- be thought offensive by any section of playgoers. Was it not a pity, one
- of them asked him, to run a chance of failure when it might be so easily
- avoided?
- </p>
- <p>
- To all of these remonstrances he had but one answer: the play must stand
- or fall by the scenes which were regarded as ungenteel. He had written it,
- he said, for the sake of expressing his convictions through the medium of
- these particular scenes, and he was content to accept the verdict of the
- playgoers on the point in question. Why he had brought on those scenes so
- early in the play was that the playgoers might know not to expect a
- sentimental piece, but one that was meant to introduce a natural school of
- comedy, with no pretence to be anything but a copy of the manners of the
- day, with no fine writing in the dialogue, but only the broadest and
- heartiest fun.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If the scenes are ungenteel,” said he, “it is because nature is made up
- of ungenteel things. Your modern gentleman is, to my mind, much less
- interesting than your ungenteel person; and I believe that Tony Lumpkin
- when admirably represented, as he will be by Mr. Quick, will be a greater
- favourite with all who come to the playhouse than the finest gentleman who
- ever uttered an artificial sentiment to fall exquisitely on the ear of a
- boarding-school miss. So, by my faith! I'll not interfere with his
- romping.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was fluent and decisive on this point, as he was on every other point
- on which he had made up his mind. He only stammered and stuttered when he
- did not know what he was about to say, and this frequently arose from his
- over-sensitiveness in regard to the feelings of others—a disability
- which could never be laid to the charge of Dr. Johnson, who was, in
- consequence, delightfully fluent.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the evening of the third rehearsal of the play with the amended cast,
- he went to Reynolds's house in Leicester Square to dine. He knew that the
- Horneck family would be there, and he looked forward with some degree of
- apprehension to his meeting with Mary. He felt that she might think he
- looked for some explanation of her strange words spoken when he was by her
- side at the Pantheon. But he wanted no explanation from her. The words
- still lay as a burden upon his heart, but he felt that it would pain her
- to attempt an explanation of them, and he was quite content that matters
- should remain as they were. Whatever the words might have meant, it was
- impossible that they could mean anything that might cause him to think of
- her with less reverence and affection.
- </p>
- <p>
- He arrived early at Reynolds's house, but it did not take him long to find
- out that he was not the first arrival. From the large drawingroom there
- came to his ears the sound of laughter—such laughter as caused him
- to remark to the servant—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I perceive that Mr. Garrick is already in the house, Ralph.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Garrick has been here with the young ladies for the past half-hour,
- sir,” replied Ralph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shouldn't wonder if, on inquiry, it were found that he has been
- entertaining them,” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph, who knew perfectly well what was the exact form that the
- entertainment assumed, busied himself hanging up the visitor's hat.
- </p>
- <p>
- The fact was that, for the previous quarter of an hour, Garrick had been
- keeping Mary Horneck and her sister, and even Miss Reynolds, in fits of
- laughter by his burlesque account of Goldsmith's interview with an
- amanuensis who had been recommended to him with a view of saving him much
- manual labour. Goldsmith had told him the story originally, and the
- imagination of Garrick was quite equal to the duty of supplying all the
- details necessary for the burlesque. He pretended to be the amanuensis
- entering the room in which Goldsmith was supposed to be seated working
- laboriously at his “Animated Nature.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good morning, sir, good morning,” he cried, pretending to take off his
- gloves and shake the dust off them with the most perfect self-possession,
- previous to laying them in his hat on a chair. “Now mind you don't sit
- there, Dr. Goldsmith,” he continued, raising a warning finger. A little
- motion of his body, and the pert amanuensis, with his mincing ways, was
- transformed into the awkward Goldsmith, shy and self-conscious in the
- presence of a stranger, hastening with clumsy politeness to get him a
- chair, and, of course, dragging forward the very one on which the man had
- placed his hat. “Now, now, now, what are you about?”—once more
- Garrick was the amanuensis. “Did not I warn you to be careful about that
- chair, sir? Eh? I only told you not to sit in it? Sir, that excuse is a
- mere quibble—a mere quibble. This must not occur again, or I shall
- be forced to dismiss you, and where will you be then, my good sir? Now to
- business, Doctor; but first you will tell your man to make me a cup of
- chocolate—with milk, sir—plenty of milk, and two lumps of
- sugar—plantation sugar, sir; I flatter myself that I am a patriot—none
- of your foreign manufactures for me. And now that I think on't, your
- laundress would do well to wash and iron my ruffles for me; and mind you
- tell her to be careful of the one with the tear in it”—this shouted
- half-way out of the door through which he had shown Goldsmith hurrying
- with the ruffles and the order for the chocolate. Then came the monologue
- of the amanuensis strolling about the room, passing his sneering remarks
- at the furniture—opening a letter which had just come by post, and
- reading it <i>sotto voce</i>. It was supposed to be from Filby, the
- tailor, and to state that the field-marshal's uniform in which Dr.
- Goldsmith meant to appear at the next masked ball at the Haymarket would
- be ready in a few days, and to inquire if Dr. Goldsmith had made up his
- mind as to the exact orders which he meant to wear, ending with a
- compliment upon Dr. Goldsmith's good taste and discrimination in choosing
- a costume which was so well adapted to his physique, and a humble
- suggestion that it should be worn upon the occasion of the first
- performance of the new comedy, when the writer hoped no objection would be
- raised to the hanging of a board in front of the author's box with “Made
- by Filby” printed on it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Garrick's reading of the imaginary letter, stumbling over certain words—giving
- an odd turn and a ludicrous misreading to a phrase here and there, and
- finally his turning over the letter and mumbling a postscript alluding to
- the length of time that had passed since the writer had received a payment
- on account, could not have been surpassed. The effect of the comedy upon
- the people in the room was immeasurably heightened by the entrance of
- Goldsmith in the flesh, when Garrick, as the amanuensis, immediately
- walked to him gravely with the scrap of paper which had done duty as the
- letter, in his hand, asking him if what was written there in black and
- white about the field-marshal's uniform was correct, and if he meant to
- agree to Filby's request to wear it on the first night of the comedy.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith perceived that Garrick was giving an example of the impromptu
- entertainment in which he delighted, and at once entered into the spirit
- of the scene, saying-“Why, yes, sir; I have come to the conclusion that
- more credit should be given to a man who has brought to a successful issue
- a campaign against the prejudices and stupidities of the manager of a
- playhouse than to the generalissimo of an army in the field, so why should
- not I wear a field-marshal's uniform, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The laugh was against Garrick, which pleased him greatly, for he knew that
- Goldsmith would feel that he was sharing in the entertainment, and would
- not regard it as a burlesque upon himself personally. In an instant,
- however, the actor had ceased to be the supercilious amanuensis, and
- became David Garrick, crying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir, you are out of the play altogether. You are presuming to reply
- to the amanuensis, which, I need scarcely tell a gentleman of your
- experience, is a preposterous idea, and out of all consistency with
- nature.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith had shaken hands with all his friends, and being quite elated at
- the success of his reply to the brilliant Garrick, did not mind much what
- might follow.
- </p>
- <p>
- At what did actually follow Goldsmith laughed as heartily as any one in
- the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, sir,” said the amanuensis, “we have no time to waste over empty
- civilities. We have our 'Animated Nature' to proceed with; we cannot keep
- the world waiting any longer; it matters not about the booksellers, 'tis
- the world we think of. What is this?”—picking up an imaginary paper—“'The
- derivation of the name of the elephant has taxed the ingeniousness of many
- able writers, but there can be no doubt in the mind of any one who has
- seen that noble creature, as I have, in its native woods, careering nimbly
- from branch to branch of the largest trees in search of the butterflies,
- which form its sole food, that the name elephant is but a corruption of
- elegant, the movements of the animal being as singularly graceful as its
- shape is in accordance with all accepted ideas of symmetry.' Sir, this is
- mighty fine, but your style lacks animation. A writer on 'Animated Nature'
- should be himself both animated and natural, as one who translates Buffon
- should himself be a buffoon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In this strain of nonsense Garrick went on for the next ten minutes,
- leading up to a simulated dispute between Goldsmith and his amanuensis as
- to whether a dog lived on land or water. The dispute waxed warmer and
- warmer, until at last blows were exchanged and the amanuensis kicked
- Goldsmith through the door and down the stairs. The bumping of the
- imaginary man from step to step was heard in the drawing-room, and then
- the amanuensis entered, smiling and rubbing his hands as he remarked—
- </p>
- <p>
- “The impertinent fellow! To presume to dictate to his amanuensis! Lord!
- what's the world coming to when a common literary man presumes to dictate
- to his amanuensis?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Such buffoonery was what Garrick loved. At Dr. Burney's new house, around
- the corner in St. Martin's street, he used to keep the household in roars
- of laughter—as one delightful member of the household has recorded—over
- his burlesque auctions of books, and his imitations of Dr. Johnson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And all this,” said Goldsmith, “came out of the paltry story which I told
- him of how I hired an amanuensis, but found myself dumb the moment he sat
- down to work, so that, after making a number of excuses which I knew he
- saw through, I found it to my advantage to give the man a guinea and send
- him away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XI.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith was
- delighted to find that the Jessamy Bride seemed free from care. He had
- gone to Reynolds' in fear and trembling lest he should hear that she was
- unable to join the party; but now he found her in as merry a mood as he
- had ever known her to be in. He was seated by her side at dinner, and he
- was glad to find that there was upon her no trace of the mysterious mood
- that had spoiled his pleasure at the Pantheon.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had, of course, heard of the troubles at the playhouse, and she told
- him that nothing would induce her ever to speak to Colman, though she said
- that she and Little Comedy, when they had first heard of the intention of
- the manager to withdraw the piece, had resolved to go together to the
- theatre and demand its immediate production on the finest scale possible.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There's still great need for some one who will be able to influence
- Colman in that respect,” said Goldsmith. “Only to-day, when I ventured to
- talk of a fresh scene being painted, He told me that it was not his
- intention to proceed to such expense for a piece that would not be played
- for longer than a small portion of one evening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The monster!” cried the girl. “I should like to talk to him as I feel
- about this. What, is he mad enough to expect that playgoers will tolerate
- his wretched old scenery in a new comedy? Oh, clearly he needs some one to
- be near him who will speak plainly to him and tell him how contemptible he
- is. Your friend Dr. Johnson should go to him. The occasion is one that
- demands the powers of a man who has a whole dictionary at his back—yes,
- Dr. Johnson should go to him and threaten that if he does not behave
- handsomely he will, in his next edition of the Dictionary, define a
- scoundrel as a playhouse manager who keeps an author in suspense for
- months, and then produces his comedy so ungenerously as to make its
- failure a certainty. But, no, your play will be the greater success on
- account of its having to overcome all the obstacles which Mr. Colman has
- placed in its way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know, dear child, that if it depended on your good will it would be the
- greatest success of the century,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so it will be—oh, it must be! Little Comedy and I will—oh,
- we shall insist on the playgoers liking it! We will sit in front of a box
- and lead all the applause, and we will, besides, keep stern eyes fixed
- upon any one who may have the bad taste to decline to follow us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are kindness itself, my dear; and meanwhile, if you would come to the
- remaining rehearsals, and spend all your spare time thinking out a
- suitable name for the play you would be conferring an additional favour
- upon an ill-treated author.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will do both, and it will be strange if I do not succeed in at least
- one of the two enterprises—the first being the changing of the
- mistakes of a manager into the success of a night, and the second the
- changing of the 'Mistakes of a Night' into the success of a manager—ay,
- and of an author as well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Admirably spoke!” cried the author. “I have a mind to let the name 'The
- Mistakes of a Night' stand, you have made such a pretty play upon it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no; that is not the kind of play to fill the theatre,” said she. “Oh,
- do not be afraid; it will be very strange if between us we cannot hit upon
- a title that will deserve, if not a coronet, at least a wreath of laurel.”
- Sir Joshua, who was sitting at the head of the table, not far away, had
- put up his ear-trumpet between the courses, and caught a word or two of
- the girl's sentence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I presume that you are still discussing the great title question,” said
- he. “You need not do so. Have I not given you my assurance that 'The
- Belle's Stratagem' is the best name that the play could receive?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, that title Dr. Goldsmith holds to be one of the 'mistakes of a
- Knight!'” said Mr. Bunbury in a low tone. He delighted in a pun, but did
- not like too many people to hear him make one.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'The Belle's Stratagem' I hold to be a good enough title until we get a
- better,” said Goldsmith. “I have confidence in the ingenuity of Miss
- Horneck to discover the better one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, I protest if you do not take my title I shall go to the playhouse
- and damn the play,” said Reynolds. “I have given it its proper name, and
- if it appears in public under any other it will have earned the
- reprobation of all honest folk who detest an <i>alias</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then that name shall stand,” said Goldsmith. “I give you my word, Sir
- Joshua, I would rather see my play succeed under your title than have it
- damned under a title given to it by the next best man to you in England.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is very well said, indeed,” remarked Sir Joshua. “It gives evidence
- of a certain generosity of feeling on your part which all should respect.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Kauffman, who sat at Sir Joshua's right, smiled a trifle vaguely, for
- she had not quite understood the drift of Goldsmith's phrase, but from the
- other end of the table there came quite an outburst of laughter. Garrick
- sat there with Mrs. Bunbury and Baretti, to whom he was telling an
- imaginary story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr. Burney, who sat at the other side of the table, had ventured to
- question the likelihood of an audience's apprehending the humour of the
- story at which Diggory had only hinted. He wondered if the story should
- not be told for the benefit of the playgoers.
- </p>
- <p>
- A gentleman whom Bunbury had brought to dinner—his name was Colonel
- Gwyn, and it was known that he was a great admirer of Mary Horneck—took
- up the question quite seriously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For my part,” he said, “I admit frankly that I have never heard the story
- of Grouse in the gun-room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it possible, sir?” cried Garrick. “What, you mean to say that you are
- not familiar with the reply of Ould Grouse to the young woman who asked
- him how he found his way into the gun-room when the door was locked—that
- about every gun having a lock, and so forth?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, sir,” cried Colonel Gwyn. “I had no idea that the story was a
- familiar one. It seems interesting, too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, 't is amazingly interesting,” said Garrick. “But you are an army man,
- Colonel Gwyn; you have heard it frequently told over the mess-table.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I protest, sir,” said Colonel Gwyn, “I know so little about it that I
- fancied Ould Grouse was the name of a dog—I have myself known of
- sporting dogs called Grouse.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Colonel, you surprise me,” cried Garrick. “Ould Grouse a dog! Pray do
- not hint so much to Dr. Goldsmith. He is a very sensitive man, and would
- feel greatly hurt by such a suggestion. I believe that Dr. Goldsmith was
- an intimate friend of Ould Grouse and felt his death severely.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then he is dead?” said Gwyn. “That, sir, gives a melancholy interest to
- the narrative.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A particularly pathetic interest, sir,” said Garrick, shaking his head.
- “I was not among his intimates, Colonel Gwyn, but when I reflect that that
- dear simple-minded old soul is gone from us—that the gunroom door is
- now open, but that within there is silence—no sound of the dear old
- feet that were wont to patter and potter—you will pardon my emotion,
- madam”—He turned with streaming eyes to Miss Reynolds, who forthwith
- became sympathetically affected, her voice breaking as she endeavoured to
- assure Garrick that his emotion, so far from requiring an apology, did him
- honour. Bunbury, who was ready to roar, could not do so now without
- seeming to laugh at the feeling of his hostess, and his wife had too high
- an appreciation of comedy not to be able to keep her face perfectly grave,
- while a sob or two that he seemed quite unable to suppress came from the
- napkin which Garrick held up to his face. Baretti said something in
- Italian to Dr. Burney across the table, about the melancholy nature of the
- party, and then Garrick dropped his napkin, saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “'T is selfish to repine, and he himself—dear old soul!—would
- be the last to countenance a show of melancholy; for, as his remarks in
- the gun-room testify, Colonel Gwyn, he had a fine sense of humour. I fancy
- I see him, the broad smile lighting up his homely features, as he
- delivered that sly thrust at his questioner, for it is perfectly well
- known, Colonel, that so far as poaching was concerned the other man had no
- particular character in the neighbourhood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Grouse was a poacher, then,” said the Colonel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, if the truth must be told—but no, the man is dead and gone
- now,” cried Garrick, “and it is more generous only to remember, as we all
- do, the nimbleness of his wit—the genial mirth which ran through the
- gun-room after that famous sally of his. It seems that honest homely fun
- is dying out in England; the country stands in need of an Ould Grouse or
- two just now, and let us hope that when the story of that quiet, yet
- thoroughly jovial, remark of his in the gun-room comes to be told in the
- comedy, there will be a revival of the good old days when men were not
- afraid to joke, sir, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But so far as I can gather from what Mrs. Bunbury, who heard the comedy
- read, has told me, the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room is never
- actually narrated, but only hinted at,” said Gwyn.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That makes little matter, sir,” said Garrick. “The untold story of Ould
- Grouse in the gun-room will be more heartily laughed at during the next
- year or two than the best story of which every detail is given.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At any rate, Colonel Gwyn,” said Mrs. Bunbury, “after the pains which Mr.
- Garrick has taken to acquaint you with the amplest particulars of the
- story you cannot in future profess to be unacquainted with it.” Colonel
- Gwyn looked puzzled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I protest, madam,” said he, “that up to the present—ah! I fear that
- the very familiarity of Mr. Garrick with the story has caused him to be
- led to take too much for granted. I do not question the humour, mind you—I
- fancy that I am as quick as most men to see a joke, but——”
- </p>
- <p>
- This was too much for Bunbury and Burney. They both roared with laughter,
- which increased in volume as the puzzled look upon Colonel Gwyn's face was
- taken up by Garrick, as he glanced first at Burney and then at Little
- Comedy's husband. Poor Miss Reynolds, who could never quite make out what
- was going on around her in that strange household where she had been
- thrown by an ironical fate, looked gravely at the ultra-grave Garrick, and
- then smiled artificially at Dr. Burney with a view of assuring him that
- she understood perfectly how he came to be merry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Colonel Gwyn,” said Garrick, “these gentlemen seem to have their own
- reasons for merriment, but I think you and I can better discriminate when
- to laugh and when to refrain from laughter. And yet—ah, I perceive
- they are recalling the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, and that,
- sure enough, would convulse an Egyptian mummy or a statue of Nestor; and
- the funny part of the business is yet to come, for up to the present I
- don't believe that I told you that the man had actually been married for
- some years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed so heartily that Colonel Gwyn could not refrain from joining
- in, though his laughter was a good deal less hearty than that of any of
- the others who had enjoyed Garrick's whimsical fun.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the men were left alone at the table, there was some little
- embarrassment owing to the deficiency of glass, for Sir Joshua, who was
- hospitable to a fault, keeping an open house and dining his friends every
- evening, could never be persuaded to replace the glass which chanced to be
- broken. Garrick made an excuse of the shortness of port-glasses at his end
- of the table to move up beside Goldsmith, whom he cheered by telling him
- that he had already given a lesson to Woodward regarding the speaking of
- the prologue which he, Garrick, had written for the comedy. He said he
- believed Woodward would repeat the lines very effectively. When Goldsmith
- mentioned that Colman declined to have a single scene painted for the
- production, both Sir Joshua and Garrick were indignant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You would have done well to leave the piece in my hands, Noll,” said the
- latter, alluding to the circumstance of Goldsmith's having sent the play
- to him on Colman's first refusal to produce it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, Davy, my friend,” Goldsmith replied, “I feel more at my ease in
- reflecting that in another week I shall know the worst—or the best.
- If the play had remained with you I should feel like a condemned criminal
- for the next year or two.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the drawing-room that evening Garrick and Goldsmith got up the
- entertainment, which was possibly the most diverting one ever seen in a
- room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith sat on Garrick's knees with a table-cloth drawn over his head
- and body, leaving his arms only exposed. Garrick then began reciting long
- sentimental soliloquies from certain plays, which Goldsmith was supposed
- to illustrate by his gestures. The form of the entertainment has survived,
- and sometimes by chance it becomes humourous. But with Garrick repeating
- the lines and thrilling his audience by his marvellous change of
- expression as no audience has since been thrilled, and with Goldsmith
- burlesquing with inappropriately extravagant and wholly amusing gestures
- the passionate deliverances, it can easily be believed that Sir Joshua's
- guests were convulsed.
- </p>
- <p>
- After some time of this division of labour, the position of the two
- playmates was reversed. It was Garrick who sat on Goldsmith's knees and
- did the gesticulating, while the poet attempted to deliver his lines after
- the manner of the player. The effect was even more ludicrous than that of
- the previous combination; and then, in the middle of an affecting passage
- from Addison's “Cato,” Goldsmith began to sing the song which he had been
- compelled to omit from the part of Miss Hardcastle, owing to Mrs.
- Bulkley's not being a singer. Of course Garrick's gestures during the
- delivery of the song were marvellously ingenious, and an additional
- element of attraction was introduced by Dr. Burney, who hastily seated
- himself at the pianoforte and interwove a medley accompaniment,
- introducing all the airs then popular, but without prejudice to the
- harmonies of the accompaniment.
- </p>
- <p>
- Reynolds stood by the side of his friend, Miss Kauffman, and when this
- marvellous fooling had come to an end, except for the extra diversion
- caused by Garrick's declining to leave Goldsmith's knees—he begged
- the lady to favour the company with an Italian song which she was
- accustomed to sing to the accompaniment of a guitar. But Miss Angelica
- shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pray add your entreaties to mine, Miss Horneck,” said Sir Joshua to the
- Jessamy Bride. “Entreat our Angel of Art to give us the pleasure of
- hearing her sing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Horneck rose, and made an elaborate curtsey before the smiling
- Angelica.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Madame Angel, live forever!” she cried. “Will your Majesty condescend
- to let us hear your angelic voice? You have already deigned to captivate
- our souls by the exercise of one art; will you now stoop to conquer our
- savage hearts by the exercise of another?”
- </p>
- <p>
- A sudden cry startled the company, and at the same instant Garrick was
- thrown on his hands and knees on the floor by the act of Goldsmith's
- springing to his feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By the Lord, I've got it!” shouted Goldsmith. “The Jessamy Bride has
- given it to me, as I knew she would—the title of my comedy—she
- has just said it: '<i>She Stoops to Conquer</i>.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XII.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>s a matter of
- course, Colman objected to the new title when Goldsmith communicated it to
- him the next day; but the latter was firm on this particular point. He had
- given the play its name, he said, and he would not alter it now on any
- consideration.
- </p>
- <p>
- Colman once again shrugged his shoulders. The production of the play gave
- him so much practice at shrugging, Goldsmith expressed his regret at not
- being able to introduce the part of a Frenchman, which he said he believed
- the manager would play to perfection.
- </p>
- <p>
- But when Johnson, who attended the rehearsal with Miss Reynolds, the whole
- Horneck family, Cradock and Murphy, asserted, as he did with his customary
- emphasis, that no better title than “She Stoops to Conquer” could be found
- for the comedy, Colman made no further objections, and the rehearsal was
- proceeded with.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir,” cried Johnson, when Goldsmith was leaving his party in a box
- in order to go upon the stage, “Nay, sir, you shall not desert us. You
- must stay by us to let us know when the jests are spoken, so that we may
- be fully qualified to laugh at the right moments when the theatre is
- filled. Why, Goldy, you would not leave us to our own resources?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will be the Lieutenant Cook of the comedy, Dr. Johnson,” said Miss
- Horneck—Lieutenant Cook and his discoveries constituted the chief
- topics of the hour. “I believe that I know so much of the dialogue as will
- enable me to pilot you, not merely to the Otaheite of a jest, but to a
- whole archipelago of wit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Otaheite is a name of good omen,” said Cradock. “It is suggestive of
- palms, and '<i>palmam qui meruit ferat.</i>'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir,” said Johnson, “you should know better than to quote Latin in the
- presence of ladies. Though your remark is not quite so bad as I expected
- it would be, yet let me tell you, sir, that unless the wit in the comedy
- is a good deal livelier than yours, it will have a poor chance with the
- playgoers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, sir, Dr. Goldsmith's wit is greatly superior to mine,” laughed
- Cradock. “Otherwise it would be my comedy that would be in rehearsal, and
- Dr. Goldsmith would be merely on a level with us who constitute his
- critics.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith had gone on the stage and the rehearsal had begun, so that
- Johnson was enabled, by pretending to give all his attention to the
- opening dialogue, to hide his lack of an effective reply to Cradock for
- his insolence in suggesting that they were both on the same level as
- critics.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before Shuter, as Old Hardcastle, had more than begun to drill his
- servants, the mighty laughter of Dr. Johnson was shaking the box. Every
- outburst was like the exploding of a bomb, or, as Cradock put it, the
- broadside coming from the carronade of a three-decker. He had laughed and
- applauded during the scene at the Three Pigeons—especially the
- satirical sallies directed against the sentimentalists—but it was
- the drilling of the servants that excited him most, and he inquired of
- Miss Horneck—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pray what is the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, my dear?”
- </p>
- <p>
- When the members of the company learned that it was the great Dr. Samuel
- Johnson who was roaring with laughter in the box, they were as much amazed
- as they were encouraged. Colman, who had come upon the stage out of
- compliment to Johnson, feeling that his position as an authority regarding
- the elements of diversion in a play was being undermined in the estimation
- of his company, remarked—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your friend Dr. Johnson will be a friend indeed if he comes in as
- generous a mood to the first representation. I only hope that the
- playgoers will not resent his attempt to instruct them on the subject of
- your wit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't think that there is any one alive who will venture to resent the
- instruction of Dr. Johnson,” said Goldsmith quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- The result of this rehearsal and of the three rehearsals that followed it
- during the week, was more than encouraging to the actors, and it became
- understood that Woodward and Gentleman Smith were ready to admit their
- regret at having relinquished the parts for which they had been originally
- cast. The former had asked to be permitted to speak the prologue, which
- Garrick had written, and, upon which, as he had told Goldsmith, he had
- already given a hint or two to Woodward.
- </p>
- <p>
- The difficulty of the epilogue, however, still remained. The one which
- Murphy had written for Mrs. Bulkley was objected to by Miss Catley, who
- threatened to leave the company if Mrs. Bulkley, who had been merely
- thrust forward to take Mrs. Abington's place, were entrusted with the
- epilogue; and, when Cradock wrote another for Miss Catley, Mrs. Bulkley
- declared that if Miss Catley were allowed the distinction which she
- herself had a right to claim, she would leave the theatre. Goldsmith's
- ingenuity suggested the writing of an epilogue in which both the ladies
- were presented in their true characters as quarreling on the subject; but
- Colman placed his veto upon this idea and also upon another simple
- epilogue which the author had written. Only on the day preceding the first
- performance did Goldsmith produce the epilogue which was eventually spoken
- by Mrs. Bulkley.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It seems to me to be a pity to waste so much time discussing an epilogue
- which will never be spoke,” sneered Colman when the last difficulties had
- been smoothed over.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith walked away without another word, and joined his party,
- consisting of Johnson, Reynolds, Miss Reynolds, the Bunburys and Mary
- Horneck. Now that he had done all his work connected with the production
- of the play—when he had not allowed himself to be overcome by the
- niggardly behaviour of the manager in declining to spend a single penny
- either upon the dresses or the scenery, that parting sneer of Colman's
- almost caused him to break down.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mary Horneck perceived this, and hastened to say something kind to him.
- She knew so well what would be truly encouraging to him that she did not
- hesitate for a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad I am not going to the theatre to-night,” she said; “my dress
- would be ruined.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He tried to smile as he asked her for an explanation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, surely you heard the way the cleaners were laughing at the humour of
- the play,” she cried. “Oh, yes, all the cleaners dropped their dusters,
- and stood around the boxes in fits of laughter. I overheard one of the
- candle-snuffers say that no play he had seen rehearsed for years contained
- such wit as yours. I also overheard another man cursing Mr. Col-man for a
- curmudgeon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You did? Thank God for that; 't is a great responsibility off my mind,”
- said Goldsmith. “Oh, my dear Jessamy Bride, I know how kind you are, and I
- only hope that your god-child will turn out a credit to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is not merely your credit that is involved in the success of this
- play, sir,” said Johnson. “The credit of your friends, who insisted on
- Colman's taking the play, is also at stake.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And above all,” said Reynolds pleasantly, “the play must be a success in
- order to put Colman in the wrong.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is the best reason that could be advanced why its success is
- important to us all,” said Mary. “It would never do for Colman to be in
- the right. Oh, we need live in no trepidation; all our credits will be
- saved by Monday night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder if any unworthy man ever had so many worthy friends,” said
- Goldsmith. “I am overcome by their kindness, and overwhelmed with a sense
- of my own unworthiness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will have another thousand friends by Monday night, sir,” cried
- Johnson. “Your true friend, sir, is the friend who pays for his seat to
- hear your play.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I always held that the best definition of a true friend is the man who,
- when you are in the hands of bailiffs, comes to see you, but takes care to
- send a guinea in advance,” said Goldsmith, and every one present knew that
- he alluded to the occasion upon which he had been befriended by Johnson on
- the day that “The Vicar of Wakefield” was sold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now,” said Reynolds, “I have to prove how certain we are of the
- future of your piece by asking you to join us at dinner on Monday previous
- to the performance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Commonplace people would invite you to supper, sir, to celebrate the
- success of the play,” said Johnson. “To proffer such an invitation would
- be to admit that we were only convinced of your worth after the public had
- attested to it in the most practical way. But we, Dr. Goldsmith, who know
- your worth, and have known it all these years, wish to show that our
- esteem remains independent of the verdict of the public. On Monday night,
- sir, you will find a thousand people who will esteem it an honour to have
- you to sup with them; but on Monday afternoon you will dine with us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You not only mean better than any other man, sir, you express what you
- mean better,” said Goldsmith. “A compliment is doubly a compliment coming
- from Dr. Johnson.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was quite overcome, and, observing this, Reynolds and Mary Horneck
- walked away together, leaving him to compose himself under the shelter of
- a somewhat protracted analysis by Dr. Johnson of the character of Young
- Marlow. In the course of a quarter of an hour Goldsmith had sufficiently
- recovered to be able to perceive for the first time how remarkable a
- character he had created.
- </p>
- <p>
- On Monday George Steevens called for Goldsmith to accompany him to the St.
- James's coffee-house, where the dinner was to take place. He found the
- author giving the finishing touches to his toilet, his coat being a
- salmon-pink in tint, and his waistcoat a pale yellow, embroidered with
- silver. Filby's bills (unpaid, alas!) prevent one from making any mistake
- on this point.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heavens!” cried the visitor. “Have you forgot that you cannot wear
- colours?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why not?” asked Goldsmith. “Because Woodward is to appear in mourning to
- speak the prologue, is that any reason why the author of the comedy should
- also be in black?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay,” said Steevens, “that is not the reason. How is it possible that you
- forget the Court is in mourning for the King of Sardinia? That coat of
- yours is a splendid one, I allow, but if you were to appear in it in front
- of your box a very bad impression would be produced. I suppose you hope
- that the King will command a performance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith's face fell. He looked at the reflection of the gorgeous
- garments in a mirror and sighed. He had a great weakness for colour in
- dress. At last he took off the coat and gave another fond look at it
- before throwing it over the back of a chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was an inspiration on your part to come for me, my dear friend,” said
- he. “I would not for a good deal have made such a mistake.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He reappeared in a few moments in a suit of sober grey, and drove with his
- friend to the coffee-house, where the party, consisting of Johnson,
- Reynolds, Edmund and Richard Burke, and Caleb Whitefoord, had already
- assembled.
- </p>
- <p>
- It soon became plain that Goldsmith was extremely nervous. He shook hands
- twice with Richard Burke and asked him if he had heard that the King of
- Sardinia was dead, adding that it was a constant matter for regret with
- him that he had not visited Sardinia when on his travels. He expressed a
- hope that the death of the King of Sardinia would not have so depressing
- an effect upon playgoers generally as to prejudice their enjoyment of his
- comedy.
- </p>
- <p>
- Edmund Burke, understanding his mood, assured him gravely that he did not
- think one should be apprehensive on this score, adding that it would be
- quite possible to overestimate the poignancy of the grief which the
- frequenters of the pit were likely to feel at so melancholy but, after
- all, so inevitable an occurrence as the decease of a potentate whose name
- they had probably never heard.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith shook his head doubtfully, and said he would try and hope for
- the best, but still....
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he hastened to Steevens, who was laughing heartily at a pun of
- Whitefoord's, and said he was certain that neither of them could have
- heard that the King of Sardinia was dead, or they would moderate their
- merriment.
- </p>
- <p>
- The dinner was a dismal failure, so far as the guest of the party was
- concerned. He was unable to swallow a morsel, so parched had his throat
- become through sheer nervousness, and he could not be induced to partake
- of more than a single glass of wine. He was evermore glancing at the clock
- and expressing a hope that the dinner would be over in good time to allow
- of their driving comfortably to the theatre.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr. Johnson was at first greatly concerned on learning from Reynolds that
- Goldsmith was eating nothing; but when Goldsmith, in his nervousness,
- began to boast of the fine dinners of which he had partaken at Lord
- Clare's house, and of the splendour of the banquets which took place daily
- in the common hall of Trinity College, Dublin, Johnson gave all his
- attention to his own plate, and addressed no further word to him—not
- even to remind him, as he described the glories of Trinity College to his
- friend Burke, that Burke had been at the college with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- While there was still plenty of time to spare even for walking to the
- theatre, Goldsmith left the room hastily, explaining elaborately that he
- had forgotten to brush his hat before leaving his chambers, and he meant
- to have the omission repaired without delay.
- </p>
- <p>
- He never returned.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIII.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he party remained
- in the room for some time, and when at last a waiter from the bar was sent
- for and requested to tell Dr. Goldsmith, who was having his hat brushed,
- that his party were ready to leave the house, the man stated that Dr.
- Goldsmith had left some time ago, hurrying in the direction of Pall Mall.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha! sir,” said Johnson to Burke, “Dr. Goldsmith is little better than a
- fool.” Johnson did not know what such nervousness as Goldsmith's was.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Burke, “Dr. Goldsmith is, I suppose, the greatest fool that
- ever wrote the best poem of a century, the best novel of a century, and
- let us hope that, after the lapse of a few hours, I may be able to say the
- best comedy of a century.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose we may take it for granted that he has gone to the playhouse?”
- said Richard Burke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is not wise to take anything for granted so far as Goldsmith is
- concerned,” said Steevens. “I think that the best course we can adopt is
- for some of us to go to the playhouse without delay. The play must be
- looked after; but for myself I mean to look after the author. Gentlemen,
- Oliver Goldsmith needs to be looked after carefully. No one knows what a
- burden he has been forced to bear during the past month.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You think it is actually possible that he has not preceded us to the
- playhouse, sir,” said Johnson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I know anything of him, sir,” said Steevens, “the playhouse is just
- the place which he would most persistently avoid.” There was a long pause
- before Johnson said in his weightiest manner:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir, we are all his friends; we hold you responsible for his safety.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is very kind of you, sir,” replied Steevens. “But you may rest
- assured that I will do my best to find him, wherever he may be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- While the rest of the party set out for Covent Garden Theatre, Steevens
- hurried off in the opposite direction. He felt that he understood
- Goldsmith's mood. He believed that he would come upon him sitting alone in
- some little-frequented coffee house brooding over the probable failure of
- his play. The cheerful optimism of the man, which enabled him to hold out
- against Colman and his sneers, would, he was convinced, suffer a relapse
- when there was no urgent reason for its exercise, and his naturally
- sanguine temperament would at this critical hour of his life give place to
- a brooding melancholy, making it impossible for him to put in an
- appearance at the theatre, and driving him far from his friends. Steevens
- actually made up his mind that if he failed to find Goldsmith during the
- next hour or two, he would seek him at his cottage on the Edgware road.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went on foot from coffee house to coffee house—from Jack's, in
- Dean street, to the Old Bell, in Westminster—but he failed to
- discover his friend in one of them. An hour and a half he spent in this
- way; and all this time roars of laughter from every part of the playhouse—except
- the one box that held Cumberland and his friends—were greeting the
- brilliant dialogue, the natural characterisation, and the admirably
- contrived situations in the best comedy that a century of brilliant
- authors had witnessed.
- </p>
- <p>
- The scene comes before one with all the vividness that many able pens have
- imparted to a description of its details. We see the enormous figure of
- Dr. Johnson leaning far out of the box nearest the stage, with a hand
- behind his ear, so as to lose no word spoken on the stage; and as phrase
- after phrase, sparkling with wit, quivering with humour and vivified with
- numbers of allusions to the events of the hour, is spoken, he seems to
- shake the theatre with his laughter.
- </p>
- <p>
- Reynolds is in the opposite corner, his ear-trumpet resting on the ledge
- of the box, his face smiling thoughtfully; and between these two notable
- figures Miss Reynolds is seated bolt upright, and looking rather
- frightened as the people in the pit look up now and again at the box.
- </p>
- <p>
- Baretti is in the next box with Angelica Kauffman, Dr. Burney and little
- Miss Fanny Burney, destined in a year or two to become for a time the most
- notable woman in England. On the other side of the house Lord Clare
- occupies a box with his charming tom-boy daughter, who is convulsed with
- laughter as she hears reference made in the dialogue to the trick which
- she once played upon the wig of her dear friend the author. General
- Oglethorpe, who is beside her, holds up his finger in mock reproof, and
- Lord Camden, standing behind his chair, looks as if he regretted having
- lost the opportunity of continuing his acquaintance with an author whom
- every one is so highly honouring at the moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- Cumberland and his friends are in a lower box, “looking glum,” as one
- witness asserts, though a good many years later Cumberland boasted of
- having contributed in so marked a way to the applause as to call forth the
- resentment of the pit.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the next box Hugh Kelly, whose most noted success at Drury Lane a few
- years previously eclipsed Goldsmith's “Good-Natured Man” at “the other
- house,” sits by the side of Macpherson, the rhapsodist who invented
- “Ossian.” He glares at Dr. Johnson, who had no hesitation in calling him
- an impostor.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Burkes, Edmund and Richard, are in a box with Mrs. Horneck and her
- younger daughter, who follows breathlessly the words with which she has
- for long been familiar, and at every shout of laughter that comes from the
- pit she is moved almost to tears. She is quite unaware of the fact that
- Colonel Gwyn, sitting alone in another part of the house, has his eyes
- fixed upon her—earnestly, affectionately. Her brother and his <i>fiancée</i>
- are in a box with the Bunburys; and in the most important box in the house
- Mrs. Thrale sits well forward, so that all eyes may be gratified by
- beholding her. It does not so much matter about her husband, who once
- thought that the fact of his being the proprietor of a concern whose
- operations represented the potentialities of wealth beyond the dreams of
- avarice entitled him to play upon the mother of the Gunnings when she
- first came to London the most contemptible hoax ever recorded to the
- eternal discredit of a man. The Duchess of Argyll, mindful of that trick
- which the cleverness of her mother turned to so good account, does not
- condescend to notice from her box, where she sits with Lady Betty
- Hamilton, either the brewer or his pushing wife, though she is acquainted
- with old General Paoli, whom the latter is patronising between the acts.
- </p>
- <p>
- What a play! What spectators!
- </p>
- <p>
- We listen to the one year by year with the same delight that it brought to
- those who heard it this night for the first time; and we look with delight
- at the faces of the notable spectators which the brush of the little man
- with the ear-trumpet in Johnson's box has made immortal.
- </p>
- <p>
- Those two men in that box were the means of conferring immortality upon
- their century. Incomparable Johnson, who chose Boswell to be his
- biographer! Incomparable Reynolds, who, on innumerable canvases, handed
- down to the next century all the grace and distinction of his own!
- </p>
- <p>
- And all this time Oliver Goldsmith is pacing with bent head and hands
- nervously clasped behind him, backward and forward, the broad walk in St.
- James's Park.
- </p>
- <p>
- Steevens came upon him there after spending nearly two hours searching for
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't speak, man, for God's sake,” cried Oliver. “'Tis not so dark but
- that I can see disaster imprinted on your face. You come to tell me that
- the comedy is ended—that the curtain was obliged to be rung down in
- the middle of an act. You come to tell me that my comedy of life is
- ended.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not I,” said Steevens. “I have not been at the playhouse yet. Why, man,
- what can be the matter with you? Why did you leave us in the lurch at the
- coffee house?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know what you speak of,” said Goldsmith. “But I beg of you to
- hasten to the playhouse and carry me the news of the play—don't fear
- to tell me the worst; I have been in the world of letters for nearly
- twenty years; I am not easily dismayed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear friend,” said Steevens, “I have no intention of going to the
- playhouse unless you are in my company—I promised so much to Dr.
- Johnson. What, man, have you no consideration for your friends, leaving
- yourself out of the question? Have you no consideration for your art,
- sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you mean by that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean that perhaps while you are walking here some question may arise on
- the stage that you, and you only, can decide—are you willing to
- allow the future of your comedy to depend upon the decision of Colman, who
- is not the man to let pass a chance of proving himself to be a true
- prophet? Come, sir, you have shown yourself to be a man, and a great man,
- too, before to-night. Why should your courage fail you now when I am
- convinced you are on the eve of achieving a splendid success?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It shall not—it shall not!” cried Goldsmith after a short pause.
- “I'll not give in should the worst come to the worst. I feel that I have
- something of a man in me still. The years that I have spent in this battle
- have not crushed me into the earth. I'll go with you, my friend—I'll
- go with you. Heaven grant that I may yet be in time to avert disaster.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They hurried together to Charing Cross, where a hackney coach was
- obtainable. All the time it was lumbering along the uneven streets to
- Covent Garden, Goldsmith was talking excitedly about the likelihood of the
- play being wrecked through Colman's taking advantage of his absence to
- insist on a scene being omitted—or, perhaps, a whole act; and
- nothing that Steevens could say to comfort him had any effect.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the vehicle turned the corner into Covent Garden he craned his head
- out of the window and declared that the people were leaving the playhouse—that
- his worst fears were realized.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nonsense!” cried Steevens, who had put his head out of the other window.
- “The people you see are only the footmen and linkmen incidental to any
- performance. What, man, would the coachmen beside us be dozing on their
- boxes if they were waiting to be called? No, my friend, the comedy has yet
- to be damned.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When they got out of the coach Goldsmith hastened round to the stage door,
- looking into the faces of the people who were lounging around, as if to
- see in each of them the fate of his play written. He reached the back of
- the stage and made for where Colman was standing, just as Quick, in the
- part of Tony Lumpkin, was telling Mrs. Hardcastle that he had driven her
- forty miles from her own house, when all the time she was within twenty
- yards of it. In a moment he perceived that the lights were far too strong;
- unless Mrs. Hardcastle was blind she could not have failed to recognise
- the familiar features of the scene. The next moment there came a hiss—a
- solitary hiss from the boxes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's that, Mr. Colman?” whispered the excited author.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha! sir,” said Colman brutally. “Why trouble yourself about a squib
- when we have all been sitting on a barrel of gunpowder these two hours?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's a lie,” said Shuter, who was in the act of going on the stage as
- Mr. Hardcastle. “'Tis a lie, Dr. Goldsmith. The success of your play was
- assured from the first.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “By God! Mr. Colman, if it is a lie I'll never look on you as a friend
- while I live!” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIV.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was a lie, and
- surely the most cruel and most objectless lie ever uttered. Goldsmith was
- soon made aware of this. The laughter that followed Tony Lumpkin's
- pretending to his mother that Mr. Hard-castle was a highwayman was not the
- laugh of playgoers who have endured four acts of a dull play; it was the
- laugh of people who have been in a good humour for over two hours, and
- Goldsmith knew it. He perceived from their laughter that the people in
- every part of the house were following the comedy with extraordinary
- interest. Every point in the dialogue was effective—the exquisite
- complications, the broad fun, the innumerable touches of nature, all were
- appreciated by an audience whose expression of gratification fell little
- short of rapture.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the scene was being shifted Col-man left the stage and did not return
- to it until it was his duty to come forward after the epilogue was spoken
- by Mrs. Bulkley and announce the date of the author's night.
- </p>
- <p>
- As soon as the manager had disappeared Goldsmith had a chance of speaking
- to several of the actors at intervals as they made their exits, and from
- them he learned the whole truth regarding the play: from the first scene
- to the one which was being represented, the performance had been a
- succession of triumphs, not only for the author, but for every member of
- the company concerned in the production. With old dresses and scenery
- familiar to all frequenters of the playhouse, the extraordinary success of
- the comedy was beyond all question. The allusion to the offensive terms of
- the Royal Marriage Act was especially relished by the audience, several of
- the occupants of the pit rising to their feet and cheering for some time—so
- much Goldsmith learned little by little at intervals from the actors.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I swore never to look on Colman as my friend again, and I'll keep my
- word; he has treated me cruelly—more cruelly than he has any idea
- of,” said Goldsmith to Lee Lewes. “But as for you, Mr. Lewes, I'll do
- anything that is in my power for you in the future. My poor play owes much
- to you, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Faith then, sir,” cried Lewes, “I'll keep you to your word. My benefit
- will take place in a short time; I'll ask you for a prologue, Dr.
- Goldsmith.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You shall have the best prologue I ever wrote,” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- And so he had.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the house was still cheering at the conclusion of the epilogue,
- Goldsmith, overcome with emotion, hurried into the green room. Mrs.
- Abington was the first person whom he met. She held down her head, and
- affected a guilty look as she glanced at him sideways through half-closed
- eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Goldsmith,” she said in a tone modulated to a point of humility, “I
- hope in your hour of triumph you will be generous to those who were
- foolish enough to doubt the greatness of your work. Oh, sir, I pray of you
- not to increase by your taunts the humiliation which I feel at having
- resigned my part in your comedy. Believe me, I have been punished
- sufficiently during the past two hours by hearing the words, which I might
- have spoken, applauded so rapturously coming from another.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Taunts, my dear madam; who speaks of taunts?” said he. “Nay, I have a
- part in my mind for you already—that is, if you will be good enough
- to accept it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, sir, you are generosity itself!” cried the actress, offering him both
- her hands. “I shall not fail to remind you of your promise, Dr.
- Goldsmith.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0173.jpg" alt="0173 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0173.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- And now the green room was being crowded by the members of the company and
- the distinguished friends of the author, who were desirous of
- congratulating him. Dr. Johnson's voice filled the room as his laughter
- had filled the theatre.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We perceived the reason of your extraordinary and unusual modesty, Dr.
- Goldsmith, before your play was many minutes on the stage,” said he. “You
- dog, you took as your example the Italians who, on the eve of Lent,
- indulge in a carnival, celebrating their farewell to flesh by a feast. On
- the same analogy you had a glut of modesty previous to bidding modesty
- good-bye forever; for to-night's performance will surely make you a
- coxcomb.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I hope not, sir,” said Goldsmith. “No, you don't hope it, sir,” cried
- Johnson. “You are thinking at this moment how much better you are than
- your betters—I see it on your face, you rascal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And he has a right to think so,” said Mrs. Bunbury. “Come, Dr. Goldsmith,
- speak up, say something insulting to your betters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly, madam,” said Goldsmith. “Where are they?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well said!” cried Edmund Burke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir,” said Johnson. “Dr. Goldsmith's satire is not strong enough. We
- expected something more violent. 'Tis like landing one in one's back
- garden when one has looked for Crackskull Common.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His mighty laughter echoed through the room and made the pictures shake on
- the walls.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mary Horneck had not spoken. She had merely given her friend her hand. She
- knew that he would understand her unuttered congratulations, and she was
- not mistaken.
- </p>
- <p>
- For the next quarter of an hour there was an exchange of graceful wit and
- gracious compliment between the various persons of distinction in the
- green room. Mrs. Thrale, with her usual discrimination, conceived the
- moment to be an opportune one for putting on what she fondly imagined was
- an Irish brogue, in rallying Goldsmith upon some of the points in his
- comedy. Miss Kauffman and Signor Baretti spoke Italian into Reynolds's
- ear-trumpet, and Edmund Burke talked wittily in the background with the
- Bunburys.
- </p>
- <p>
- So crowded the room was, no one seemed to notice how an officer in uniform
- had stolen up to the side of Mary Horneck where she stood behind Mr.
- Thrale and General Oglethorpe, and had withdrawn her into a corner, saying
- a whispered word to her. No one seemed to observe the action, though it
- was noticed by Goldsmith. He kept his eyes fixed upon the girl, and
- perceived that, while the man was speaking to her, her eyes were turned
- upon the floor and her left hand was pressed against her heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- He kept looking at her all the time that Mrs. Thrale was rattling out her
- inanities, too anxious to see what effect she was producing upon the
- people within ear-shot to notice that the man whom she was addressing was
- paying no attention to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the others as well ceased to pay any attention to her, she thought it
- advisable to bring her prattle to a close.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha! Dr. Goldsmith,” she cried. “We have given you our ears for more
- than two hours, and yet you refuse to listen to us for as many minutes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I protest, madam, that I have been absorbed,” said Goldsmith. “Yes, you
- were remarking that——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That an Irishman, when he achieves a sudden success, can only be compared
- to a boy who has robbed an orchard,” said the lady.
- </p>
- <p>
- “True—very true, madam,” said he. He saw Mary Horneck's hands clasp
- involuntarily for a moment as she spoke to the man who stood smiling
- beside her. She was not smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, 'tis true; but why?” cried Mrs. Thrale, taking care that her voice
- did not appeal to Goldsmith only.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, yes; that's just it—why?” said he. Mary Horneck had turned away
- from the officer, and was coming slowly back to where her sister and Henry
- Bunbury were standing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why?” said Mrs. Thrale shrilly. “Why? Why is an Irishman who has become
- suddenly successful like a boy who has robbed an orchard? Why, because his
- booty so distends his body that any one can perceive he has got in his
- pockets what he is not entitled to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked around for appreciation, but failed to find it. She certainly
- did not perceive any appreciation of her pleasantry on the face of the
- successful Irishman before her. He was not watching Mary now. All his
- attention was given to the man to whom she had been talking, and who had
- gone to the side of Mrs. Abington, where he remained chatting with even
- more animation than was usual for one to assume in the green room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will join us at supper, Dr. Goldsmith?” said Mr. Thrale.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir!” cried Bunbury; “mine is a prior claim. Dr. Goldsmith agreed
- some days ago to honour my wife with his company to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What did I say, Goldy?” cried Johnson. “Was it not that, after the
- presentation of the comedy, you would receive a hundred invitations?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, sir, I have only received two since my play was produced, and one
- of them I accepted some days ago,” said the Irishman, and Mrs. Thrale
- hoped she would be able to remember the bull in order to record it as
- conclusive evidence of Goldsmith's awkwardness of speech.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Burke, who knew the exact nature of the Irish bull, only smiled. He
- laughed, however, when Goldsmith, assuming the puzzled expression of the
- Irishman who adds to the humour of his bull by pretending that it is
- involuntary, stumbled carefully in his words, simulating a man anxious to
- explain away a mistake that he has made. Goldsmith excelled at this form
- of humour but too well; hence, while the pages of every book that refers
- to him are crowded with his brilliant saying's, the writers quote
- Garrick's lines in proof—proof positive, mind—that he “talked
- like poor Poll.” He is the first man on record who has been condemned
- solely because of the exigencies of rhyme, and that, too, in the doggerel
- couplet of the most unscrupulous jester of the century.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mary Horneck seems to have been the only one who understood him
- thoroughly. She has left her appreciation of his humour on record. The
- expression which she perceived upon his face immediately after he had
- given utterance to some delightful witticism—which the recording
- demons around him delighted to turn against himself—was the
- expression which makes itself apparent in Reynolds's portrait of him. The
- man who “talked like poor Poll” was the man who, even before he had done
- anything in literature except a few insignificant essays, was visited by
- Bishop Percy, though every visit entailed a climb up a rickety staircase
- and a seat on a rickety stool in a garret. Perhaps, however, the
- fastidious Percy was interested in ornithology and was ready to put
- himself to great inconvenience in order to hear parrot-talk.
- </p>
- <p>
- While he was preparing to go with the Bunburys, Goldsmith noticed that the
- man who, after talking with Mary Horneck, had chatted with Mrs. Abington,
- had disappeared; and when the party whom he was accompanying to supper had
- left the room he remained for a few moments to make his adieux to the
- players. He shook hands with Mrs. Abington, saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have no fear that I shall forget my promise, madam.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall take good care that you don't, sir,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not fancy that I shall neglect my own interests!” he cried, bowing as
- he took a step away from her. When he had taken another step he suddenly
- returned to her as if a sudden thought had struck him. “Why, if I wasn't
- going away without asking you what is the name of the gentleman in uniform
- who was speaking with you just now,” said he. “I fancy I have met him
- somewhere, and one doesn't want to be rude.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His name is Jackson,” she replied. “Yes, Captain Jackson, though the Lord
- only knows what he is captain of.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have been mistaken; I know no one of that name,” said Goldsmith. “'Tis
- as well I made sure; one may affront a gentleman as easily by professing
- to have met him as by forgetting that one has done so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When he got outside, he found that Mary Horneck has been so greatly
- affected by the heat of the playhouse and the excitement of the occasion,
- she had thought it prudent to go away with the Reynoldses in their coach—her
- mother had preceded her by nearly half an hour.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Bunburys found that apparently the excitement of the evening had
- produced a similar effect upon their guest. Although he admitted having
- eaten no dinner—Johnson and his friends had been by no means
- reticent on the subject of the dinner—he was without an appetite for
- the delightful little supper which awaited him at Mrs. Bunbury's. It was
- in vain too that his hostess showed herself to be in high spirits, and
- endeavoured to rally him after her own delightful fashion. He remained
- almost speechless the whole evening.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah,” said she, “I perceive clearly that your Little Comedy has been quite
- obscured by your great comedy. But wait until we get you down with us at
- Barton; you will find the first time we play loo together that a little
- comedy may become a great tragedy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bunbury declared that he was as poor company during the supper as if his
- play had been a mortifying failure instead of a triumphant success, and
- Goldsmith admitted that this was true, taking his departure as soon as he
- could without being rude.
- </p>
- <p>
- He walked slowly through the empty streets to his chambers in Brick Court.
- But it was almost daylight before he went to bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- All his life he had been looking forward to this night—the night
- that should put the seal upon his reputation, that should give him an
- incontestable place at the head of the imaginative writers of his period.
- And yet, now that the fame for which he had struggled with destiny was
- within his grasp, he felt more miserable than he had ever felt in his
- garret.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XV.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hat did it all
- mean?
- </p>
- <p>
- That was the question which was on his mind when he awoke. It did not
- refer to the reception given to “She Stoops to Conquer,” which had placed
- him in the position he had longed for; it had reference solely to the
- strange incident which had occurred in the green room.
- </p>
- <p>
- The way Mrs. Abington had referred to the man with whom Mary had been
- speaking was sufficient to let him know that he was not a man of
- reputation—he certainly had not seemed to Goldsmith to be a man of
- reputation either when he had seen him at the Pantheon or in the green
- room. He had worn an impudent and forward manner which, in spite of his
- glaring good looks that might possibly make him acceptable in the eyes of
- such generous ladies as Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Bulkley or Mrs. Woffington,
- showed that he was a person of no position in society. This conclusion to
- which Goldsmith had come was confirmed by the fact that no persons of any
- distinction who had been present at the Pantheon or the playhouse had
- shown that they were acquainted with him—no one person save only
- Mary Horneck.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mary Horneck had by her act bracketed herself with Mrs. Abington and Mrs.
- Bulk-ley.
- </p>
- <p>
- This he felt to be a very terrible thing. A month ago it would have been
- incredible to him that such a thing could be. Mary Horneck had invariably
- shunned in society those persons—women as well as men—who had
- shown themselves to be wanting in modesty. She had always detested the man—he
- was popular enough at that period—who had allowed innuendoes to do
- duty for wit; and she had also detested the woman—she is popular
- enough now—who had laughed at and made light of the innuendoes,
- bordering upon impropriety, of such a man.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet she had by her own act placed herself on a level with the least
- fastidious of the persons for whom she had always professed a contempt.
- The Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster had, to be sure, shaken hands with
- the two actresses; but the first named at least had done so for her own
- ends, and had got pretty well sneered at in consequence. Mary Horneck
- stood in a very different position from that occupied by the Duchess.
- While not deficient in charity, she had declined to follow the lead of any
- leader of fashion in this matter, and had held aloof from the actresses.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet he had seen her in secret conversation with a man at whom one of
- these same actresses had not hesitated to sneer as an impostor—a man
- who was clearly unacquainted with any other member of her family.
- </p>
- <p>
- What could this curious incident mean?
- </p>
- <p>
- The letters which had come from various friends congratulating him upon
- the success of the comedy lay unheeded by him by the side of those which
- had arrived—not a post had been missed—from persons who
- professed the most disinterested friendship for him, and were anxious to
- borrow from him a trifle until they also had made their success. Men whom
- he had rescued from starvation, from despair, from suicide, and who had,
- consequently, been living on him ever since, begged that he would continue
- his contributions on a more liberal scale now that he had in so marked a
- way improved his own position. But, for the first time, their letters lay
- unread and unanswered. (Three days actually passed before he sent his
- guineas flying to the deserving and the undeserving alike. That was how he
- contrived to get rid of the thousands of pounds which he had earned since
- leaving his garret.)
- </p>
- <p>
- His man servant had never before seen him so depressed as he was when he
- left his chambers.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had made up his mind to go to Mary and tell her that he had seen what
- no one else either in the Pantheon or in the green room had seemed to
- notice in regard to that man whose name he had learned was Captain Jackson—he
- would tell her and leave it to her to explain what appeared to him more
- than mysterious. If any one had told him in respect to another girl all
- that he had noticed, he would have said that such a matter required no
- explanation; he had heard of the intrigues of young girls with men of the
- stamp of that Captain Jackson. With Mary Horneck, however, the matter was
- not so easily explained. The shrug and the raising of the eyebrows were
- singularly inappropriate to any consideration of an incident in which she
- was concerned.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found before he had gone far from his chambers that the news of the
- success of the comedy had reached his neighbours. He was met by several of
- the students of the Temple, with whom he had placed himself on terms of
- the pleasantest familiarity, and they all greeted him with a cordiality,
- the sincerity of which was apparent on their beaming faces. Among them was
- one youth named Grattan, who, being an Irishman, had early found a friend
- in Goldsmith. He talked years afterward of this early friendship of his.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then the head porter, Ginger, for whom Goldsmith had always a pleasant
- word, and whose wife was his laundress—not wholly above suspicion as
- regards her honesty—stammered his congratulations, and received the
- crown which he knew was certain; and Goldsmith began to feel what he had
- always suspected—that there was a great deal of friendliness in the
- world for men who have become successful.
- </p>
- <p>
- Long before he had arrived at the house of the Hornecks he was feeling
- that he would be the happiest man in London or the most miserable before
- another hour would pass.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was fortunate enough to find, on arriving at the house, that Mary was
- alone. Mrs. Horneck and her son had gone out together in the coach some
- time before, the servant said, admitting him, for he was on terms of such
- intimacy with the family the man did not think it necessary to inquire if
- Miss Horneck would see him. The man was grinning from ear to ear as he
- admitted the visitor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope, Doctor, that I know my business better than Diggory,” he said,
- his grin expanding genially.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! so you were one of the gentlemen in the gallery?” said Goldsmith.
- “You had my destiny in your keeping for two hours?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought I'd ha' dropped, sir, when it came to Diggory at the table—and
- Mr. Marlow's man, sir—as drunk as a lord. 'I don't know what more
- you want unless you'd have had him soused in a beer barrel,' says he quite
- cool-like and satisfied—and it's the gentleman's own private house,
- after all. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Didn't Sir Joshua's Ralph laugh till he
- thought our neighbours would think it undignified-like, and then sent us
- off worse than ever by trying to look solemn. Only some fools about us
- said the drunk servant was ungenteel; but young Mr. Northcote—Sir
- Joshua's young man, sir—he up and says that nature isn't always
- genteel, and that nature was above gentility, and so forth—I beg
- your pardon, Doctor, what was I thinking of? Why, sir, Diggory himself
- couldn't ha' done worse than me—talking so familiar-like, instead of
- showing you up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir,” said Goldsmith, “the patron has the privilege of addressing
- his humble servant at what length he please. You are one of my patrons,
- George; but strike me dumb, sir, I'll be patronised by you no longer; and,
- to put a stop to your airs, I'll give you half a dozen tickets for my
- benefit, and that will turn the tables on you, my fine fellow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Doctor, you are too kind, sir,” whispered the man, for he had led the
- way to the drawingroom door. “I hope I've not been too bold, sir. If I
- told them in the kitchen about forgetting myself they'd dub me Diggory
- without more ado. There'll be Diggorys enough in the servants' halls this
- year, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In another moment Goldsmith was in the presence of Mary Horneck.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was seated on a low chair at the window. He could not fail to notice
- that she looked ill, though it was not until she had risen, trying to
- smile, that he saw how very ill she was. Her face, which he had scarcely
- ever seen otherwise than bright, had a worn appearance, her eyes were
- sunken through much weeping, and there was a frightened look in them that
- touched him deeply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will believe me when I say how sorry I was not to be able to do
- honour last night to the one whom I honour most of all men,” she said,
- giving him her hand. “But it was impossible—oh, quite impossible,
- for me to sup even with my sister and you. Ah, it was pitiful! considering
- how I had been looking forward to your night of triumph, my dear friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was pitiful, indeed, dear child,” said he. “I was looking forward to
- that night also—I don't know for how many years—all my life,
- it seems to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never mind!” she cried, with a feeble attempt at brightness. “Never mind!
- your night of triumph came, and no one can take it away from you now;
- every one in the town is talking of your comedy and its success.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is no one to whom success is sweeter than it is to me,” said
- Goldsmith. “But you know me too well, my Jessamy Bride, to think for a
- single moment that I could enjoy my success when my dearest friend was
- miserable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know it,” she said, giving him her hand once more. “I know it, and
- knowing it last night only made me feel more miserable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is the matter, Mary?” he asked her after a pause. “Once before I
- begged of you to tell me if you could. I say again that perhaps I may be
- able to help you out of your trouble, though I know that I am not a man of
- many resources.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot tell you,” she said slowly, but with great emphasis. “There are
- some sorrows that a woman must bear alone. It is Heaven's decree that a
- woman's sorrow is only doubled when she tries to share it with another—either
- with a sister or with a brother—even so good a friend as Oliver
- Goldsmith.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That such should be your thought shows how deep is your misery,” said he.
- “I cannot believe that it could be increased by your confiding its origin
- to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, I see everything but too plainly,” she cried, throwing herself down
- on her chair once more and burying her face in her hands. “Why, all my
- misery arises from the possibility of some one knowing whence it arises.
- Oh, I have said too much,” she cried piteously. She had sprung to her feet
- and was standing looking with eager eyes into his. “Pray forget what I
- have said, my friend. The truth is that I do not know what I say; oh, pray
- go away—go away and leave me alone with my sorrow—it is my own—no
- one has a right to it but myself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was actually a note of jealousy in her voice, and there came a
- little flash from her eyes as she spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I will not go away from you, my poor child,” said he. “You shall tell
- me first what that man to whom I saw you speak in the green room last
- night has to do with your sorrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not give any visible start when he had spoken. There was a curious
- look of cunning in her eyes—a look that made him shudder, so foreign
- was it to her nature, which was ingenuous to a fault.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A man? Did I speak to a man?” she said slowly, affecting an endeavour to
- recall a half-forgotten incident of no importance. “Oh, yes, I suppose I
- spoke to quite a number of men in the green room. How crowded it was! And
- it became so heated! Ah, how terrible the actresses looked in their paint!—almost
- as terrible as a lady of quality!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor child!” said he. “My heart bleeds for you. In striving to hide
- everything from me you have told me all—all except—listen to
- me, Mary. Nothing that I can hear—nothing that you can tell me—will
- cause me to think the least that is ill of you; but I have seen enough to
- make me aware that that man—Captain Jackson, he calls himself——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How did you find out his name?” she said in a whisper. “I did not tell
- you his name even at the Pantheon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, you did not; but yet I had no difficulty in finding it out. Tell me
- why it is that you should be afraid of that man. Do you not know as well
- as I do that he is a rascal? Good heavens! Mary, could you fail to see
- rascal written on his countenance for all men and women to read?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is worse than you or any one can imagine, and yet——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How has he got you in his power—that is what you are going to tell
- me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no; that is impossible. You do not know what you ask. You do not know
- me, or you would not ask me to tell you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What would you have me think, child?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Think the worst—the worst that your kind heart can think—only
- leave me—leave me. God may prove less unkind than He seems to me. I
- may soon die. 'The only way her guilt to cover.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot leave you, and I say again that I refuse to believe anything ill
- of you. Do you really think that it is possible for me to have written so
- much as I have written about men and women without being able to know when
- a woman is altogether good—a man altogether bad? I know you, my
- dear, and I have seen him. Why should you be afraid of him? Think of the
- friends you have.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is the thought of them that frightens me. I have friends now, but if
- they knew all that that man can tell, they would fly from me with
- loathing. Oh! when I think of it all, I abhor myself. Oh, fool, fool,
- fool! Was ever woman such a fool before?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For God's sake, child, don't talk in that strain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is the only strain in which I can talk. It is the cry of a wretch who
- stands on the brink of a precipice and knows that hands are being thrust
- out behind to push her over.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She tottered forward with wild eyes, under the influence of her own
- thought. He caught her and supported her in his arms.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That shows you, my poor girl, that if there are unkind hands behind you,
- there are still some hands that are ready to keep your feet from slipping.
- There are hands that will hold you back from that precipice, or else those
- who hold them out to you will go over the brink with you. Ah, my dear,
- dear girl, nothing can happen to make you despair. In another year—perhaps
- in another month—you will wonder how you could ever have taken so
- gloomy a view of the present hour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A gleam of hope came into her eyes. Only for an instant it remained there,
- however. Then she shook her head, saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alas! Alas!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She seated herself once more, but he retained her hand in one of his own,
- laying his other caressingly on her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are surely the sweetest girl that ever lived,” said he. “You fill
- with your sweetness the world through which I walk. I do not say that it
- would be a happiness for me to die for you, for you know that if my dying
- could save you from your trouble I would not shrink from it. What I do say
- is that I should like to live for you—to live to see happiness once
- again brought to you. And yet you will tell me nothing—you will not
- give me a chance of helping you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head sadly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dare not—I dare not,” she said. “I dare not run the chance of
- forfeiting your regard forever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-bye,” he said after a pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt her fingers press his own for a moment; then he dropped her hand
- and walked toward the door. Suddenly, however, he returned to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mary,” he said, “I will seek no more to learn your secret; I will only
- beg of you to promise me that you will not meet that man again—that
- you will hold no communication with him. If you were to be seen in the
- company of such a man—talking to him as I saw you last night—what
- would people think? The world is always ready to put the worst possible
- construction upon anything unusual that it sees. You will promise me, my
- dear?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alas! alas!” she cried piteously. “I cannot make you such a promise. You
- will not do me the injustice to believe that I spoke to him of my own free
- will?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, you would have me believe that he possesses sufficient power over
- you to make you do his bidding? Great God! that can never be!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is what I have said to myself day by day; he cannot possess that
- power over me—he cannot be such a monster as to. . . oh, I cannot
- speak to you more! Leave me—leave me! I have been a fool and I must
- pay the penalty of my folly.” Before he could make a reply, the door was
- opened and Mrs. Bunbury danced into the room, her mother following more
- sedately and with a word of remonstrance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nonsense, dear Mamma,” cried Little Comedy. “What Mary needs is some one
- who will raise her spirits—Dr. Goldsmith, for instance. He has, I am
- sure, laughed her out of her whimsies. Have you succeeded, Doctor? Nay,
- you don't look like it, nor does she, poor thing! I felt certain that you
- would be in the act of reading a new comedy to her, but I protest it would
- seem as if it was a tragedy that engrossed your attention. He doesn't look
- particularly like our agreeable Rattle at the present moment, does he,
- Mamma? And it was the same at supper last night. It might have been
- fancied that he was celebrating a great failure instead of a huge
- success.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For the next quarter of an hour the lively girl chatted away, imitating
- the various actors who had taken part in the comedy, and giving the author
- some account of what the friends whom she had met that day said of the
- piece. He had never before felt the wearisomeness of a perpetually
- sparkling nature. Her laughter grated upon his ears; her gaiety was out of
- tune with his mood. He took leave of the family at the first breathing
- space that the girl permitted him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVI.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e felt that the
- result of his interview with Mary was to render more mysterious than ever
- the question which he had hoped to solve.
- </p>
- <p>
- He wondered if he was more clumsy of apprehension than other men, as he
- had come away from her without learning her secret. He was shrewd enough
- to know that the majority of men to whom he might give a detailed account
- of his interview with the girl—a detailed account of his observation
- of her upon the appearance of Captain Jackson first at the Pantheon, then
- in the green room of Covent Garden—would have no trouble whatever in
- accounting for her behaviour upon both occasions. He could see the shrugs
- of the cynical, the head-shakings of those who professed to be vastly
- grieved.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ah, they did not know this one girl. They were ready to lump all womankind
- together and to suppose that it would be impossible for one woman to be
- swayed by other impulses than were common to womankind generally.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he knew this girl, and he felt that it was impossible to believe that
- she was otherwise than good. Nothing would force him to think anything
- evil regarding her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is not as others,” was the phrase that was in his mind—the
- thought that was in his heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not pause to reflect upon the strangeness of the circumstance that
- when a man wishes to think the best of a woman he says she is not as other
- women are.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not know enough of men and women to be aware of the fact that when
- a man makes up his mind that a woman is altogether different from other
- women, he loves that woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt greatly grieved to think that he had been unable to search out the
- heart of her mystery; but the more he recalled of the incidents that had
- occurred upon the two occasions when that man Jackson had been in the same
- apartment as Mary Horneck, the more convinced he became that the killing
- of that man would tend to a happy solution of the question which was
- puzzling him.
- </p>
- <p>
- After giving this subject all his thought for the next day or two, he went
- to his friend Baretti, and presented him with tickets for one of the
- author's nights for “She Stoops to Conquer.” Baretti was a well known
- personage in the best literary society in London, having consolidated his
- reputation by the publication of his English and Italian dictionary. He
- had been Johnson's friend since his first exile from Italy, and it was
- through his influence Baretti, on the formation of the Royal Academy, had
- been appointed Secretary for Foreign Correspondence. To Johnson also he
- owed the more remunerative appointment of Italian tutor at the Thrales'.
- He had frequently dined with Goldsmith at his chambers.
- </p>
- <p>
- Baretti expressed himself grateful for the tickets, and complimented the
- author of the play upon his success.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If one may measure the success of a play by the amount of envy it creates
- in the breasts of others, yours is a huge triumph,” said the Italian.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Goldsmith quickly, “that is just what I wish to have a word
- with you about. The fact is, Baretti, I am not so good a swordsman as I
- should be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What,” cried Baretti, smiling as he looked at the man before him, who had
- certainly not the physique of the ideal swordsman. “What, do you mean to
- fight your detractors? Take my advice, my friend, let the pen be your
- weapon if such is your intention. If you are attacked with the pen you
- should reply with the same weapon, and with it you may be pretty certain
- of victory.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, yes; but there are cases—well, one never knows what may happen,
- and a man in my position should be prepared for any emergency. I can do a
- little sword play—enough to enable me to face a moderately good
- antagonist. A pair of coxcombs insulted me a few days ago and I retorted
- in a way that I fancy might be thought effective by some people.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How did you retort?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I warned the passers-by that the pair were pickpockets disguised as
- gentlemen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bacchus! An effective retort! And then——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I turned down a side street and half drew my sword; but, after
- making a feint of following me, they gave themselves over to a bout of
- swearing and went on. What I wish is to be directed by you to any
- compatriot of yours who would give me lessons in fencing. Do you know of
- any first-rate master of the art in London?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Italian could not avoid laughing, Goldsmith spoke so seriously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You would like to find a maestro who would be capable of turning you into
- a first-rate swordsman within the space of a week?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir, I am not unreasonable; I would give him a fortnight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Better make it five years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Five years?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear friend, I pray of you not to make me your first victim if I
- express to you my opinion that you are not the sort of man who can be made
- a good swordsman. You were born, not made, a poet, and let me tell you
- that a man must be a born swordsman if he is to take a front place among
- swordsmen. I am in the same situation as yourself: I am so short-sighted I
- could make no stand against an antagonist. No, sir, I shall never kill a
- man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed as men laugh who do not understand what fate has in store for
- them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have made up my mind to have some lessons,” said Goldsmith, “and I know
- there are no better teachers than your countrymen, Baretti.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha!” said Baretti. “There are clever fencers in Italy, just as there
- are in England. But if you have made up your mind to have an Italian
- teacher, I shall find out one for you and send him to your chambers. If
- you are wise, however, you will stick to your pen, which you wield with
- such dexterity, and leave the more harmless weapon to others of coarser
- fiber than yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are times when it is necessary for the most pacific of men—nay,
- even an Irishman—to show himself adroit with a sword,” said
- Goldsmith; “and so I shall be forever grateful to you for your services
- towards this end.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was about to walk away when a thought seemed to strike him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will add to my debt to you if you allow this matter to go no further
- than ourselves. You can understand that I have no particular wish to place
- myself at the mercy of Dr. Johnson or Garrick,” said he. “I fancy I can
- see Garrick's mimicry of a meeting between me and a fencing master.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall keep it a secret,” laughed Baretti; “but mind, sir, when you run
- your first man through the vitals you need not ask me to attend the court
- as a witness as to your pacific character.”
- </p>
- <p>
- (When the two did appear in court it was Goldsmith who had been called as
- a witness on behalf of Baretti, who stood in the dock charged with the
- murder of a man.)
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt very much better after leaving Baretti. He felt that he had taken
- at least one step on behalf of Mary Horneck. He knew his own nature so
- imperfectly that he thought if he were to engage in a duel with Captain
- Jackson and disarm him he would not hesitate to run him through a vital
- part.
- </p>
- <p>
- He returned to his chambers and found awaiting him a number of papers
- containing some flattering notices of his comedy, and lampoons upon Colman
- for his persistent ill treatment of the play. In fact, the topic of the
- town was Colman's want of judgment in regard to this matter, and so
- strongly did the critics and lampooners, malicious as well as genial,
- express themselves, that the manager found life in London unbearable. He
- posted off to Bath, but only to find that his tormentors had taken good
- care that his reputation should precede him thither. His chastisement with
- whips in London was mild in comparison with his chastisement with
- scorpions at Bath; and now Goldsmith found waiting for him a letter from
- the unfortunate man imploring the poet to intercede for him, and get the
- lampooners to refrain from molesting him further.
- </p>
- <p>
- If Goldsmith had been in a mood to appreciate a triumph he would have
- enjoyed reading this letter from the man who had given him so many months
- of pain. He was not, however, in such a mood. He looked for his triumph in
- another direction.
- </p>
- <p>
- After dressing he went to the Mitre for dinner, and found in the tavern
- several of his friends. Cradock had run up from the country, and with him
- were Whitefoord and Richard Burke.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was rather chilled at his reception by the party. They were all clearly
- ill at ease in his presence for some reason of which he was unaware; and
- when he began to talk of the criticisms which his play had received, the
- uneasiness of his friends became more apparent.
- </p>
- <p>
- He could stand this unaccountable behaviour no longer, and inquired what
- was the reason of their treating him so coldly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were talking about me just before I entered,” said he: “I always know
- on entering a room if my friends have been talking about me. Now, may I
- ask what this admirable party were saying regarding me? Tell it to me in
- your own way. I don't charge you to be frank with me. Frankness I hold to
- be an excellent cloak for one's real opinion. Tell me all that you can
- tell—as simply as you can—without prejudice to your own
- reputation for oratory, Richard. What is the matter, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Richard Burke usually was the merriest of the company, and the most
- fluent. But now he looked down, and the tone was far from persuasive in
- which he said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may trust—whatever may be spoken, or written, about you,
- Goldsmith—we are your unalterable friends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha, sir!” cried Goldsmith, “don't I know that already? Were you not all
- my friends in my day of adversity, and do you expect me suddenly to
- overthrow all my ideas of friendship by assuming that now that I have
- bettered my position in the world my friends will be less friendly?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Goldsmith,” said Steevens, “we received a copy of the <i>London Packet</i>
- half an hour before you entered. We were discussing the most infamous
- attack that has ever been made upon a distinguished man of letters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At the risk of being thought a conceited puppy, sir, I suppose I may
- assume that the distinguished man of letters which the article refers to
- is none other than myself,” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is a foul and scurrilous slander upon you, sir,” said Steevens. “It is
- the most contemptible thing ever penned by that scoundrel Kenrick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not annoy yourselves on my account, gentlemen,” said Goldsmith. “You
- know how little I think of anything that Kenrick may write of me. Once I
- made him eat his words, and the fit of indigestion that that operation
- caused him is still manifest in all he writes about me. I tell you that it
- is out of the power of that cur to cause me any inconvenience. Where is
- the <i>Packet?</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is no gain in reading such contemptible stuff,” said Cradock. “Take
- my advice, Goldsmith, do not seek to become aware of the precise nature of
- that scoundrel's slanders.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, to shirk them would be to suggest that they have the power to sting
- me,” replied Goldsmith. “And so, sir, let me have the <i>Packet</i>, and
- you shall see me read the article without blenching. I tell you, Mr.
- Cradock, no man of letters is deserving of an eulogy who is scared by a
- detraction.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, Goldsmith, but one does not examine under a magnifying glass the
- garbage that a creature of the kennel flings at one,” said Steevens.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, sirs, I insist,” cried Goldsmith. “Why do I waste time with you?”
- he added, turning round and going to the door of the room. “I waste time
- here when I can read the <i>Packet</i> in the bar.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hold, sir,” said Burke. “Here is the thing. If you will read it, you
- would do well to read it where you will find a dozen hands stretched forth
- to you in affection and sympathy. Oliver Goldsmith, this is the paper and
- here are our hands. We look on you as the greatest of English writers—the
- truest of English poets—the best of Englishmen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You overwhelm me, sir. After this, what does it matter if Kenrick flings
- himself upon me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He took the <i>Packet</i>. It opened automatically, where an imaginary
- letter to himself, signed “Tom Tickle,” appeared.
- </p>
- <p>
- He held it up to the light; a smile was at first on his features; he had
- nerved himself to the ordeal. His friends would not find that he shrank
- from it—he even smiled, after a manner, as he read the thing—but
- suddenly his jaw fell, his face became pale. In another second he had
- crushed the paper between his hands. He crushed it and tore it, and then
- flung it on the floor and trampled on it. He walked to and fro in the room
- with bent head. Then he did a strange thing: he removed his sword and
- placed it in a corner, as if he were going to dine, and, without a word to
- any of his friends, left the room, carrying with him his cane only.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVII.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">K</span>enrick's article
- in the <i>London Packet</i> remains to this day as the vilest example of
- scurrility published under the form of criticism. All the venom that can
- be engendered by envy and malice appears in every line of it. It contains
- no suggestion of literary criticism; it contains no clever phrase. It is
- the shriek of a vulgar wretch dominated by the demon of jealousy. The note
- of the Gadarene herd sounds through it, strident and strenuous. It exists
- as the worst outcome of the period when every garret scribbler emulated
- “Junius,” both as regards style and method, but only succeeded in
- producing the shriek of a wildcat, instead of the thunder of the unknown
- master of vituperation.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith read the first part of the scurrility without feeling hurt; but
- when he came to that vile passage—“For hours the <i>great</i>
- Goldsmith will stand arranging his grotesque orangoutang figure before a
- pier-glass. Was but the lovely H———k as much enamoured,
- you would not sigh, my gentle swain”—his hands tore the paper in
- fury.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had received abuse in the past without being affected by it. He did not
- know much about natural history, but he knew enough to make him aware of
- the fact that the skunk tribe cannot change their nature. He did not mind
- any attack that might be made upon himself; but to have the name that he
- most cherished of all names associated with his in an insult that seemed
- to him diabolical in the manner of its delivery, was more than he could
- bear. He felt as if a foul creature had crept behind him and had struck
- from thence the one who had been kindest to him of all the people in the
- world.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was the horrible thing printed for all eyes in the town to read.
- There was the thing that had in a moment raised a barrier between him and
- the girl who was all in all to him. How could he look Mary Horneck in the
- face again? How could he ever meet any member of the family to whom he had
- been the means of causing so much pain as the Hornecks would undoubtedly
- feel when they read that vile thing? He felt that he himself was to blame
- for the appearance of that insult upon the girl. He felt that if the
- attack had not been made upon him she would certainly have escaped. Yes,
- that blow had been struck by a hand that stretched over him to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- His first impulse had sent his hand to his sword. He had shown himself
- upon several occasions to be a brave man; but instead of drawing his sword
- he had taken it off and had placed it out of the reach of his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- And this was the man who, a few hours earlier in the day, had been
- assuming that if a certain man were in his power he would not shrink from
- running him through the body with his sword.
- </p>
- <p>
- On leaving the Mitre he did not seek any one with whom he might take
- counsel as to what course it would be wise for him to pursue. He knew that
- he had adopted a wise course when he had placed his sword in a corner; he
- felt he did not require any further counsel. His mind was made up as to
- what he should do, and all that he now feared was that some circumstance
- might prevent his realising his intention.
- </p>
- <p>
- He grasped his cane firmly, and walked excitedly to the shop of Evans, the
- publisher of the <i>London Packet</i>. He arrived almost breathless at the
- place—it was in Little Queen street—and entered the shop
- demanding to see Kenrick, who, he knew was employed on the premises.
- Evans, the publisher, being in a room the door of which was open, and
- hearing a stranger's voice speaking in a high tone, came out to the shop.
- Goldsmith met him, asking to see Kenrick; and Evans denied that he was in
- the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I require you to tell me if Kenrick is the writer of that article upon me
- which appeared in the <i>Packet</i> of to-day. My name is Goldsmith!” said
- the visitor.
- </p>
- <p>
- The shopkeeper smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does anything appear about you in the <i>Packet</i>, sir?” he said,
- over-emphasising the tone of complete ignorance and inquiry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are the publisher of the foul thing, you rascal!” cried Goldsmith,
- stung by the supercilious smile of the man; “you are the publisher of this
- gross outrage upon an innocent lady, and, as the ruffian who wrote it
- struck at her through me, so I strike at him through you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He rushed at the man, seized him by the throat, and struck at him with his
- cane. The bookseller shouted for help while he struggled with his
- opponent, and Kenrick himself, who had been within the shelter of a small
- wooden-partitioned office from the moment of Goldsmith's entrance, and
- had, consequently, overheard every word of the recrimination and all the
- noise of the scuffle that followed, ran to the help of his paymaster. It
- was quite in keeping with his cowardly nature to hold back from the cane
- of Evans's assailant. He did so, and, looking round for a missile to fling
- at Goldsmith, he caught up a heavy lamp that stood on a table and hurled
- it at his enemy's head. Missing this mark, however, it struck Evans on the
- chest and knocked him down, Goldsmith falling over him. This Kenrick
- perceived to be his chance. He lifted one of the small shop chairs and
- rushed forward to brain the man whom he had libelled; but, before he could
- carry out his purpose, a man ran into the shop from the street, and,
- flinging him and the chair into a corner, caught Goldsmith, who had risen,
- by the shoulder and hurried him into a hackney-coach, which drove away.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man was Captain Higgins. When Goldsmith had failed to return to the
- room in the Mitre where he had left his sword, his friends became uneasy
- regarding him, and Higgins, suspecting his purpose in leaving the tavern,
- had hastened to Evans's, hoping to be in time to prevent the assault which
- he felt certain Goldsmith intended to commit upon the person of Kenrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- He ordered the coachman to drive to the Temple, and took advantage of the
- occasion to lecture the excited man upon the impropriety of his conduct. A
- lecture on the disgrace attached to a public fight, when delivered in a
- broad Irish brogue, can rarely be effective, and Captain Higgins's counsel
- of peace only called for Goldsmith's ridicule.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't tell me what I ought to have done or what I ought to have abstained
- from doing,” cried the still breathless man. “I did what my manhood
- prompted me to do, and that is just what you would have done yourself, my
- friend. God knows I didn't mean to harm Evans—it was that reptile
- Kenrick whom I meant to flail; but when Evans undertook to shelter him,
- what was left to me, I ask you, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were a fool, Oliver,” said his countryman; “you made a great mistake.
- Can't you see that you should never go about such things single-handed?
- You should have brought with you a full-sized friend who would not
- hesitate to use his fists in the interests of fair play. Why the devil,
- sir, didn't you give me a hint of what was on your mind when you left the
- tavern?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because I didn't know myself what was on my mind,” replied Goldsmith.
- “And, besides,” he added, “I'm not the man to carry bruisers about with me
- to engage in my quarrels. I don't regret what I have done to-day. I have
- taught the reptiles a lesson, even though I have to pay for it. Kenrick
- won't attack me again so long as I am alive.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was right. It was when he was lying in his coffin, yet unburied, that
- Kenrick made his next attack upon him in that scurrility of phrase of
- which he was a master.
- </p>
- <p>
- When this curious exponent of the advantages of peace had left him at
- Brick Court, and his few incidental bruises were attended to by John
- Eyles, poor Oliver's despondency returned to him. He did not feel very
- like one who has got the better of another in a quarrel, though he knew
- that he had done all that he said he had done: he had taught his enemies a
- lesson.
- </p>
- <p>
- But then he began to think about Mary Horneck, who had been so grossly
- insulted simply because of her kindness to him. He felt that if she had
- been less gracious to him—if she had treated him as Mrs. Thrale, for
- example, had been accustomed to treat him—regarding him and his
- defects merely as excuses for displaying her own wit, she would have
- escaped all mention by Kenrick. Yes, he still felt that he was the cause
- of her being insulted, and he would never forgive himself for it.
- </p>
- <p>
- But what did it matter whether he forgave himself or not? It was the
- forgiveness of Mary Horneck and her friends that he had good reason to
- think about.
- </p>
- <p>
- The longer he considered this point the more convinced he became that he
- had forfeited forever the friendship which he had enjoyed for several
- years, and which had been a dear consolation to him in his hours of
- despondency. A barrier had been raised between himself and the Hornecks
- that could not be surmounted.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat down at his desk and wrote a letter to Mary, asking her forgiveness
- for the insult for which he said he felt himself to be responsible. He
- could not, he added, expect that in the future it would be allowed to him
- to remain on the same terms of intimacy with her and her family as had
- been permitted to him in the past.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly he recollected the unknown trouble which had been upon the girl
- when he had last seen her. She was not yet free from that secret sorrow
- which he had hoped it might be in his power to dispel. He and he only had
- seen Captain Jackson speaking to her in the green room at Covent Garden,
- and he only had good reason to believe that her sorrow had originated with
- that man. Under these circumstances he asked himself if he was justified
- in leaving her to fight her battle alone. She had not asked him to be her
- champion, and he felt that if she had done so, it was a very poor champion
- that he would have made; but still he knew more of her grief than any one
- else, and he believed he might be able to help her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He tore up the letter which he had written to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will not leave her,” he cried. “Whatever may happen—whatever
- blame people who do not understand may say I have earned, I will not leave
- her until she has been freed from whatever distress she is in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had scarcely seated himself when his servant announced Captain Horneck.
- </p>
- <p>
- For an instant Goldsmith was in trepidation. Mary Horneck's brother had no
- reason to visit him except as he himself had visited Evans and Kenrick.
- But with the sound of Captain Horneck's voice his trepidation passed away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ha, my little hero!” Horneck cried before he had quite crossed the
- threshold. “What is this that is the talk of the town? Good Lord! what are
- things coming to when the men of letters have taken to beating the
- booksellers?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have heard of it?” said Oliver. “You have heard of the quarrel, but
- you cannot have heard of the reason for it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, there is something behind the <i>London Packet</i>, after all?”
- cried Captain Horneck.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Something behind it—something behind that slander—the mention
- of your sister's name, sir? What should be behind it, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear old Nolly, do you fancy that the friendship which exists between
- my family and you is too weak to withstand such a strain as this—a
- strain put upon it by a vulgar scoundrel, whose malice so far as you are
- concerned is as well known as his envy of your success?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith stared at him for some moments and then at the hand which he was
- holding out. He seemed to be making an effort to speak, but the words
- never came. Suddenly he caught Captain Horneck's hand in both of his own,
- and held it for a moment; but then, quite overcome, he dropped it, and
- burying his face in his hands he burst into tears.
- </p>
- <p>
- Horneck watched him for some time, and was himself almost equally
- affected.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, come, old friend,” he said at last, placing his hand affectionately
- on Goldsmith's shoulder. “Come, come; this will not do. There is nothing
- to be so concerned about. What, man! are you so little aware of your own
- position in the world as to fancy that the Horneck family regard your
- friendship for them otherwise than an honour? Good heavens, Dr. Goldsmith,
- don't you perceive that we are making a bold bid for immortality through
- our names being associated with yours? Who in a hundred years—in
- fifty years—would know anything of the Horneck family if it were not
- for their association with you? The name of Oliver Goldsmith will live so
- long as there is life in English letters, and when your name is spoken the
- name of your friends the Hornecks will not be forgotten.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He tried to comfort his unhappy friend, but though he remained at his
- chambers for half an hour, he got no word from Oliver Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVIII.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he next day the
- news of the prompt and vigorous action taken by Goldsmith in respect of
- the scurrility of Kenrick had spread round the literary circle of which
- Johnson was the centre, and the general feeling was one of regret that
- Kenrick had not received the beating instead of Evans. Of course, Johnson,
- who had threatened two writers with an oak stick, shook his head—and
- his body as well—in grave disapproval of Goldsmith's use of his
- cane; but Reynolds, Garrick and the two Burkes were of the opinion that a
- cane had never been more appropriately used.
- </p>
- <p>
- What Colman's attitude was in regard to the man who had put thousands of
- pounds into his pocket may be gathered from the fact that, shortly
- afterwards, he accepted and produced a play of Kenrick's at his theatre,
- which was more decisively damned than any play ever produced under
- Colman's management.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of course, the act of an author in resenting the scurrility of a man who
- had delivered his stab under the cloak of criticism, called for a howl of
- indignation from the scores of hacks who existed at that period—some
- in the pay of the government others of the opposition—solely by
- stabbing men of reputation; for the literary cut-throat, in the person of
- the professional libeller-critic, and the literary cut-purse, in the form
- of the professional blackmailer, followed as well as preceded Junius.
- </p>
- <p>
- The howl went up that the liberty of the press was in danger, and the
- public, who took then, as they do now, but the most languid interest in
- the quarrels of literature, were forced to become the unwilling audience.
- When, however, Goldsmith published his letter in the <i>Daily Advertiser</i>—surely
- the manliest manifesto ever printed—the howls became attenuated, and
- shortly afterwards died away. It was admitted, even by Dr. Johnson—and
- so emphatically, too, that his biographer could not avoid recording his
- judgment—that Goldsmith had increased his reputation by the
- incident.
- </p>
- <p>
- (Boswell paid Goldsmith the highest compliment in his power on account of
- this letter, for he fancied that it had been written by Johnson, and
- received another rebuke from the latter to gloat over.)
- </p>
- <p>
- For some days Goldsmith had many visitors at his chambers, including
- Baretti, who remarked that he took it for granted that he need not now
- search for the fencingmaster, as his quarrel was over. Goldsmith allowed
- him to go away under the impression that he had foreseen the quarrel when
- he had consulted him regarding the fencingmaster.
- </p>
- <p>
- But at the end of a week, when Evans had been conciliated by the friends
- of his assailant, Goldsmith, on returning to his chambers one afternoon,
- found Johnson gravely awaiting his arrival. His hearty welcome was not
- responded to quite so heartily by his visitor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Goldsmith,” said Johnson, after he had made some of those grotesque
- movements with which his judicial utterances were invariably accompanied—“Dr.
- Goldsmith, we have been friends for a good many years, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That fact constitutes one of my pleasantest reflections, sir,” said
- Goldsmith. He spoke with some measure of hesitancy, for he had a feeling
- that his friend had come to him with a reproof. He had expected him to
- come rather sooner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If our friendship was not such as it is, I would not have come to you
- to-day, sir, to tell you that you have been a fool,” said Johnson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir,” said Goldsmith, “you were right in assuming that you could say
- nothing to me that would offend me; I know that I have been a fool—at
- many times—in many ways.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suspected that you were a fool before I set out to come hither, sir,
- and since I entered this room I have convinced myself of the accuracy of
- my suspicion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If a man suspects that I am a fool before seeing me, sir, what will he do
- after having seen me?” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Goldsmith,” resumed Johnson, “it was, believe me, sir, a great pain
- to me to find, as I did in this room—on that desk—such
- evidence of your folly as left no doubt on my mind in this matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you mean, sir? My folly—evidence—on that desk? Ah, I
- know now what you mean. Yes, poor Filby's bill for my last coats and I
- suppose for a few others that have long ago been worn threadbare. Alas,
- sir, who could resist Filby's flatteries?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir,” said Johnson, “you gave me permission several years ago to read any
- manuscript of yours in prose or verse at which you were engaged.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the result of your so honouring me, Dr. Johnson, has invariably been
- advantageous to my work. What, sir, have I ever failed in respect for your
- criticisms? Have I ever failed to make a change that you suggested?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was in consideration of that permission, Dr. Goldsmith, that while
- waiting for you here to-day, I read several pages in your handwriting,”
- said Johnson sternly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith glanced at his desk.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I forget now what work was last under my hand,” said he; “but whatever it
- was, sir——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have it here, sir,” said Johnson, and Goldsmith for the first time
- noticed that he held in one of his hands a roll of manuscript. Johnson
- laid it solemnly on the table, and in a moment Goldsmith perceived that it
- consisted of a number of the poems which he had written to the Jessamy
- Bride, but which he had not dared to send to her. He had had them before
- him on the desk that day while he asked himself what would be the result
- of sending them to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was considerably disturbed when he discovered what it was that his
- friend had been reading in his absence, and his attempt to treat the
- matter lightly only made his confusion appear the greater.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, those verses, sir,” he stammered; “they are poor things. You will, I
- fear, find them too obviously defective to merit criticism; they resemble
- my oldest coat, sir, which I designed to have repaired for my man, but
- Filby returned it with the remark that it was not worth the cost of
- repairing. If you were to become a critic of those trifles——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are trifles, Goldsmith, for they represent the trifling of a man of
- determination with his own future—with his own happiness and the
- happiness of others.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I protest, sir, I scarcely understand——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your confusion, sir, shows that you do understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir, you do not suppose that the lines which a poet writes in the
- character of a lover should be accepted as damning evidence that his own
- heart speaks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Goldsmith, I am not the man to be deceived by any literary work that may
- come under my notice. I have read those verses of yours; sir, your heart
- throbs in every line.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir, you would make me believe that my poor attempts to realise the
- feelings of one who has experienced the tender passion are more happy than
- I fancied.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir, this dissimulation is unworthy of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir, I protest that I—that is—no, I shall protest nothing.
- You have spoken the truth, sir; any dissimulation is unworthy of me. I
- wrote those verses out of my own heart—God knows if they are the
- first that came from my heart—I own it, sir. Why should I be ashamed
- to own it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My poor friend, you have been Fortune's plaything all your life; but I
- did not think that she was reserving such a blow as this for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A blow, sir? Nay, I cannot regard as a blow that which has been the
- sweetest—the only consolation of a life that has known but few
- consolations.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir, this will not do. A man has the right to make himself as miserable
- as he pleases, but he has no right to make others miserable. Dr.
- Goldsmith, you have ill-repaid the friendship which Miss Horneck and her
- family have extended to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have done nothing for which my conscience reproaches me, Dr. Johnson.
- What, sir, if I have ventured to love that lady whose name had better
- remain unspoken by either of us—what if I do love her? Where is the
- indignity that I do either to her or to the sentiment of friendship? Does
- one offer an indignity to friendship by loving?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My poor friend, you are laying up a future of misery for yourself—yes,
- and for her too; for she has a kind heart, and if she should come to know—and,
- indeed, I think she must—that she has been the cause, even though
- the unwilling cause, of suffering on the part of another, she will not be
- free from unhappiness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She need not know, she need not know. I have been a bearer of burdens all
- my life. I will assume without repining this new burden.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir, if I know your character—and I believe I have known it
- for some years—you will cast that burden away from you. Life, my
- dear friend, you and I have found to be not a meadow wherein to sport, but
- a battle field. We have been in the struggle, you and I, and we have not
- come out of it unscathed. Come, sir, face boldly this new enemy, and put
- it to flight before it prove your ruin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Enemy, you call it, sir? You call that which gives everything there is of
- beauty—everything there is of sweetness—in the life of man—you
- call it our enemy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I call it <i>your</i> enemy, Goldsmith.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why mine only? What is there about me that makes me different from other
- men? Why should a poet be looked upon as one who is shut out for evermore
- from all the tenderness, all the grace of life, when he has proved to the
- world that he is most capable of all mankind of appreciating tenderness
- and grace? What trick of nature is this? What paradox for men to vex their
- souls over? Is the poet to stand aloof from men, evermore looking on
- happiness through another man's eyes? If you answer 'yes,' then I say that
- men who are not poets should go down on their knees and thank Heaven that
- they are not poets. Happy it is for mankind that Heaven has laid on few
- men the curse of being poets. For myself, I feel that I would rather be a
- man for an hour than a poet for all time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, sir, let us not waste our time railing against Heaven. Let us look
- at this matter as it stands at present. You have been unfortunate enough
- to conceive a passion for a lady whose family could never be brought to
- think of you seriously as a lover. You have been foolish enough to regard
- their kindness to you—their acceptance of you as a friend—as
- encouragement in your mad aspirations.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have no right to speak so authoritatively, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have the right as your oldest friend, Goldsmith; and you know I speak
- only what is true. Does your own conscience, your own intelligence, sir,
- not tell you that the lady's family would regard her acceptance of you as
- a lover in the light of the greatest misfortune possible to happen to her?
- Answer me that question, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Goldsmith made no attempt to speak. He only buried his face in his
- hands, resting his elbows on the table at which he sat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You cannot deny what you know to be a fact, sir,” resumed Johnson. “I
- will not humiliate you by suggesting that the young lady herself would
- only be moved to laughter were you to make serious advances to her; but I
- ask you if you think her family would not regard such an attitude on your
- side as ridiculous—nay, worse—a gross affront.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Still Goldsmith remained silent, and after a short pause his visitor
- resumed his discourse.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The question that remains for you to answer is this, sir: Are you
- desirous of humiliating yourself in the eyes of your best friends, and of
- forfeiting their friendship for you, by persisting in your infatuation?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith started up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Say no more, sir; for God's sake, say no more,” he cried almost
- piteously. “Am I, do you fancy, as great a fool as Pope, who did not
- hesitate to declare himself to Lady Mary? Sir, I have done nothing that
- the most honourable of men would shrink from doing. There are the verses
- which I wrote—I could not help writing them—but she does not
- know that they were ever written. Dr. Johnson, she shall never hear it
- from me. My history, sir, shall be that of the hopeless lover—a
- blank—a blank.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My poor friend,” said Johnson after a pause—he had laid his hand
- upon the shoulder of his friend as he seated himself once more at the
- table—“My poor friend, Providence puts into our hands many cups
- which are bitter to the taste, but cannot be turned away from. You and I
- have drank of bitter cups before now, and perhaps we may have to drink of
- others before we die. To be a man is to suffer; to be a poet means to have
- double the capacity of men to suffer. You have shown yourself before now
- worthy of the admiration of all good men by the way you have faced life,
- by your independence of the patronage of the great. You dedicated 'The
- Traveller' to your brother, and your last comedy to me. You did not
- hesitate to turn away from your door the man who came to offer you money
- for the prostitution of the talents which God has given you. Dr.
- Goldsmith, you have my respect—you have the respect of every good
- man. I came to you to-day that you may disappoint those of your detractors
- who are waiting for you to be guilty of an act that would give them an
- opportunity of pointing a finger of malice at you. You will not do
- anything but that which will reflect honour upon yourself, and show all
- those who are your friends that their friendship for you is well founded.
- I am assured that I can trust you, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith took the hand that he offered, but said no word.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIX.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen his visitor
- had gone Goldsmith seated himself in his chair and gave way to the bitter
- reflections of the hour.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew that the end of his dream had come. The straightforward words
- which Johnson had spoken had put an end to his self-deception—to his
- hoping against his better judgment that by some miracle his devotion might
- be rewarded. If any man was calculated to be a disperser of vain dreams
- that man was Johnson. In the very brutality of his straightforwardness
- there was, however, a suspicion of kindliness that made any appeal from
- his judgment hopeless. There was no timidity in the utterances of his
- phrases when forcing his contentions upon any audience; but Goldsmith knew
- that he only spoke strongly because he felt strongly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Times without number he had said to himself precisely what Dr. Johnson had
- said to him. If Mary Horneck herself ever went so far as to mistake the
- sympathy which she had for him for that affection which alone would
- content him, how could he approach her family? Her sister had married
- Bunbury, a man of position and wealth, with a country house and a town
- house—a man of her own age, and with the possibility of inheriting
- his father's baronetcy. Her brother was about to marry a daughter of Lord
- Albemarle's. What would these people say if he, Oliver Goldsmith, were to
- present himself as a suitor for the hand of Mary Horneck?
- </p>
- <p>
- It did not require Dr. Johnson to speak such forcible words in his hearing
- to enable him to perceive how ridiculous were his pretensions. The tragedy
- of the poet's life among men and women eager to better their prospects in
- the world was fully appreciated by him. It was surely, he felt, the most
- cruel of all the cruelties of destiny, that the men who make music of the
- passions of men—who have surrounded the passion of love with a
- glorifying halo—should be doomed to spend their lives looking on at
- the success of ordinary men in their loves by the aid of the music which
- the poets have created. That is the poet's tragedy of life, and Goldsmith
- had often found himself face to face with it, feeling himself to be one of
- those with whom destiny is only on jesting terms.
- </p>
- <p>
- Because he was a poet he could not love any less beautiful creature than
- Mary Hor-neck, any less gracious, less sweet, less pure, and yet he knew
- that if he were to go to her with those poems in his hand which he only of
- all living men could write, telling her that they might plead his cause,
- he would be regarded—and rightly, too—as both presumptuous and
- ridiculous.
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought of the loneliness of his life. Was it the lot of the man of
- letters to remain in loneliness while the people around him were taking to
- themselves wives and begetting sons and daughters? Had he nothing to look
- forward to but the laurel wreath? Was it taken for granted that a
- contemplation of its shrivelling leaves would more than compensate the
- poet for the loss of home—the grateful companionship of a wife—the
- babble of children—all that his fellow-men associated with the
- gladness and glory of life?
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew that he had reached a position in the world of letters that was
- surpassed by no living man in England. He had often dreamed of reaching
- such a place, and to reach it he had undergone privation—he had
- sacrificed the best years of his life. And what did his consciousness of
- having attained his end bring with it? It brought to him the snarl of
- envy, the howl of hatred, the mock of malice. The air was full of these
- sounds; they dinned in his ears and overcame the sounds of the approval of
- his friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- And it was for this he had sacrificed so much? So much? Everything. He had
- sacrificed his life. The one joy that had consoled him for all his ills
- during the past few years had departed from him. He would never see Mary
- Horneck again. To see her again would only be to increase the burden of
- his humiliation. His resolution was formed and he would abide by it.
- </p>
- <p>
- He rose to his feet and picked up the roll of poems. In sign of his
- resolution he would burn them. He would, with them, reduce to ashes the
- one consolation of his life.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the small grate the remains of a fire were still glowing. He knelt down
- and blew the spark into a blaze. He was about to thrust the manuscript
- into it between the bars when the light that it made fell upon one of the
- lines. He had not the heart to burn the leaf until he had read the
- remaining lines of the couplet; and when at last, with a sigh, he hastily
- thrust the roll of papers between the bars, the little blaze had fallen
- again to a mere smouldering spark. Before he could raise it by a breath or
- two, his servant entered the room. He started to his feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A letter for you, sir,” said John Eyles. “It came by a messenger lad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fetch a candle, John,” said Goldsmith, taking the letter. It was too dark
- for him to see the handwriting, but he put the tip of his finger on the
- seal and became aware that it was Mary Horneck's.
- </p>
- <p>
- By the light of the candle he broke the seal, and read the few lines that
- the letter contained—
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>Come to me, my dear friend, without delay, for heaven's sake. Your ear
- only can hear what I have to tell. You may be able to help me, but if not,
- then. . . . Oh, come to me to-night. Your unhappy Jessamy Bride.</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not delay an instant. He caught up his hat and left his chambers.
- He did not even think of the resolution to which he had just come, never
- to see Mary Horneck again. All his thoughts were lost in the one thought
- that he was about to stand face to face with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood face to face with her in less than half an hour. She was in the
- small drawing-room where he had seen her on the day after the production
- of “She Stoops to Conquer.” Only a few wax candles were lighted in the
- cut-glass sconces that were placed in the centre of the panels of the
- walls. Their light was, however, sufficient to make visible the contrast
- between the laughing face of the girl in Reynolds's picture of her and her
- sister which hung on the wall, and the sad face of the girl who put her
- hand into his as he was shown in by the servant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew you would come,” she said. “I knew that I could trust you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may trust me, indeed,” he said. He held her hand in his own, looking
- into her pale face and sunken eyes. “I knew the time would come when you
- would tell me all that there is to be told,” he continued. “Whether I can
- help you or not, you will find yourself better for having told me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She seated herself on the sofa, and he took his place beside her. There
- was a silence of a minute or two, before she suddenly started up, and,
- after walking up and down the room nervously, stopped at the mantelpiece,
- leaning her head against the high slab, and looking into the smouldering
- fire in the grate.
- </p>
- <p>
- He watched her, but did not attempt to express the pity that filled his
- heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What am I to tell you—what am I to tell you?” she cried at last,
- resuming her pacing of the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- He made no reply, but sat there following her movements with his eyes. She
- went beside him, and stood, with nervously clasped hands, looking with
- vacant eyes at the group of wax candles that burned in one of the sconces.
- Once again she turned away with a little cry, but then with a great effort
- she controlled herself, and her voice was almost tranquil when she spoke,
- seating herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were with me at the Pantheon, and saw me when I caught sight of that
- man,” she said. “You alone were observant. Did you also see him call me to
- his side in the green room at the playhouse?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I saw you in the act of speaking to him there—he calls himself
- Jackson—Captain Jackson,” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You saved me from him once!” she cried. “You saved me from becoming his—body
- and soul.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he said; “I have not yet saved you, but God is good; He may enable
- me to do so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I tell you if it had not been for you—for the book which you wrote,
- I should be to-day a miserable castaway.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked puzzled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot quite understand,” said he. “I gave you a copy of 'The Vicar of
- Wakefield' when you were going to Devonshire a year ago. You were
- complaining that your sister had taken away with her the copy which I had
- presented to your mother, so that you had not an opportunity of reading
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was that which saved me,” she cried. “Oh, what fools girls are! They
- are carried away by such devices as should not impose upon the merest
- child! Why are we not taught from our childhood of the baseness of men—some
- men—so that we can be on our guard when we are on the verge of
- womanhood? If we are to live in the world why should we not be told all
- that we should guard against?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laid her head down on the arm of the sofa, sobbing.
- </p>
- <p>
- He put his hand gently upon her hair, saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot believe anything but what is good regarding you, my sweet
- Jessamy Bride.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She raised her head quickly and looked at him through her tears.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you will err,” she said. “You will have to think ill of me. Thank
- God you saved me from the worst, but it was not in your power to save me
- from all—to save me from myself. Listen to me, my best friend. When
- I was in Devonshire last year I met that man. He was staying in the
- village, pretending that he was recovering from a wound which he had
- received in our colonies in America. He was looked on as a hero and feted
- in all directions. Every girl for miles around was in love with him, and I—innocent
- fool that I was—considered myself the most favoured creature in the
- world because he made love to me. Any day we failed to meet I wrote him a
- letter—a foolish letter such as a school miss might write—full
- of protestations of undying affection. I sometimes wrote two of these
- letters in the day. More than a month passed in this foolishness, and then
- it came to my uncle's ears that we had meetings. He forbade my continuing
- to see a man of whom no one knew anything definite, but about whom he was
- having strict inquiries made. I wrote to the man to this effect, and I
- received a reply persuading me to have one more meeting with him. I was so
- infatuated that I met him secretly, and then in impassioned strains he
- implored me to make a runaway match with him. He said he had enemies. When
- he had been fighting the King's battles against the rebels these enemies
- had been active, and he feared that their malice would come between us,
- and he should lose me. I was so carried away by his pleading that I
- consented to leave my uncle's house by his side.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you cannot have done so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You saved me,” she cried. “I had been reading your book, and, by God's
- mercy, on the very day before that on which I had promised to go to him I
- came to the story of poor Olivia's flight and its consequences. With the
- suddenness of a revelation from heaven I perceived the truth. The scales
- fell from my eyes as they fell from St. Paul's on the way to Damascus,
- only where he perceived the heaven I saw the hell that awaited me. I knew
- that that man was endeavouring to encompass my ruin, and in a single hour—thanks
- to the genius that wrote that book—my love for that man, or what I
- fancied was love, was turned to loathing. I did not meet him. I returned
- to him, without a word of comment, a letter he wrote to me reproaching me
- for disappointing him; and the very next day my uncle's suspicions
- regarding him were confirmed. His inquiries resulted in proof positive of
- the ruffianism of the fellow who called himself Captain Jackson, He had
- left the army in America with a stain on his character, and it was known
- that since his return to England at least two young women had been led
- into the trap which he laid for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank God you were saved, my child,” said Goldsmith, as she paused,
- overcome with emotion. “But being saved, my dear, you have no further
- reason to fear that man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was my belief, too,” said she. “But alas! it was a delusion. So soon
- as he found out that I had escaped from him, he showed himself in his true
- colours. He wrote threatening to send the letters which I had been foolish
- enough to write to him, to my friends—he was even scoundrel enough
- to point out that I had in my innocence written certain passages which
- were susceptible of being interpreted as evidence of guilt—nay, his
- letter in which he did so took it for granted that I had been guilty, so
- that I could not show it as evidence of his falsehood. What was left for
- me to do? I wrote to him imploring him to return to me those letters. I
- asked him how he could think it consistent with his honour to retain them
- and to hold such an infamous threat over my head. Alas! he soon gave me to
- understand that I had but placed myself more deeply in his power.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The scoundrel!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! scoundrel! I made an excuse for coming back to London, though I had
- meant to stay in Devonshire until the end of the year.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And 'twas then you thanked me for the book.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had good reason to do so. For some months I was happy, believing that I
- had escaped from my persecutor. How happy we were when in France together!
- But then—ah! you know the rest. My distress is killing me—I
- cannot sleep at night. I start a dozen times a day; every time the bell
- rings I am in trepidation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great Heaven! Is 't possible that you are miserable solely on this
- account?” cried Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is there not sufficient reason for my misery?” she asked. “What did he
- say to me that night in the green room? He told me that he would give me a
- fortnight to accede to his demands; if I failed he swore to print my
- letters in full, introducing my name so that every one should know who had
- written them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And his terms?” asked Goldsmith in a whisper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “His terms? I cannot tell you—I cannot tell you. The very thought
- that I placed myself in such a position as made it possible for me to have
- such an insult offered to me makes me long for death.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “By God! 'tis he who need to prepare for death!” cried Goldsmith, “for I
- shall kill him, even though the act be called murder.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No—no!” she said, laying a hand upon his arm. “No friend of mine
- must suffer for my folly. I dare not speak a word of this to my brother
- for fear of the consequences. That wretch boasted to me of having laid his
- plans so carefully that, if any harm were to come to him, the letters
- would still be printed. He said he had heard of my friends, and declared
- that if he were approached by any of them nothing should save me from
- being made the talk of the town. I was terrified by the threat, but I
- determined to-day to tell you my pitiful story in the hope—the
- forlorn hope—that you might be able to help me. Tell me—tell
- me, my dear friend, if you can see any chance of escape for me except that
- of which poor Olivia sang: 'The only way her guilt to cover.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Guilt? Who talks of guilt?” said he. “Oh, my poor innocent child, I knew
- that whatever your grief might be there was nothing to be thought of you
- except what was good. I am not one to say even that you acted foolishly;
- you only acted innocently. You, in the guilelessness of your own pure
- heart could not believe that a man could be worse than any monster. Dear
- child, I pray of you to bear up for a short time against this stroke of
- fate, and I promise you that I shall discover a way of escape for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, it is easy to say those words 'bear up.' I have said them to myself a
- score of times within the week. You cannot now perceive in what direction
- lies my hope of escape?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head, but not without a smile on his face, as he said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Tis easy enough for one who has composed so much fiction as I have to
- invent a plan for the rescue of a tortured heroine; but, unhappily, it is
- the case that in real life one cannot control circumstances as one can in
- a work of the imagination. That is one of the weaknesses of real life, my
- dear; things will go on happening in defiance of all the arts of fiction.
- But of this I feel certain: Providence does not do things by halves. He
- will not make me the means of averting a great disaster from you and then
- permit me to stand idly by while you suffer such a calamity as that which
- you apprehend just now. Nay, my dear, I feel that as Heaven directed my
- pen to write that book in order that you might be saved from the fate of
- my poor Livy, I shall be permitted to help you out of your present
- difficulty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You give me hope,” she said. “Yes—a little hope. But you must
- promise me that you will not be tempted to do anything that is rash. I
- know how brave you are—my brother told me what prompt action you
- took yesterday when that vile slander appeared. But were you not foolish
- to place yourself in jeopardy? To strike at a serpent that hisses may only
- cause it to spring.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I feel now that I was foolish,” said he humbly; “I ran the chance of
- forfeiting your friendship.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no, it was not so bad as that,” she said. “But in this matter of mine
- I perceive clearly that craft and not bravery will prevail to save me, if
- I am to be saved. I saw that you provoked a quarrel with that man on the
- night when we were leaving the Pantheon; think of it, think what my
- feelings would have been if he had killed you! And think also that if you
- had killed him I should certainly be lost, for he had made his
- arrangements to print the letters by which I should be judged.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have spoken truly,” said he. “You are wiser than I have ever been.
- But for your sake, my sweet Jessamy Bride, I promise to do nothing that
- shall jeopardise your safety. Have no fear, dear one, you shall be saved,
- whatever may happen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He took her hand and kissed it fondly. “You shall be saved,” he repeated.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If not——” said she in a low tone, looking beyond him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No—no,” he whispered. “I have given you my promise. You must give
- me yours. You will do nothing impious.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave a wan smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am a girl,” she said. “My courage is as water. I promise you I will
- trust you, with all my heart—all my heart.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall not fail you—Heaven shall not fail you,” said he, going to
- the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked back at her. What a lovely picture she made, standing in her
- white loose gown with its lace collar that seemed to make her face the
- more pallid!
- </p>
- <p>
- He bowed at the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XX.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e went for supper
- to a tavern which he knew would be visited by none of his friends. He had
- no wish to share in the drolleries of Garrick as the latter turned Boswell
- into ridicule to make sport for the company. He knew that Garrick would be
- at the club in Gerrard street, to which he had been elected only a few
- days before the production of “She Stoops to Conquer,” and it was not at
- all unlikely that on this account the club would be a good deal livelier
- than it usually was even when Richard Burke was wittiest.
- </p>
- <p>
- While awaiting the modest fare which he had ordered he picked up one of
- the papers published that evening, and found that it contained a fierce
- assault upon him for having dared to take the law into his own hands in
- attempting to punish the scoundrel who had introduced the name of Miss
- Horneck into his libel upon the author of the comedy about which all the
- town were talking.
- </p>
- <p>
- The scurrility of his new assailant produced no impression upon him. He
- smiled as he read the ungrammatical expression of the indignation which
- the writer purported to feel at so gross an infringement of the liberty of
- the press as that of which—according to the writer—the
- ingenious Dr. Goldsmith was guilty. He did not even fling the paper across
- the room. He was not dwelling upon his own grievances. In his mind, the
- worst that could happen to him was not worth a moment's thought compared
- with the position of the girl whose presence he had just left.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew perfectly well—had he not good reason to know?—that
- the man who had threatened her would keep his threat. He knew of the gross
- nature of the libels which were published daily upon not merely the most
- notable persons in society, but also upon ordinary private individuals;
- and he had a sufficient knowledge of men and women to be aware of the fact
- that the grossest scandal upon the most innocent person was more eagerly
- read than any of the other contents of the prints of the day. That was one
- of the results of the publication of the scurrilities of Junius: the
- appetite of the people for such piquant fare was whetted, and there was no
- lack of literary cooks to prepare it. Slander was all that the public
- demanded. They did not make the brilliancy of Junius one of the conditions
- of their acceptance of such compositions—all they required was that
- the libel should have a certain amount of piquancy.
- </p>
- <p>
- No one was better aware of this fact than Oliver Goldsmith. He knew that
- Kenrick, who had so frequently libelled him, would pay all the money that
- he could raise to obtain the letters which the man who called himself
- Captain Jackson had in his possession; he also knew that there would be no
- difficulty in finding a publisher for them; and as people were always much
- more ready to believe evil than good regarding any one—especially a
- young girl against whom no suspicion had ever been breathed—the
- result of the publication of the letters would mean practically ruin to
- the girl who had been innocent enough to write them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of course, a man of the world, with money at his hand, would have smiled
- at the possibility of a question arising as to the attitude to assume in
- regard to such a scoundrel as Jackson. He would merely inquire what sum
- the fellow required in exchange for the letters. But Goldsmith was in such
- matters as innocent as the girl herself. He believed, as she did, that
- because the man did not make any monetary claim upon her, he was not
- sordid. He was the more inclined to disregard the question of the
- possibility of buying the man off, knowing as he did that he should find
- it impossible to raise a sufficient sum for the purpose; and he believed,
- with Mary Horneck, that to tell her friends how she was situated would be
- to forfeit their respect forever.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had told him that only cunning could prevail against her enemy, and he
- felt certain that she was right. He would try and be cunning for her sake.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found great difficulty in making a beginning. He remembered how often
- in his life, and how easily, he had been imposed upon—how often his
- friends had entreated him to acquire this talent, since he had certainly
- not been endowed with it by nature. He remembered how upon some occasions
- he had endeavoured to take their advice; and he also remembered how, when
- he thought he had been extremely shrewd, it turned out that he had never
- been more clearly imposed upon.
- </p>
- <p>
- He wondered if it was too late to begin again on a more approved system.
- </p>
- <p>
- He brought his skill as a writer of fiction to bear upon the question
- (which maybe taken as evidence that he had not yet begun his career of
- shrewdness).
- </p>
- <p>
- How, for instance, would he, if the exigencies of his story required it,
- cause Moses Primrose to develop into a man of resources in worldly wisdom?
- By what means would he turn Honeywood into a cynical man of the world?
- </p>
- <p>
- He considered these questions at considerable length, and only when he
- reached the Temple, returning to his chambers, did he find out that the
- waiter at the tavern had given him change for a guinea two shillings
- short, and that half-a-crown of the change was made of pewter. He could
- not help being amused at his first step towards cunning. He certainly felt
- no vexation at being made so easy a victim of—he was accustomed to
- that position.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he found that the roll of manuscript which he had thrust between the
- bars of the grate remained as he had left it, only slightly charred at the
- end which had been the nearer to the hot, though not burning, coals, all
- thoughts of guile—all his prospects of shrewdness were cast aside.
- He unfolded the pages and read the verses once more. After all, he had no
- right to burn them. He felt that they were no longer his property. They
- either belonged to the world of literature or to Mary Horneck, as—as
- what? As a token of affection which he bore her? But he had promised
- Johnson to root out of his heart whatever might remain of that which he
- had admitted to be foolishness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Alas! alas! He sat up for hours in his cold rooms thinking, hoping,
- dreaming his old dream that a day was coming when he might without
- reproach put those verses into the girl's hand—when, learning the
- truth, she would understand.
- </p>
- <p>
- And that time did come.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the morning he found himself ready to face the question of how to get
- possession of the letters. No man of his imagination could give his
- attention to such a matter without having suggested to him many schemes
- for the attainment of his object. But in the end he was painfully aware
- that he had contrived nothing that did not involve the risk of a criminal
- prosecution against himself, and, as a consequence, the discovery of all
- that Mary Horneck was anxious to hide.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not until the afternoon that he came to the conclusion that it
- would be unwise for him to trust to his own resources in this particular
- affair. After all, he was but a man; it required the craft of a woman to
- defeat the wiles of such a demon as he had to deal with.
- </p>
- <p>
- That he knew to be a wise conclusion to come to. But where was the woman
- to whom he could go for help? He wanted to find a woman who was accustomed
- to the wiles of the devil, and he believed that he should have
- considerable difficulty in finding her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was, of course, wrong. He had not been considering this aspect of the
- question for long before he thought of Mrs. Abington, and in a moment he
- knew that he had found a woman who could help him if she had a mind to do
- so. Her acquaintance with wiles he knew to be large and varied, and he
- liked her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He liked her so well that he felt sure she would help him—if he made
- it worth her while; and he thought he saw his way to make it worth her
- while.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was so convinced he was on the way to success that he became impatient
- at the reflection that he could not possibly see Mrs. Abington until the
- evening. But while he was in this state his servant announced a visitor—one
- with whom he was not familiar, but who gave his name as Colonel Gwyn.
- </p>
- <p>
- Full of surprise, he ordered Colonel Gwyn to be shown into the room. He
- recollected having met him at a dinner at the Reynolds's, and once at the
- Hornecks' house in Westminster; but why he should pay a visit to Brick
- Court Goldsmith was at a loss to know. He, however, greeted Colonel Gwyn
- as if he considered it to be one of the most natural occurrences in the
- world for him to appear at that particular moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Goldsmith,” said the visitor when he had seated himself, “you have no
- doubt every reason to be surprised at my taking the liberty of calling
- upon you without first communicating with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not at all, sir,” said Goldsmith. “'Tis a great compliment you offer to
- me. Bear in mind that I am sensible of it, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are very kind, sir. Those who have a right to speak on the subject
- have frequently referred to you as the most generous of men.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, sir, I perceive that you have been talking with some persons whose
- generosity was more noteworthy than their judgment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And once again he gave an example of the Goldsmith bow which Garrick had
- so successfully caricatured.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, Dr. Goldsmith, if I thought so I would not be here to-day. The fact
- is, sir, that I—I—i' faith, sir, I scarce know how to tell you
- how it is I appear before you in this fashion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do not need to have an excuse, I do assure you, Colonel Gwyn. You are
- a friend of my best friend—Sir Joshua Reynolds.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir, and of other friends, too, I would fain hope. In short, Dr.
- Goldsmith, I am here because I know how highly you stand in the esteem of—of—well,
- of all the members of the Horneck family.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was now Goldsmith's turn to stammer. He was so surprised by the way his
- visitor introduced the name of the Hor-necks he scarcely knew what reply
- to make to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I perceive that you are surprised, sir.” said Gwyn.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no—not at all—that is—no, not greatly surprised—only—well,
- sir, why should you not be a friend of Mrs. Horneck? Her son is like
- yourself, a soldier,” stammered Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have taken the liberty of calling more than once during the past week
- or two upon the Hornecks, Dr. Goldsmith,” said Gwyn; “but upon no occasion
- have I been fortunate enough to see Miss Horneck. They told me she was by
- no means well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And they told you the truth, sir,” said Goldsmith somewhat brusquely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know it then? Miss Horneck is really indisposed? Ah! I feared that
- they were merely excusing her presence on the ground of illness. I must
- confess a headache was not specified.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir, Miss Horneck's relations are not destitute of imagination. But
- why should you fancy that you were being deceived by them, Colonel Gwyn?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Colonel Gwyn laughed slightly, not freely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought that the lady herself might think, perhaps, that I was taking a
- liberty,” he said somewhat awkwardly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should she think that, Colonel Gwyn?” asked Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Dr. Goldsmith, you see—sir, you are, I know, a favoured
- friend of the lady's—I perceived long ago—nay, it is well
- known that she regards you with great affection as a—no, not as a
- father—no, as—as an elder brother, that is it—yes, as an
- elder brother; and therefore I thought that I would venture to intrude
- upon you to-day. Sir, to be quite frank with you, I love Miss Horneck, but
- I hesitate—as I am sure you could understand that any man must—before
- declaring myself to her. Now, it occurred to me, Dr. Goldsmith, that you
- might not conceive it to be a gross impertinence on my part if I were to
- ask you if you knew of the lady's affections being already engaged. I hope
- you will be frank with me, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith looked with curious eyes at the man before him. Colonel Gwyn was
- a well built man of perhaps a year or two over thirty. He sat upright on
- his chair—a trifle stiffly, it might be thought by some people, but
- that was pardonable in a military man. He was also somewhat inclined to be
- pompous in his manners; but any one could perceive that they were the
- manners of a gentleman.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith looked earnestly at him. Was that the man who was to take Mary
- Horneck away from him? he asked himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- He could not speak for some time after his visitor had spoken. At last he
- gave a little start.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You should not have come to me, sir,” he said slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I felt that I was taking a great liberty, sir,” said Gwyn.
- </p>
- <p>
- “On the contrary, sir, I feel that you have honoured me with your
- confidence. But—ah, sir, do you fancy that I am the sort of man a
- lady would seek for a confidant in any matter concerning her heart?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought it possible that she—Miss Horneck—might have let
- you know. You are not as other men, Dr. Goldsmith; you are a poet, and so
- she might naturally feel that you would be interested in a love affair.
- Poets, all the world knows, sir, have a sort of—well, a sort of
- vested interest in the love affairs of humanity, so to speak.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir, that is the decree of Heaven, I suppose, to compensate them for
- the emptiness in their own hearts to which they must become accustomed. I
- have heard of childless women becoming the nurses to the children of their
- happier sisters, and growing as fond of them as if they were their own
- offspring. It is on the same principle, I suppose, that poets become
- sympathetically interested in the world of lovers, which is quite apart
- from the world of letters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith spoke slowly, looking his visitor in the face. He had no
- difficulty in perceiving that Colonel Gwyn failed to understand the exact
- appropriateness of what he had said. Colonel Gwyn himself admitted as
- much.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I protest, sir, I scarcely take your meaning,” he said. “But for that
- matter, I fear that I was scarcely fortunate enough to make myself quite
- plain to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes,” said Goldsmith, “I think I gathered from your words all that
- you came hither to learn. Briefly, Colonel Gwyn, you are reluctant to
- subject yourself to the humiliation of having your suit rejected by the
- lady, and so you have come hither to try and learn from me what are your
- chances of success.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How admirably you put the matter!” said Gwyn. “And I fancied you did not
- apprehend the purport of my visit. Well, sir, what chance have I?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot tell,” said Goldsmith. “Miss Horneck has never told me that she
- loved any man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I have still a chance?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir; girls do not usually confide the story of their attachments to
- their fathers—no, nor to their elder brothers. But if you wish to
- consider your chances with any lady, Colonel Gwyn, I would venture to
- advise you to go and stand in front of a looking-glass and ask yourself if
- you are the manner of man to whom a young lady would be likely to become
- attached. Add to the effect of your personality—which I think is
- great, sir—the glamour that surrounds the profession in which you
- have won distinction, and you will be able to judge for yourself whether
- your suit would be likely to be refused by the majority of young ladies.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You flatter me, Dr. Goldsmith. But, assuming for a moment that there is
- some force in your words, I protest that they do not reassure me. Miss
- Horneck, sir, is not the lady to be carried away by the considerations
- that would prevail in the eyes of others of her sex.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have learned something of Miss Horneck, at any rate, Colonel Gwyn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I have, sir. When I think of her, I feel despondent. Does the man
- exist who would be worthy of her love?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He does not, Colonel Gwyn. But that is no reason why she may not love
- some man. Does a woman only give her love to one who is worthy of it? It
- is fortunate for men that that is not the way with women.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is fortunate; and in that reflection, sir, I find my greatest
- consolation at the present moment. I am not a bad man, Dr. Goldsmith—not
- as men go—there is in my lifetime nothing that I have cause to be
- ashamed of; but, I repeat, when I think of her sweetness, her purity, her
- tenderness, I am overcome with a sense of my own presumption in aspiring
- to win her. You think me presumptuous in this matter, I am convinced,
- sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do—I do. I know Mary Horneck.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I give you my word that I am better satisfied with your agreement with me
- in this respect than I should be if you were to flatter me. Allow me to
- thank you for your great courtesy to me, sir. You have not sent me away
- without hope, and I trust that I may assume, Dr. Goldsmith, that I have
- your good wishes in this matter, which I hold to be vital to my
- happiness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Colonel Gwyn, my wishes—my prayers to Heaven are that Mary Horneck
- may be happy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I ask for nothing more, sir. There is my hand on it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oliver Goldsmith took the hand that he but dimly saw stretched out to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXI.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>ever for a moment
- had Goldsmith felt jealous of the younger men who were understood to be
- admirers of the Jessamy Bride. He had made humourous verses on some of
- them, Henry Bunbury had supplied comic illustrations, and Mary and her
- sister had had their laugh. He could not even now feel jealous of Colonel
- Gwyn, though he knew that he was a more eligible suitor than the majority
- whom he had met from time to time at the Hornecks' house. He knew that
- since Colonel Gwyn had appeared the girl had no thoughts to give to love
- and suitors. If Gwyn were to go to her immediately and offer himself as a
- suitor he would meet with a disappointment.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes; at the moment he had no reason to feel jealous of the man who had
- just left him. On the contrary, he felt that he had a right to be exultant
- at the thought that it was he—he—Oliver Goldsmith—who
- had been entrusted by Mary Horneck with her secret—with the duty of
- saving her from the scoundrel who was persecuting her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Colonel Gwyn was a soldier, and yet it was to him that this knight's
- enterprise had fallen.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt that he had every reason to be proud. He had been placed in a
- position which was certainly quite new to him. He was to compass the
- rescue of the maiden in distress; and had he not heard of innumerable
- instances in which the reward of success in such, an undertaking was the
- hand of the maiden?
- </p>
- <p>
- For half an hour he felt exultant. He had boldly faced an adverse fate all
- his life; he had grappled with a cruel destiny; and, though the struggle
- had lasted all his life, he had come out the conqueror. He had become the
- most distinguished man of letters in England. As Professor at the Royal
- Academy his superiority had been acknowledged by the most eminent men of
- the period. And then, although he was plain of face and awkward in manner—nearly
- as awkward, if far from being so offensive, as Johnson—he had been
- appointed her own knight by the loveliest girl in England. He felt that he
- had reason to exult.
- </p>
- <p>
- But then the reaction came. He thought of himself as compared with Colonel
- Gwyn—he thought of himself as a suitor by the side of Colonel Gwyn.
- What would the world say of a girl who would choose him in preference to
- Colonel Gwyn? He had told Gwyn to survey himself in a mirror in order to
- learn what chance he would have of being accepted as the lover of a lovely
- girl. Was he willing to apply the same test to himself?
- </p>
- <p>
- He had not the courage to glance toward even the small glass which he had—a
- glass which could reflect only a small portion of his plainness.
- </p>
- <p>
- He remained seated in his chair for a long time, being saved from complete
- despair only by the reflection that it was he who was entrusted with the
- task of freeing Mary Horneck from the enemy who had planned her
- destruction. This was his one agreeable reflection, and after a time it,
- too, became tempered by the thought that all his task was still before
- him: he had taken no step toward saving her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He started up, called for a lamp, and proceeded to dress himself for the
- evening. He would dine at a coffee house in the neighbourhood of Covent
- Garden Theatre, and visit Mrs. Abington in the green room while his play—in
- which she did not appear—was being acted on the stage.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was unfortunate enough to meet Boswell in the coffee house, so that his
- design of thinking out, while at dinner, the course which he should pursue
- in regard to the actress—how far he would be safe in confiding in
- her—was frustrated.
- </p>
- <p>
- The little Scotchman was in great grief: Johnson had actually quarrelled
- with him—well, not exactly quarrelled, for it required two to make a
- quarel, and Boswell had steadily refused to contribute to such a disaster.
- Johnson, however, was so overwhelming a personality in Boswell's eyes he
- could almost make a quarrel without the assistance of a second person.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha! Sir,” said Goldsmith, “you know as little of Dr. Johnson as you do
- of the Irish nation and their characteristics.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps that is so, but I felt that I was getting to know him,” said
- Boswell. “But now all is over; he will never see me again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, man, cannot you perceive that he is only assuming this attitude in
- order to give you a chance of knowing him better?” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For the life of me I cannot see how that could be,” cried Boswell after a
- contemplative pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, sir, you must perceive that he wishes to impress you with a
- consciousness of his generosity.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, by quarrelling with me and declaring that he would never see me
- again?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, not in that way, though I believe there are some people who would
- feel that it was an act of generosity on Dr. Johnson's part to remain
- secluded for a space in order to give the rest of the world a chance of
- talking together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What does it matter about the rest of the world, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not much, I suppose I should say, since he means me to be his
- biographer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Boswell, of course, utterly failed to appreciate the sly tone in which the
- Irishman spoke, and took him up quite seriously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it possible that he has been in communication with you, Dr.
- Goldsmith?” he cried anxiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will not divulge Dr. Johnson's secrets, sir,” replied Goldsmith, with
- an affectation of the manner of the man who a short time before had said
- that Shakespeare was pompous.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now you are imitating him,” said Boswell. “But I perceive that he has
- told you of our quarrel—our misunderstanding. It arose through you,
- sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Through me, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Through the visit of your relative, the Dean, after we had dined at the
- Crown and Anchor. You see, he bound me down to promise him to tell no one
- of that unhappy occurrence, sir; and yet he heard that Garrick has lately
- been mimicking the Dean—yes, down to his very words, at the
- Reynolds's, and so he came to the conclusion that Garrick was made
- acquainted with the whole story by me. He sent for me yesterday, and
- upbraided me for half an hour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To whom did you give an account of the affair, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To no human being, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, come now, you must have given it to some one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To no one, sir—that is, no one from whom Garrick could possibly
- have had the story.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, I knew, and so did Johnson, that it would be out of the question to
- expect that you would hold your tongue on so interesting a secret. Well,
- perhaps this will be a lesson to you in the future. I must not fail to
- make an entire chapter of this in my biography of our great friend.
- Perhaps you would do me the favour to write down a clear and as nearly
- accurate an account as your pride will allow of your quarrel with the
- Doctor, sir. Such an account would be an amazing assistance to posterity
- in forming an estimate of the character of Johnson.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, sir, am I not sufficiently humiliated by the reflection that my
- friendly relations with the man whom I revere more than any living human
- being are irretrievably ruptured? You will not add to the poignancy of
- that reflection by asking me to write down an account of our quarrel in
- order to perpetuate so deplorable an incident?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir, I perceive that you are as yet ignorant of the duties of the true
- biographer. You seem to think that a biographer has a right to pick and
- choose the incidents with which he has to deal—that he may, if he
- please, omit the mention of any occurrence that may tend to show his hero
- or his hero's friends in an unfavourable light. Sir, I tell you frankly
- that your notions of biography are as erroneous as they are mischievous.
- Mr. Boswell, I am a more conscientious man, and so, sir, I insist on your
- writing down while they are still fresh in your mind the very words that
- passed between you and Dr. Johnson on this matter, and you will also
- furnish me with a list of the persons—if you have not sufficient
- paper at your lodgings for the purpose, you can order a ream at the
- stationer's at the corner—to whom you gave an account of the
- humiliation of Dr. Johnson by the clergyman who claimed relationship with
- me, but who was an impostor. Come, Mr. Boswell, be a man, sir; do not seek
- to avoid so obvious a duty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Boswell looked at him, but, as usual, failed to detect the least gleam of
- a smile on his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- He rose from the table and walked out of the coffee house without a word.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank heaven I have got rid of that Peeping Tom,” muttered Goldsmith. “If
- I had acted otherwise in regard to him I should not have been out of
- hearing of his rasping tongue until midnight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- (The very next morning a letter from Boswell was brought to him. It told
- him that he had sought Johnson the previous evening, and had obtained his
- forgiveness. “You were right, sir,” the letter concluded. “Dr. Johnson has
- still further impressed me with a sense of his generosity.”)
- </p>
- <p>
- But as soon as Boswell had been got rid of Goldsmith hastened to the
- playhouse in order to consult with the lady who—through long
- practice—was, he believed, the most ably qualified of her sex to
- give him advice as to the best way of getting the better of a scoundrel.
- It was only when he was entering the green room that he recollected he had
- not yet made up his mind as to the exact limitations he should put upon
- his confidence with Mrs. Abington.
- </p>
- <p>
- The beautiful actress was standing in one of those picturesque attitudes
- which she loved to assume, at one end of the long room. The second act
- only of “She Stoops to Conquer” had been reached, and as she did not
- appear in the comedy, she had no need to begin dressing for the next
- piece. She wore a favourite dress of hers—one which had taken the
- town by storm a few months before, and which had been imitated by every
- lady of quality who had more respect for fashion than for herself. It was
- a negligently flowing gown of some soft but heavy fabric, very low and
- loose about the neck and shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ha, my little hero,” cried the lady when Goldsmith approached and made
- his bow, first to a group of players who stood near the door, and then to
- Mrs. Abington. “Ha, my little hero, whom have you been drubbing last? Oh,
- lud! to think of your beating a critic! Your courage sets us all a-dying
- of envy. How we should love to pommel some of our critics! There was a
- rumour last night that the man had died, Dr. Goldsmith.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The fellow would not pay such a tribute to my powers, depend on't,
- madam,” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not if he could avoid it, I am certain,” said she. “Faith, sir, you gave
- him a pretty fair drubbing, anyhow.' Twas the talk of the playhouse, I
- give you my word. Some vastly pretty things were said about you, Dr.
- Goldsmith. It would turn your head if I were to repeat them all. For
- instance, a gentleman in this very room last night said that it was the
- first case that had come under his notice of a doctor's making an attempt
- upon a man's life, except through the legitimate professional channel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If all the pretty things that were spoken were no prettier than that,
- Mrs. Abington, you will not turn my head,” said Goldsmith. “Though, for
- that matter, I vow that to effect such a purpose you only need to stand
- before me in that dress—ay, or any other.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, sir, I protest that I cannot stand before such a fusillade of
- compliment—I sink under it, sir—thus,” and she made an
- exquisite courtesy. “Talk of turning heads! do you fancy that actresses'
- heads are as immovable as their hearts, Dr. Goldsmith?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I trust that their hearts are less so, madam, for just now I am extremely
- anxious that the heart of the most beautiful and most accomplished should
- be moved,” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have only to give me your word that you have written as good a comedy
- as 'She Stoops to Conquer,' with a better part for me in it than that of
- Miss Hardcastle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have the design of one in my head, madam.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, faith, sir, 'tis lucky that I did not say anything to turn your
- head. Dr. Goldsmith, my heart is moved already. See how easy it is for a
- great author to effect his object where a poor actress is concerned. And
- you have begun the comedy, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot begin it until I get rid of a certain tragedy that is in the
- air. I want your assistance in that direction.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What! Do you mistake the farce of drubbing a critic for a tragedy, Dr.
- Goldsmith?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha, madam! What do you take me for? Even if I were as poor a critic as
- Kenrick I could still discriminate between one and t' other. Can you give
- me half an hour of your time, Mrs. Abington?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “With all pleasure, sir. We shall sit down. You wear a tragedy face, Dr.
- Goldsmith.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I need to do so, madam, as I think you will allow when you hear all I
- have to tell you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, lud! You frighten me. Pray begin, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How shall I begin? Have you ever had to encounter the devil, madam?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frequently, sir. Alas! I fear that I have not always prevailed against
- him as successfully as you did in your encounter with one of his family—a
- critic. Your story promises to be more interesting than your face
- suggested.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have to encounter a devil, Mrs. Abington, and I come to you for help.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you must tell me if your devil is male or female. If the former I
- think I can promise you my help; if the latter, do not count on me. When
- the foul fiend assumes the form of an angel of light—which I take to
- be the way St. Paul meant to convey the idea of a woman—he is too
- powerful for me, I frankly confess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mine is a male fiend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not the manager of a theatre—another form of the same hue?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, dear madam, there are degrees of blackness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, yes; positive bad, comparative Baddeley, superlative Colman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I could compose a phrase like that, Mrs. Abington, I should be the
- greatest wit in London, and ruin my life going from coffee house to coffee
- house repeating it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pray do not tell Mrs. Baddeley that I made it, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How could I, madam, when you have just told me that a she-devil was more
- than you could cope with?”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXII.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>nd now, sir, to
- face the particulars—to proceed from the fancy embroidery of wit to
- the solid fabric of fact—who or what is the aggressive demon that
- you want exorcised?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His name is Jackson—he calls himself Captain Jackson,” replied
- Oliver. He had not made up his mind how much he should tell of Mary
- Horneck's story. He blamed Boswell for interrupting his consideration of
- this point after he had dined; though it is doubtful if he would have made
- any substantial advance in that direction even if the unhappy Scotchman
- had not thrust himself and his grievance upon him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jackson—Captain Jackson!” cried the actress. “Why, Dr. Goldsmith,
- this is a very little fiend that you ask me to help you to destroy.
- Surely, sir, he can be crushed without my assistance. One does not ask for
- a battering-ram to overturn a house of cards—one does not
- requisition a park of artillery to demolish a sparrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, but if a blunderbuss be not handy, one should avail oneself of the
- power of a piece of ordnance,” said Goldsmith. “The truth is, madam, that
- in this matter I represent only the blunder of the blunderbuss.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you drift into wit, sir, we shall never get on. I know 'tis hard for
- you to avoid it; but time is flying. What has this Captain Jackson been
- doing that he must be sacrificed? You must be straight with me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm afraid it has actually come to that. Well, Mrs. Abington, in brief,
- there is a lady in the question.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! you need scarce dwell on so inevitable an incident as that; I was
- waiting for the lady.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is the most charming of her sex, madam.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never knew one that wasn't. Don't waste time over anything that may be
- taken for granted.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Unhappily she was all unacquainted with the wickedness of men.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder in what part of the world she lived—certainly not in
- London.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Staying with a relation in the country this fellow Jackson appeared upon
- the scene——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! the most ancient story that the world knows: Innocence, the garden,
- the serpent. Alas! sir, there is no return to the Garden of Innocence,
- even though the serpent be slaughtered.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pardon me, Mrs. Abington”—Goldsmith spoke slowly and gravely—“pardon
- me. This real story is not so commonplace as that of my Olivia. Destiny
- has more resources than the most imaginative composer of fiction.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In as direct a fashion as possible he told the actress the pitiful story
- of how Mary Horneck was imposed upon by the glamour of the man who let it
- be understood that he was a hero, only incapacitated by a wound from
- taking any further part in the campaign against the rebels in America; and
- how he refused to return her the letters which she had written to him, but
- had threatened to print them in such a way as would give them the
- appearance of having been written by a guilty woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The lady is prostrated with grief,” he said, concluding his story. “The
- very contemplation of the possibility of her letters being printed is
- killing her, and I am convinced that she would not survive the shame of
- knowing that the scoundrel had carried out his infamous threat.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Tis a sad story indeed,” said Mrs. Abington. “The man is as bad as bad
- can be. He claimed acquaintance with me on that famous night at the
- Pantheon, though I must confess that I had only a vague recollection of
- meeting him before his regiment was ordered across the Atlantic to quell
- the rebellion in the plantations. Only two days ago I heard that he had
- been drummed out of the army, and that he had sunk to the lowest point
- possible for a man to fall to in this world. But surely you know that all
- the fellow wants is to levy what was termed on the border of Scotland
- 'blackmail' upon the unhappy girl. 'Tis merely a question of guineas, Dr.
- Goldsmith. You perceive that? You are a man?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was indeed my first belief; but, on consideration, I have come to
- think that he is fiend enough to aim only at the ruin of the girl,” said
- Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha! sir, I believe not in this high standard of crime. I believe not in
- the self-sacrifice of such fellows for the sake of their principles,”
- cried the lady. “Go to the fellow with your guineas and shake them in a
- bag under his nose, and you shall quickly see how soon he will forego the
- dramatic elements in his attitude, and make an ignoble grab at the coins.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may be right,” said he. “But whence are the guineas to come, pray?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Surely the lady's friends will not see her lost for the sake of a couple
- of hundred pounds.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay; but her aim is to keep the matter from the ears of her friends! She
- would be overcome with shame were it to reach their ears that she had
- written letters of affection to such a man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She must be a singularly unpractical young lady, Dr. Goldsmith.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If she had not been more than innocent would she, think you, have allowed
- herself to be imposed on by a stranger?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alas, sir, if there were no ladies like her in the world, you gentlemen
- who delight us with your works of fiction would have to rely solely on
- your imagination; and that means going to another world. But to return to
- the matter before us; you wish to obtain possession of the letters? How do
- you suggest that I can help you to accomplish that purpose?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, madam, it is you to whom I come for suggestions. I saw the man in
- conversation with you first at the Pantheon, and then in this very room.
- It occurred to me that perhaps—it might be possible—in short,
- Mrs. Abington, that you might know of some way by which the scoundrel
- could be entrapped.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You compliment me, sir. You think that the entrapping of unwary men—and
- of wary—is what nature and art have fitted me for—nature and
- practice?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot conceive a higher compliment being paid to a woman, dear madam.
- But, in truth, I came to you because you are the only lady with whom I am
- acquainted who with a kind heart combines the highest intelligence. That
- is why you are our greatest actress. The highest intelligence is valueless
- on the stage unless it is associated with a heart that beats in sympathy
- with the sorrow and becomes exultant with the joy of others. That is why I
- regard myself as more than fortunate in having your promise to accept a
- part in my next comedy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Abington smiled as she saw through the very transparent art of the
- author, reminding her that she would have her reward if she helped him out
- of his difficulty.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can understand how ladies look on you with great favour, sir,” said the
- actress. “Yes, in spite of your being—being—ah—innocent—a
- poet, and of possessing other disqualifications, you are a delightful man,
- Dr. Goldsmith; and by heaven, sir, I shall do what I can to—to—well,
- shall we say to put you in a position of earning the lady's gratitude?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is the position I long for, dear madam.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, but only to have the privilege of foregoing your claim. I know you,
- Dr. Goldsmith. Well, supposing you come to see me here in a day or two—that
- will give both of us a chance of still further considering the possibility
- of successfully entrapping our friend the Captain. I believe it was the
- lady who suggested the trap to you; you, being a man, were doubtless for
- running your enemy through the vitals or for cutting his throat without
- the delay of a moment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your judgment is unerring, Mrs. Abington.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, you see, it is the birds that have been in the trap who know most
- about it. Besides, does not our dear dead friend Will Shakespeare say,
- 'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps'?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Those are his words, madam, though at this moment I cannot quite perceive
- their bearing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, lud! Why, dear sir, Cupid's mother's daughters resemble their little
- step-brother in being fond of a change of weapons, and you, sir, I
- perceive, have been the victim of a dart. Now, I must hasten to dress for
- my part or there will be what Mr. Daly of Smock Alley, Dublin, used to
- term 'ructions.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave him her hand with a delightful smile and hurried off, but not
- before he had bowed over her hand, imprinting on it a clumsy but very
- effective kiss.
- </p>
- <p>
- He remained in the theatre until the close of the performance; for he was
- not so utterly devoid of guile as not to know that if he had departed
- without witnessing Mrs. Abington in the second piece she would have
- regarded him as far from civil. Seeing him in a side box, however, that
- clever lady perceived that he had taste as well as tact. She felt that it
- was a pleasure to do anything for such a man—especially as he was a
- writer of plays. It would be an additional pleasure to her if she could so
- interpret a character in a play of his that the play should be the most
- notable success of the season.
- </p>
- <p>
- As Goldsmith strolled back to his chambers he felt that he had made some
- progress in the enterprise with which he had been entrusted. He did not
- feel elated, but only tranquilly confident that his judgment had not been
- at fault when it suer-gested to him the propriety of consulting with Mrs.
- Abington. This was the first time that propriety and Mrs. Abington were
- associated.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day he got a message that the success of his play was
- consolidated by a “command” performance at which the whole of his
- Majesty's Court would attend. This news elated him, not only because it
- meant the complete success of the play and the overthrow of the
- sentimentalists who were still harping upon the “low” elements of certain
- scenes, but also because he accepted it as an incident of good augury. He
- felt certain that Mrs. Abington would have discovered a plan by which he
- should be able to get possession of the letters.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he went to her after the lapse of a few days, he found that she had
- not been unmindful of his interests.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The fellow had the effrontery to stand beside my chair in the Mall
- yesterday,” said she, “but I tolerated him—nay, I encouraged him—not
- for your sake, mind; I do not want you to fancy that you interest me, but
- for the sake of the unhappy girl who was so nearly making a shocking fool
- of herself. Only one girl interests me more than she who nearly makes a
- fool of herself, and that is she who actually makes the fool of herself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alas! alas! the latter is more widely represented in this evil world,
- Mrs. Abing ton,” said Oliver, so gravely that the actress roared with
- laughter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have too fine a comedy face to be sentimental, Dr. Goldsmith,” she
- said. “But to business. I tell you I even smiled upon the gentleman, for I
- have found that the traps which are netted with silk are invariably the
- most effective.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have found that by your experience of traps?” said Goldsmith. “The
- smile is the silken net?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Even so,” said she, giving an excellent example of the fatal mesh. “Ah,
- Dr. Goldsmith, you would do well to avoid the woman who smiles on you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alas! madam, the caution is thrown away upon me; she smiles not on me,
- but at me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank heaven for that, sir. No harm will come to you through being smiled
- at. How I stray from my text! Well, sir, the wretch, in response to the
- encouragement of my smile, had the effrontery to ask me for my private
- address, upon which I smiled again. Ah, sir, 'tis diverting when the fly
- begins to lure on the spider.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Tis vastly diverting, madam, I doubt not—to the fly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, and to the friends of the spider. But we shall let that pass. Sir, to
- be brief, I did not let the gentleman know that I had a private address,
- but I invited him to partake of supper with me on the next Thursday
- night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heavens! madam, you do not mean to tell me that your interest on my
- behalf——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is sufficiently great to lead me to sup with a spider? Sir, I say that I
- am only interested in my sister-fly—would she be angry if she were
- to hear that such a woman as I even thought of her as a sister?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a note of pathos in the question, which did not fall unnoticed
- upon Goldsmith's ear.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madam,” said he, “she is a Christian woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, Dr. Goldsmith,” said the actress, “a very small amount of Christian
- charity is thought sufficient for the equipment of a Christian woman. Let
- that pass, however; what I want of you is to join us at supper on Thursday
- night. It is to take place in the Shakespeare tavern round the corner,
- and, of course, in a private room; but I do not want you to appear boldly,
- as if I had invited you beforehand to partake of my hospitality. You must
- come into the room when we have begun, carrying with you a roll of
- manuscript, which you must tell me contains a scene of your new comedy,
- upon which we are daily in consultation, mind you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall not fail to recollect,” said Goldsmith. “Why, 'tis like the
- argument of a comedy, Mrs. Abingdon; I protest I never invented one more
- elaborate. I rather fear to enter upon it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, you must be in no trepidation, sir,” said the lady. “I think I know
- the powers of the various members of the cast of this little drama of
- mine, so you need not think that you will be put into a part which you
- will not be able to play to perfection.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are giving me a lesson in playwriting. Pray continue the argument.
- When I enter with the imaginary scene of my new piece, you will, I trust,
- ask me to remain to supper; you see I grudge the gentleman the pleasure of
- your society for even an hour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will ask you to join us at the table, and then—well, then I have
- a notion that between us we should have no great difficulty making our
- friend drink a sufficient quantity of wine to cause him to make known all
- his secrets to us, even as to where he keeps those precious letters of
- his.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oliver's face did not exhibit any expression that the actress could
- possibly interpret as a flattering tribute to her ingenuity—the fact
- being that he was greatly disappointed at the result of her contriving.
- Her design was on a level of ingenuity with that which might occur to a
- romantic school miss. Of course the idea upon which it was founded had
- formed the basis of more than one comedy—he had a notion that if
- these comedies had not been written Mrs. Abing ton's scheme would not have
- been so clearly defined.
- </p>
- <p>
- She perceived the expression on his face and rightly interpreted it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, sir!” she cried. “Do you fail to perceive the singular ingenuity of
- my scheme? Nay, you must remember that 'tis my first attempt—not at
- scheming, to be sure, but at inventing a design for a play.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would not shrink from making use of your design if I were writing a
- play, dear lady,” said he. “But then, you see, it would be in my power to
- make my villain speak at the right moments and hold his peace at the right
- moments. It would also be in my power to make him confess all that was
- necessary for the situation. But alas! madam, it makes me sometimes quite
- hopeless of Nature to find how frequently she disregards the most ordinary
- precepts of art.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha! sir,” said the actress. “Nothing in this world is certain. I am a
- poor moralist, but I recognise the fact, and make it the guide of my life.
- At the same time I have noticed that, although one's carefully arranged
- plans are daily thrown into terrible disorder by the slovenliness of the
- actors to whom we assign certain parts and certain dialogue, yet in the
- end nature makes even a more satisfactory drama out of the ruins of our
- schemes than we originally designed. So, in this case, sir, I am not
- without hope that even though our gentleman's lips remain sealed—nay,
- even though our gentleman remain sober—a great calamity—we may
- still be able to accomplish our purpose. You will keep your ears open and
- I shall keep my eyes open, and it will be strange if between us we cannot
- get the better of so commonplace a scoundrel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I place myself unreservedly in your hands, madam,” said Oliver; “and I
- can only repeat what you have said so well—namely, that even the
- most clumsy of our schemes—which this one of yours certainly is not—may
- become the basis of a most ingenious drama, designed and carried out by
- that singularly adroit playwright, Destiny. And so I shall not fail you on
- Thursday evening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIII.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith for the
- next few days felt very ill at ease. He had a consciousness of having
- wasted a good deal of valuable time waiting upon Mrs. Abington and
- discussing with her the possibility of accomplishing the purpose which he
- had at heart; for he could not but perceive how shallow was the scheme
- which she had devised for the undoing of Mary Horneck's enemy. He felt
- that it would, after all, have been better for him to place himself in the
- hands of the fencing-master whom Baretti had promised to find out for him,
- and to do his best to run the scoundrel through the body, than to waste
- his time listening to the crude scheme concocted by Mrs. Abington, in
- close imitation of some third-class playwright.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt, however, that he had committed himself to the actress and her
- scheme. It would be impossible for him to draw back after agreeing to join
- her at supper on the Thursday night. But this fact did not prevent his
- exercising his imagination with a view to find out some new plan for
- obtaining possession of the letters. Thursday came, however, without
- seeing him any further advanced in this direction than he had been when he
- had first gone to the actress, and he began to feel that hopelessness
- which takes the form of hoping for the intervention of some accident to
- effect what ingenuity has failed to accomplish-Mrs. Abington had suggested
- the possibility of such an accident taking place—in fact, she seemed
- to rely rather upon the possibility of such an occurrence than upon the
- ingenuity of her own scheme; and Oliver could not but think that she was
- right in this respect. He had a considerable experience of life and its
- vicissitudes, and he knew that when destiny was in a jesting mood the most
- judicious and cunningly devised scheme may be overturned by an accident
- apparently no less trivial than the raising of a hand, the fluttering of a
- piece of lace, or the cry of a baby.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had known of a horse's casting a shoe preventing a runaway match and a
- vast amount of consequent misery, and he had heard of a shower of rain
- causing a confirmed woman hater to take shelter in a doorway, where he met
- a young woman who changed—for a time—all his ideas of the sex.
- As he recalled these and other freaks of fate, he could not but feel that
- Mrs. Abington was fully justified in her confidence in accident as a
- factor in all human problems. But he was quite aware that hoping for an
- accident is only another form of despair.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the course of the day appointed by Mrs. Abington for her supper he met
- Baretti, and reminded him of the promise he had made to find an Italian
- fencing master and send him to Brick Court.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What!” cried Baretti. “Have you another affair on your hands in addition
- to that in which you have already been engaged? Psha! sir. You do not need
- to be a swordsman in order to flog a bookseller.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not look forward to fighting booksellers,” said Goldsmith. “They
- have stepped between me and starvation more than once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would any one of them have taken that step unless he was pretty certain
- to make money by his philanthropy?” asked Baretti in his usual cynical
- way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot say,” replied Goldsmith. “I don't think that I can lay claim to
- the mortifying reflection that I have enriched any bookseller. At any
- rate, I do not mean ever to beat another.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Tis, then, a critic whom you mean to attack? If you have made up your
- mind to kill a critic, I shall make it a point to find you the best
- swordsman in Europe,” said Baretti.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do so, my friend,” said Goldsmith; “and when I succeed in killing a
- critic, you shall have the first and second fingers of his right hand as a
- memento.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall look for them—yes, in five years, for it will certainly
- take that time to make you expert with a sword,” said the Italian. “And,
- meantime, you may yourself be cut to pieces by even so indifferent a
- fighter as Kenrick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In such a case I promise to bequeath to you whatever bones of mine you
- may take a fancy to have.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I shall regard them with great veneration, being the relics of a
- martyr—a man who did not fear to fight with dragons and other
- unclean beasts. You may look for a visit from a skilful countryman of mine
- within a week; only let me pray of you to be guided by his advice. If he
- should say that it is wiser for you to beware the entrance to a quarrel,
- as your poet has it, you will do well to accept his advice. I do not want
- a poet's bones for my reliquary, though from all that I can hear one of
- our friends would have no objection to a limb or two.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And who may that friend be?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You should be able to guess, sir. What! have you not been negotiating
- with the booksellers for a life of Dr. Johnson?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not I, sir. But, if I have been doing so, what then?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What then? Why, then you may count upon the eternal enmity of the little
- Scotchman whom you once described not as a cur but only a bur. Sir,
- Boswell robbed of his Johnson would be worse than—than——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A lioness robbed of her whelps?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, better say a she-bear robbed of her cubs, only that Johnson is the
- bear and Boswell the cub. Boswell has been going about saying that you had
- boasted to him of your intention to become Johnson's biographer; and the
- best of the matter is that Johnson has entered with great spirit into the
- jest and has kept his poor Bossy on thistles—reminiscent of his
- native land—ever since.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith laughed, and told Baretti how he had occasion to get rid of
- Boswell, and had done so by pretending that he meant to write a life of
- Johnson. Baretti laughed and went on to describe how, on the previous
- evening, Garrick had drawn on Boswell until the latter had imitated all
- the animals in the farmyard, while narrating, for the thousandth time, his
- first appearance in the pit of Drury Lane. Boswell had felt quite
- flattered, Baretti said, when Garrick, making a judicial speech, which
- every one present except Boswell perceived to be a fine piece of comedy,
- said he felt constrained to reverse the judgment of the man in the pit who
- had shouted: “Stick to the coo, mon!” On the whole, Garrick said, he
- thought that, while Boswell's imitation of the cow was most admirable in
- many respects, yet for naturalness it was his opinion—whatever it
- might be worth—that the voice of the ass was that which Boswell was
- most successful in attempting.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith knew that even Garrick's broadest buffoonery was on occasions
- accepted by Boswell with all seriousness, and he had no hesitation in
- believing Baretti's account of the party on the previous evening.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went to Mrs. Abington's room at the theatre early in the night to
- inquire if she had made any change in her plans respecting the supper, and
- he found that the lady had come to think as poorly of the scheme which she
- had invented as he did. She had even abandoned her idea of inducing the
- man to confess, when in a state of intoxication, where he was in the habit
- of keeping the letters.
- </p>
- <p>
- “These fellows are sometimes desperately suspicious when in their cups,”
- said she; “and I fear that at the first hint of our purpose he may become
- dumb, no matter how boldly he may have been talking previously. If he
- suspects that you have a desire to obtain the letters, you may say
- farewell to the chance of worming anything out of him regarding them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What then is to be gained by our supping with him?” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, you are brought into contact with him,” she replied. “You will then
- be in a position, if you cultivate a friendship with him, to take him
- unawares upon some occasion, and so effect your purpose. Great? heavens,
- sir! one cannot expect to take a man by storm, so to speak—one
- cannot hope to meet a clever scoundrel for half an hour-in the evening,
- and then walk away with all his secrets. You may have to be with this
- fellow every day for a month or two before you get a chance of putting the
- letters into your pocket.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll hope for better luck than that,” said Oliver.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, with good luck one can accomplish anything,” said she. “But good luck
- is just one of the things that cannot be arranged for even by the
- cleverest people.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is where men are at a disadvantage in striving with destiny,” said
- Goldsmith. “But I think that any man who succeeds in having Mrs. Abington
- as his ally must be regarded as the most fortunate of his sex.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, sir, wait for another month before you compliment me,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madam,” said he, “I am not complimenting you, but myself. I will take
- your advice and reserve my compliments to you for—well, no, not a
- month; if I can put them off for a week I shall feel that I have done very
- well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he made his bow and left her, he could not help feeling more strongly
- that he had greatly overrated the advantages to be derived from an
- alliance with Mrs. Abington when his object was to get the better of an
- adroit scoundrel. He had heard—nay, he had written—of the
- wiles of women, and yet the first time that he had an opportunity of
- testing a woman's wiles he found that he had been far too generous in his
- estimate of their value.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was with no little trepidation that he went to the Shakespeare tavern
- at supper time and inquired for Mrs. Abington. He had a roll of manuscript
- in his hand, according to agreement, and he desired the waiter to inform
- the lady that he would not keep her for long. He was very fluent up to
- this point; but he was uncertain how he would behave when he found himself
- face to face with the man who had made the life of Mary Horneck miserable.
- He wondered if he would be able to restrain his impulse to fly at the
- scoundrel's throat.
- </p>
- <p>
- When, however, the waiter returned with a message from Mrs. Abington that
- she would see Dr. Goldsmith in the supper room, and he ascended the stairs
- to that apartment, he felt quite at his ease. He had nerved himself to
- play a part, and he was convinced that the rôle was not beyond his powers.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Abington, at the moment of his entrance, was lying back in her chair
- laughing, apparently at a story which was being told to her by her <i>vis-Ã -vis</i>,
- for he was leaning across the table, with his elbow resting upon it and
- one expressive finger upraised to give emphasis to the points of his
- narrative.
- </p>
- <p>
- When Goldsmith appeared, the actress nodded to him familiarly, pleasantly,
- but did not allow her attention to be diverted from the story which
- Captain Jackson was telling to her. Goldsmith paused with his fingers
- still on the handle of the door. He knew that the most inopportune
- entrance that a man can make upon another is when the other is in the act
- of telling a story to an appreciative audience—say, a beautiful
- actress in a gown that allows her neck and shoulders to be seen to the
- greatest advantage and does not interfere with the ebb and flow of that
- roseate tide, with its gracious ripples and delicate wimplings, rising and
- falling between the porcelain of her throat and the curve of the ivory of
- her shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man did not think it worth his while to turn around in recognition of
- Goldsmith's entrance; he finished his story and received Mrs. Abington's
- tribute of a laugh as a matter of course. Then he turned his head round as
- the visitor ventured to take a step or two toward the table, bowing
- profusely—rather too profusely for the part he was playing, the
- artistic perception of the actress told her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ha, my little author!” cried the man at the table with the swagger of a
- patron.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are true to the tradition of the craft of scribblers—the best
- time for putting in an appearance is when supper has just been served.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, sir,” said Goldsmith, “we poor devils are forced to wait upon the
- convenience of our betters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Strike me dumb, sir, if 'tis not a pity you do not await their
- convenience in an ante-room—ay, or the kitchen. I have heard that
- the scribe and the cook usually become the best of friends. You poets
- write best of broken hearts when you are sustained by broken victuals.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For shame, Captain!” cried Mrs Abington. “Dr. Goldsmith is a man as well
- as a poet. He has broken heads before now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIV.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>aptain Jackson
- laughed heartily at so quaint an idea, throwing himself back in his chair
- and pointing a contemptuous thumb at Oliver, who had advanced to the side
- of the actress, assuming the deprecatory smile of the bookseller's hack.
- He played the part very indifferently, the lady perceived.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Faith, my dear,” laughed the Captain, “I would fain believe that he is a
- terrible person for a poet, for, by the Lord, he nearly had his head broke
- by me on the first night that you went to the Pantheon; and I swear that I
- never crack a skull unless it be that of a person who is accustomed to
- spread terror around.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Some poets' skulls, sir, are not so easily cracked,” said Mrs. Abington.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, my dear madam,” cried her <i>vis-Ã -vis</i>, “you must pardon me for
- saying that I do not think you express your meaning with any great
- exactness. I take it that you mean, madam, that on the well known kitchen
- principle that cracked objects last longer than others, a poet's pate,
- being cracked originally, survives the assaults that would overcome a
- sound head.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I meant nothing like that, Captain,” said Mrs. Abington. Then she turned
- to Goldsmith, who stood by, fingering his roll of manuscript. “Come, Dr.
- Goldsmith,” she cried, “seat yourself by me, and partake of supper. I vow
- that I will not even glance at that act of your new play which I perceive
- you have brought to me, until we have supped.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, madam,” stuttered Goldsmith; “I have already had my humble meal;
- still——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He glanced from the dishes on the table to Captain Jackson, who gave a
- hoarse laugh, crying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ha, I wondered if the traditions of the trade were about to be violated
- by our most admirable Doctor. I thought it likely that he would allow
- himself to be persuaded. But I swear that he has no regard for the romance
- which he preaches, or else he would not form the third at a party. Has he
- never heard that the third in a party is the inevitable kill-joy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You wrong my friend Dr. Goldsmith, Captain,” said the actress in smiling
- remonstrance that seemed to beg of him to take an indulgent view of the
- poet's weakness. “You wrong him, sir. Dr. Goldsmith is a man of parts. He
- is a wit as well as a poet, and he will not stay very long; will you, Dr.
- Goldsmith?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She acted the part so well that but for the side glance which she cast at
- him, Goldsmith might have believed her to be in earnest. For his own part
- he was acting to perfection the rôle of the hack author who was patronised
- till he found himself in the gutter. He could only smile in a sickly way
- as he laid down his hat beside a chair over which Jackson's cloak was
- flung, and placed in it the roll of manuscript, preparatory to seating
- himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madam, I am your servant,” he murmured; “Sir, I am your most obedient to
- command. I feel the honour of being permitted to sup in such distinguished
- company.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so you should, sir,” cried Captain Jackson as the waiter bustled
- about, laying a fresh plate and glass, “so you should. Your grand patrons,
- my little friend, though they may make a pretence of saving you from
- slaughter by taking your quarrel on their shoulders, are not likely to
- feed you at their own table. Lord, how that piece of antiquity, General
- Oglethorpe, swag gered across the porch at the Pantheon when I had half a
- mind to chastise you for your clumsiness in almost knocking me over! May I
- die, sir, if I wasn't at the brink of teaching the General a lesson which
- he would have remembered to his dying hour—his dying hour—that
- is to say, for exactly four minutes after I had drawn upon him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, Dr. Goldsmith is fortunate in his friends,” said Mrs. Abington. “But
- I hope that in future, Captain, he may reckon on your sword being drawn on
- his behalf, and not turned against him and his friends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you are his friend, my dear Mrs. Abington, he may count upon me, I
- swear,” cried the Captain bowing over the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good,” she said. “And so I call upon you to drink to his health—a
- bumper, sir, a bumper!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Captain showed no reluctance to pay the suggested compliment. With an
- air of joviality he filled his large glass up to the brim and drained it
- with a good-humoured, half-patronising motion in the direction of
- Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hang him!” he cried, when he had wiped his lips, “I bear Goldsmith no
- malice for his clumsiness in the porch of the Pantheon. 'Sdeath, madam,
- shall the man who led a company of his Majesty's regulars in charge after
- charge upon the American rebels, refuse to drink to the health of a little
- man who tinkles out his rhymes as the man at the raree show does his
- bells? Strike me blind, deaf and dumb, if I am not magnanimous to my
- heart's core. I'll drink his health again if you challenge me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, Captain,” said the lady, “I'll be magnanimous, too, and refrain from
- challenging you. I sadly fear that you have been drinking too many healths
- during the day, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What mean you by that, madam?” he cried. “Do you suggest that I cannot
- carry my liquor with the best men at White's? If you were a man, and you
- gave a hint in that direction, by the Lord, it would be the last that you
- would have a chance of offering.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, nay, sir! I meant not that,” said the actress hastily. “I will prove
- to you that I meant it not by challenging you to drink to Dr. Goldsmith's
- new comedy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now you are very much my dear,” said Jackson, half-emptying the brandy
- decanter into his glass and adding only a thimbleful of water. “Yes, your
- confidence in me wipes out the previous affront. 'Sblood, madam, shall it
- be said that Dick Jackson, whose name made the American rebels—curse
- 'em!—turn as green as their own coats—shall it be said that
- Dick Jackson, of whom the rebel Colonel—Washington his name is—George
- Washington”—he had considerable difficulty over the name—“is
- accustomed to say to this day, 'Give me a hundred men—not men, but
- lions, like that devil Dick Jackson, and I'll sweep his Majesty's forces
- into the Potomac'—shall it be said that—that—what the
- devil was I about to say—shall it be said?—never mind—here's
- to the health of Colonel Washington!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir, we cannot drink to one of the King's enemies,” said Mrs.
- Abington, rising. “'Twere scandalous, indeed, to do so in this place; and,
- sir, you still wear the King's uniform.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The devil take the King's uniform!” shouted the man. “The devils of
- rebels are taking a good many coats of that uniform, and let me tell you,
- madam, that—nay, you must not leave the table until the toast is
- drank——” Mrs. Abington having risen, had walked across the
- room and seated herself on the chair over which Captain Jackson had flung
- his cloak.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hold, sir,” cried Goldsmith, dropping his knife and fork with a clatter
- upon his plate that made the other man give a little jump. “Hold, sir, I
- perceive that you are on the side of freedom, and I would feel honoured by
- your permission to drink the toast that you propose. Here's success to the
- cause that will triumph in America.” Jackson, who was standing at the
- table with his glass in his hand, stared at him with the smile of a
- half-intoxicated man. He had just enough intelligence remaining to make
- him aware that there was something ambiguous in Goldsmith's toast.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It sounds all right,” he muttered as if he were trying to convince
- himself that his suspicions of ambiguity were groundless. “It sounds all
- right, and yet, strike me dizzy! if it wouldn't work both ways! Ha, my
- little poet,” he continued. “I'm glad to see that you are a man. Drink,
- sir—drink to the success of the cause in America.” Goldsmith got
- upon his feet and raised his glass—it contained only a light wine.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Success to it!” he cried, and he watched Captain Jackson drain his third
- tumbler of brandy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hark ye, my little poet!” whispered the latter very huskily, lurching
- across the table, and failing to notice that his hostess had not returned
- to her place. “Hark ye, sir! Cornwallis thought himself a general of
- generals. He thought when he courtmartialled me and turned me out of the
- regiment, sending me back to England in a foul hulk from Boston port, that
- he had got rid of me. He'll find out that he was mistaken, sir, and that
- one of these days——Mum's the word, mind you! If you open your
- lips to any human being about this, I'll cut you to pieces. I'll flay you
- alive! Washington is no better than Cornwallis, let me tell you. What
- message did he send me when he heard that I was ready to blow Cornwallis's
- brains out and march my company across the Potomac? I ask you, sir, man to
- man—though a poet isn't quite a man—but that's my generosity.
- Said Washy—Washy—Wishy—Washy—— Washington:
- 'Cornwallis's brains have been such valuable allies to the colonists,
- Colonel Washington would regard as his enemy any man who would make the
- attempt to curtail their capacity for blundering.' That's the message I
- got from Washington, curse him! But the Colonel isn't everybody. Mark me,
- my friend—whatever your name is—I've got letters—letters——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, yes, you have letters—where?” cried Goldsmith, in the
- confidential whisper that the other had assumed.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man who was leaning across the table stared at him hazily, and then
- across his face there came the cunning look of the more than
- half-intoxicated. He straightened himself as well as he could in his
- chair, and then swayed limply backward and forward, laughing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Letters—oh, yes—plenty of letters—but where?—where?—that's
- my own matter—a secret,” he murmured in vague tones. “The government
- would give a guinea or two for my letters—one of them came from
- Mount Vernon itself, Mr.—whatever your name maybe—and if you
- went to Mr. Secretary and said to him, 'Mr. Secretary'”—he
- pronounced the word “Secrary”—“'I know that Dick Jackson is a
- rebel,' and Mr. Secretary says, 'Where are the letters to prove it?' where
- would you be, my clever friend? No, sir, my brains are not like
- Cornwallis's, drunk or sober. Hallo, where's the lady?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He seemed suddenly to recollect where he was. He straightened himself as
- well as he could, and looked sleepily across the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm here,” cried Mrs. Abington, leaving the chair, across the back of
- which Jackson's coat was thrown. “I am here, sir; but I protest I shall
- not take my place at the table again while treason is in the air.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Treason, madam? Who talks of treason?” cried the man with a lurch forward
- and a wave of the hand. “Madam, I'm shocked—quite shocked! I wear
- the King's coat, though that cloak is my own—my own, and all that it
- contains—all that——”
- </p>
- <p>
- His voice died away in a drunken fashion as he stared across the room at
- his cloak. Goldsmith saw an expression of suspicion come over his face; he
- saw him straighten himself and walk with an affectation of steadiness that
- only emphasised his intoxicated lurches, to the chair where the cloak lay.
- He saw him lift up the cloak and run his hand down the lining until he
- came to a pocket. With eager eyes he saw him extract from the pocket a
- leathern wallet, and with a sigh of relief slip it furtively into the
- bosom of his long waistcoat, where, apparently, there was another packet.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith glanced toward Mrs. Abington. She was sitting leaning over her
- chair with a finger on her lips, and the same look of mischief that Sir
- Joshua Reynolds transferred to his picture of her as “Miss Prue.” She gave
- a glance of smiling intelligence at Oliver, as Jackson laughed coarsely,
- saying huskily—
- </p>
- <p>
- “A handkerchief—I thought I had left my handkerchief in the pocket
- of my cloak, and 'tis as well to make sure—that's my motto. And now,
- my charmer, you will see that I'm not a man to dally with treason, for
- I'll challenge you in a bumper to the King's most excellent Majesty. Fill
- up your glass, madam; fill up yours, too, Mr.—Mr. Killjoy, we'll
- call you, for what the devil made you show your ugly face here the fiend
- only knows. Mrs. Baddeley and I are the best of good friends. Isn't that
- the truth, sweet Mrs. Baddeley? Come, drink to my toast—whatever it
- may be—or, by the Lord, I'll run you through the vitals!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith hastened to pass the man the decanter with whatever brandy
- remained in it, and in another instant the decanter was empty and the
- man's glass was full. Goldsmith was on his feet with uplifted glass before
- Jackson had managed to raise himself, by the aid of a heavy hand on the
- table, into a standing attitude, murmuring—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Drink, sir! drink to my lovely friend there, the voluptuous Mrs.
- Baddeley. My dear Mrs. Baddeley, I have the honour to welcome you to my
- table, and to drink to your health, dear madam.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He swallowed the contents of the tumbler—his fourth since he had
- entered the room—and the next instant he had fallen in a heap into
- his chair, drenched by the contents of Mrs. Abington's glass.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0315.jpg" alt="0315 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0315.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- “That is how I accept your toast of Mrs. Baddeley, sir,” she cried,
- standing at the head of the table with the dripping glass still in her
- hand. “You drunken sot! not to be able to distinguish between me and
- Sophia Baddeley! I can stand the insult no longer. Take yourself out of my
- room, sir!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave the broad ribbon of the bell such a pull as nearly brought it
- down. Goldsmith having started up, stood with amazement on his face
- watching her, while the other man also stared at her through his drunken
- stupour, his jaw fallen.
- </p>
- <p>
- Not a word was spoken until the waiter entered the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Call a hackney coach immediately for that gentleman,” said the actress,
- pointing to the man who alone remained—for the best of reasons—seated.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A coach? Certainly, madam,” said the waiter, withdrawing with a bow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Goldsmith,” resumed Mrs. Abington, “may I beg of you to have the
- goodness to see that person to his lodgings and to pay the cost of the
- hackney-coach? He is not entitled to that consideration, but I have a wish
- to treat him more generously than he deserves. His address is Whetstone
- Park, I think we may assume; and so I leave you, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- * She walked from the room with her chin in the air, both of the men
- watching her with such surprise as prevented either of them from uttering
- a word. It was only when she had gone that it occurred to Goldsmith that
- she was acting her part admirably—that she had set herself to give
- him an opportunity of obtaining possession of the wallet which she, as
- well as he, had seen Jackson transfer from the pocket of his cloak to that
- of his waistcoat. Surely he should have no great difficulty in extracting
- the bundle from the man's pocket when in the coach.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They're full of their whimsies, these wenches,” were the first words
- spoken, with a free wave of an arm, by the man who had failed in his
- repeated attempts to lift himself out of his chair. “What did I say?—what
- did I do to cause that spitfire to behave like that? I feel hurt, sir,
- more deeply hurt than I can express, at her behaviour. What's her name—I'm
- not sure if she was Mrs. Abington or Mrs. Baddeley? Anyhow, she insulted
- me grossly—me, sir—me, an officer who has charged his
- Majesty's rebels in the plantations of Virginia, where the Potomac flows
- down to the sea. But they're all alike. I could tell you a few stories
- about them, sir, that would open your eyes, for I have been their darling
- always.” Here he began to sing a tavern song in a loud but husky tone, for
- the brandy had done its work very effectively, and he had now reached what
- might be called—somewhat paradoxically—the high-water mark of
- intoxication. He was still singing when the waiter re-entered the room to
- announce that a hackney carriage was waiting at the door of the tavern.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the announcement the drunken man made a grab for a decanter and flung
- it at the waiter's head. It missed that mark, however, and crashed among
- the plates which were still on the table, and in a moment the landlord and
- a couple of his barmen were in the room and on each side of Jackson. He
- made a poor show of resistance when they pinioned his arms and pushed him
- down the stairs and lifted him into the hackney-coach. The landlord and
- his assistants were accustomed to deal with promptitude with such persons,
- and they had shut the door of the coach before Goldsmith reached the
- street.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hold on, sir,” he cried, “I am accompanying that gentleman to his
- lodging.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, Doctor,” whispered the landlord, who was a friend of his, “the
- fellow is a brawler—he will involve you in a quarrel before you
- reach the Strand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nevertheless, I will go, my friend,” said Oliver. “The lady has laid it
- upon me as a duty, and I must obey her at all hazards.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He got into the coach, and shouted out the address to the driver.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXV.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he instant he had
- seated himself he found to his amazement that the man beside him was fast
- asleep. To look at him lying in a heap on the cushions one might have
- fancied that he had been sleeping for hours rather than minutes, so
- composed was he. Even the jolting of the starting coach made no impression
- upon him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith perceived that the moment for which he had been longing had
- arrived. He felt that if he meant to get the letters into his possession
- he must act at once.
- </p>
- <p>
- He passed his hand over the man's waistcoat, and had no difficulty in
- detecting the exact whereabouts of the packet which he coveted. All he had
- to do was to unbutton the waistcoat, thrust his hand into the pocket, and
- then leave the coach while it was still in motion.
- </p>
- <p>
- The moment that he touched the first button, however, the man shifted his
- position, and awoke, putting his hand, as if mechanically, to his breast
- to feel that the wallet was still there. Then he straightened himself in
- some measure and began to mumble, apparently being quite unaware of the
- fact that some one was seated beside him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear madam, you do me great honour,” he said, and then gave a little
- hiccupping laugh. “Great honour, I swear; but if you were to offer me all
- the guineas in the treasure chest of the regiment I would not give you the
- plan of the fort. No, madam, I am a man of honour, and I hold the
- documents for Colonel Washington. Oh, the fools that girls are to put pen
- to paper! But if she was a fool she did not write the letters to a fool.
- Oh, no, no! I would accept no price for them—no price whatever
- except your own fair self. Come to me, my charmer, at sunset, and they
- shall be yours; yes, with a hundred guineas, or I print them. Oh, Ned, my
- lad, there's no honester way of living than by selling a wench her own
- letters. No, no; Ned, I'll not leave 'em behind me in the drawer, in case
- of accidents. I'll carry 'em about with me in case of accidents, for I
- know how sharp you are, dear Ned; and so when I had 'em in the pocket of
- my cloak I thought it as well to transfer 'em—in case of accidents,
- Ned—to my waistcoat, sir. Ay, they're here! here, my friend! and
- here they'll stay till Colonel Washington hands me over his dollars for
- them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he slapped his breast, and laughed the horrible laugh of a drunken
- man whose hallucination is that he is the shrewdest fellow alive.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith caught every word of his mumblings, and from the way he referred
- to the letters, came to the conclusion that the scoundrel had not only
- tried to levy blackmail on Mary Horneck, but had been endeavouring to sell
- the secrets of the King's forces to the American rebels. Goldsmith had,
- however, no doubt that the letters which he was desirous of getting into
- his hands were those which the man had within his waistcoat. His belief in
- this direction did not, however, assist him to devise a plan for
- transferring the letters from the place where they reposed to his own
- pocket.
- </p>
- <p>
- The coach jolted over the uneven roads on its way to the notorious
- Whetstone Park, but all the jolting failed to prevent the operation of the
- brandy which the man had drank, for once again he fell asleep, his fingers
- remaining between the buttons of his waistcoat, so that it would be quite
- impossible for even the most adroit pickpocket, which Goldsmith could not
- claim to be, to open the garment.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt the vexation of the moment very keenly. The thought that the
- packet which he coveted was only a few inches from his hand, and yet that
- it was as unattainable as though it were at the summit of Mont Blanc, was
- maddening; but he felt that he would be foolish to make any more attempts
- to effect his purpose. The man would be certain to awake, and Goldsmith
- knew that, intoxicated though he was, he was strong enough to cope with
- three men of his (Goldsmith's) physique.
- </p>
- <p>
- Gregory's Court, which led into Whetstone Park, was too narrow to admit so
- broad a vehicle as a hackney-coach, so the driver pulled up at the
- entrance in Holborn near the New Turnstile, just under an alehouse lamp.
- Goldsmith was wondering if his obligation to Mrs. Abington's guest did not
- end here, when the light of the lamp showed the man to be wide awake, and
- he really seemed comparatively sober. It was only when he spoke that he
- showed himself, by the huskiness of his voice, to be very far from sober.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good Lord!” he cried, “how do I come to be here? Who the devil may you
- be, sirrah? Oh, I remember! You're the poet. She insulted me—grossly
- insulted me—turned me out of the tavern. And you insulted me, too,
- you rascal, coming with me in my coach, as if I was drunk, and needed you
- to look after me. Get out, you scoundrel, or I'll crack your skull for
- you. Can't you see that this is Gregory's Court?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith eyed the ruffian for a moment. He was debating if it might not
- be better to spring upon him, and make at least a straightforward attempt
- to obtain the wallet. The result of his moment's consideration of the
- question was to cause him to turn away from the fellow and open the door.
- He was in the act of telling the driver that he would take the coach on to
- the Temple, when Jackson stepped out, shaking the vehicle on its leathern
- straps, and staggered a few yards in the direction of the turnstile. At
- the same instant a man hastily emerged from the entrance to the court,
- almost coming in collision with Jackson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You cursed, clumsy lout!” shouted the latter, swinging, half-way round as
- the man passed. In a second the stranger stopped, and faced the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You low ruffian!” he said. “You cheated me last night, and left me to
- sleep in the fields; but my money came to me to-day, and I've been waiting
- for you. Take that, you scoundrel—and that—and that——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He struck Jackson a blow to right and left, and then one straight on the
- forehead, which felled him to the ground. He gave the man a kick when he
- fell, and then turned about and ran, for the watchman was coming up the
- street, and half a dozen of the passers-by gave an alarm.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith shouted out, “Follow him—follow the murderer!” pointing
- wildly in the direction taken by the stranger.
- </p>
- <p>
- In another instant he was leaning over the prostrate man, and making a
- pretence to feel his heart. He tore open his waistcoat. Putting in his
- hand, he quickly abstracted the wallet, and bending right over the body in
- order to put his hand to the man's chest, he, with much more adroitness
- than was necessary—for outside the sickly gleam of the lamp all the
- street was in darkness—slipped the wallet into his other hand and
- then under his coat.
- </p>
- <p>
- A few people had by this time been drawn to the spot by the alarm which
- had been given, and some inquired if the man were dead, and if he had been
- run through with a sword.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was a knock-down blow,” said Goldsmith, still leaning over the
- prostrate man; “and being a doctor, I can honestly say that no great harm
- has been done. The fellow is as drunk as if he had been soused in a beer
- barrel. A dash of water in his face will go far to bring about his
- recovery. Ah, he is recovering already.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had scarcely spoken before he felt himself thrown violently back,
- almost knocking down two of the bystanders, for the man had risen to a
- sitting posture, asking him, with an oath, as he flung him back, what he
- meant by choking him.
- </p>
- <p>
- A roar of laughter came from the people in the street as Goldsmith picked
- up his hat and straightened his sword, saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gentlemen, I think that a man who is strong enough to treat his physician
- in that way has small need of his services. I thought the fellow might be
- seriously hurt, but I have changed my mind on that point recently; and so
- good-night. Souse him copiously with water should he relapse. By a casual
- savour of him I should say that he is not used to water.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He re-entered the coach and told the driver to proceed to the Temple, and
- as rapidly as possible, for he was afraid that the man, on completely
- recovering from the effects of the blow that had stunned him, would miss
- his wallet and endeavour to overtake the coach. He was greatly relieved
- when he reached the lodge of his friend Ginger, the head porter, and he
- paid the driver with a liberality that called down upon him a torrent of
- thanks.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he went up the stairs to his chambers he could scarcely refrain from
- cheering. In his hand he carried the leathern wallet, and he had no doubt
- that it contained the letters which he hoped to place in the hands of his
- dear Jessamy Bride, who, he felt, had alone understood him—had alone
- trusted him with the discharge of a knightly task.
- </p>
- <p>
- He closed his oaken outer door and forced up the wick of the lamp in his
- room. With trembling fingers by the light of its rays he unclasped the
- wallet and extracted its contents. He devoured the pages with his eyes,
- and then both wallet and papers fell from his hands. He dropped into a
- chair with an exclamation of wonder and dismay. The papers which he had
- taken from the wallet were those which, following the instructions of Mrs.
- Abington, he had brought with him to the tavern, pretending that they were
- the act of the comedy which he had to read to the actress!
- </p>
- <p>
- He remained for a long time in the chair into which he had fallen. He was
- utterly stupefied. Apart from the shock of his disappointment, the
- occurrence was so mysterious as to deprive him of the power of thought. He
- could only gaze blankly down at the empty wallet and the papers, covered
- with his own handwriting, which he had picked up from his own desk before
- starting for the tavern.
- </p>
- <p>
- What did it all mean? How on earth had those papers found their way into
- the wallet?
- </p>
- <p>
- Those were the questions which he had to face, but for which, after an
- hour's consideration, he failed to find an answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- He recollected distinctly having seen the expression of suspicion come
- over the man's face when he saw Mrs. Abington sitting on the chair over
- which his cloak was hanging; and when she had returned to the table,
- Jackson had staggered to the cloak, and running his hand down the lining
- until he had found the pocket, furtively took from it the wallet, which he
- transferred to the pocket on the inner side of his waistcoat. He had had
- no time—at least, so Goldsmith thought—to put the sham act of
- the play into the wallet; and yet he felt that the man must have done so
- unseen by the others in the room, or how could the papers ever have been
- in the wallet?
- </p>
- <p>
- Great heavens! The man must only have been shamming intoxication the
- greater part of the night! He must have had so wide an experience of the
- craft of men and the wiles of women as caused him to live in a condition
- of constant suspicion of both men and women. He had clearly suspected Mrs.
- Abington's invitation to supper, and had amused himself at the expense of
- the actress and her other guest. He had led them both on, and had fooled
- them to the top of his bent, just when they were fancying that they were
- entrapping him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith felt that, indeed, he at least had been a fool, and, as usual,
- he had attained the summit of his foolishness just when he fancied he was
- showing himself to be especially astute. He had chuckled over his
- shrewdness in placing himself in the hands of a woman to the intent that
- he might defeat the ends of the scoundrel who threatened Mary Horneck's
- happiness, but now it was Jackson who was chuckling-Jackson, who had
- doubtless been watching with amused interest the childish attempts made by
- Mrs. Abington to entrap him.
- </p>
- <p>
- How glibly she had talked of entrapping him! She had even gone the length
- of quoting Shakespeare; she was one of those people who fancy that when
- they have quoted Shakespeare they have said the last word on any subject.
- But when the time came for her to cease talking and begin to act, she had
- failed. She had proved to him that he had been a fool to place himself in
- her hands, hoping she would be able to help him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed bitterly at his own folly. The consciousness of having failed
- would have been bitter enough by itself, but now to it was added the
- consciousness of having been laughed at by the man of whom he was trying
- to get the better.
- </p>
- <p>
- What was there now left for him to do? Nothing except to go to Mary, and
- tell her that she had been wrong in entrusting her cause to him. She
- should have entrusted it to Colonel Gwyn, or some man who would have been
- ready to help her and capable of helping her—some man with a
- knowledge of men—some man of resource, not one who was a mere weaver
- of fictions, who was incapable of dealing with men except on paper.
- Nothing was left for him but to tell her this, and to see Colonel Gwyn
- achieve success where he had achieved only the most miserable of failures.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt that he was as foolish as a man who had built for himself a house
- of cards, and had hoped to dwell in it happily for the rest of his life,
- whereas the fabric had not survived the breath of the first breeze that
- had swept down upon it.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt that, after the example which he had just had of the diabolical
- cunning of the man with whom he had been contesting, it would be worse
- than useless for him to hope to be of any help to Mary Horneck. He had
- already wasted more than a week of valuable time. He could, at least,
- prevent any more being wasted by going to Mary and telling her how great a
- mistake she had made in being over-generous to him. She should never have
- made such a friend of him. Dr. Johnson had been right when he said that
- he, Oliver Goldsmith, had taken advantage of the gracious generosity of
- the girl and her family. He felt that it was his vanity that had led him
- to undertake on Mary's behalf a task for which he was utterly unsuited;
- and only the smallest consolation was allowed to him in the reflection
- that his awakening had come before it was too late. He had not been led
- away to confess to Mary all that was in his heart. She had been saved the
- unhappiness which that confession would bring to a nature so full of
- feeling as hers. And he had been saved the mortification of the thought
- that he had caused her pain.
- </p>
- <p>
- The dawn was embroidering with its floss the early foliage of the trees of
- the Temple before he went to his bed-room, and another hour had passed
- before he fell asleep.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not awake until the clock had chimed the hour of ten, and he found
- that his man had already brought to the table at his bedside the letters
- which had come for him in the morning. He turned them over with but a
- languid amount of interest. There was a letter from Griffiths, the
- bookseller; another from Garrick, relative to the play which Goldsmith had
- promised him; a third, a fourth and a fifth were from men who begged the
- loan of varying sums for varying periods. The sixth was apparently, from
- its shape and bulk, a manuscript—one of the many which were
- submitted to him by men who called him their brother-poet. He turned it
- over, and perceived that it had not come through the post. That fact
- convinced him that it was a manuscript, most probably an epic poem, or
- perhaps a tragedy in verse, which the writer might think he could get
- accepted at Drury Lane by reason of his friendship with Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- He let this parcel lie on the table until he had dressed, and only when at
- the point of sitting down to breakfast did he break the seals. The instant
- he had done so he gave a cry of surprise, for he found that the parcel
- contained a number of letters addressed in Mary Horneck's handwriting to a
- certain Captain Jackson at a house in the Devonshire village where she had
- been staying the previous summer.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the topmost letter there was a scrap of paper, bearing a scrawl from
- Mrs. Abing ton—the spelling as well as the writing was hers—
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.' These are a few feathers
- pluckt from our hawke, hoping that they will be a feather in the capp of
- dear Dr. Goldsmith.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXVI.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e was so greatly
- amazed he could only sit looking mutely at the scattered letters on the
- table in front of him. He was even more amazed at finding them there than
- he had been the night before at not finding them in the wallet which he
- had taken from Jackson's waistcoat. He thought he had arrived at a
- satisfactory explanation as to how he had come to find within the wallet
- the sheets of manuscript which he had had in his hand on entering the
- supper room; but how was he to account for the appearance of the letters
- in this parcel which he had received from Mrs. Abington?
- </p>
- <p>
- So perplexed was he that he failed for sometime to grasp the truth—to
- appreciate what was meant by the appearance of those letters on his table.
- But so soon as it dawned upon him that they meant safety and happiness to
- Mary, he sprang from his seat and almost shouted for joy. She was saved.
- He had checkmated the villain who had sought her ruin and who had the
- means to accomplish it, too. It was his astuteness that had caused him to
- go to Mrs. Abington and ask for her help in accomplishing the task with
- which he had been entrusted. He had, after all, not been mistaken in
- applying to a woman to help him to defeat the devilish scheme of a
- pitiless ruffian, and Mary Horneck had not been mistaken when she had
- singled him out to be her champion, though all men and most women would
- have ridiculed the idea of his assuming the rôle of a knight-errant.
- </p>
- <p>
- His elation at that moment was in proportion to his depression, his
- despair, his humiliation when he had last been in his room. His nature
- knew nothing but extremes. Before retiring to his chamber in the early
- morning, he had felt that life contained nothing but misery for him; but
- now he felt that a future of happiness was in store for him—his
- imagination failed to set any limits to the possibility of his future
- happiness. He laughed at the thought of how he had resolved to go to Mary
- and advise her to intrust her cause to Colonel Gwyn. The thought of
- Colonel Gwyn convulsed him just now. With all his means, could Colonel
- Gwyn have accomplished all that he, Oliver Goldsmith, had accomplished?
- </p>
- <p>
- He doubted it. Colonel Gwyn might be a good sort of fellow in spite of his
- formal manner, his army training, and his incapacity to see a jest, but it
- was doubtful if he could have brought to a successful conclusion so
- delicate an enterprise as that which he—Goldsmith—had
- accomplished. Gwyn would most likely have scorned to apply to Mrs.
- Abington to help him, and that was just where he would have made a huge
- mistake. Any man who thought to get the better of the devil without the
- aid of a woman was a fool. He felt more strongly convinced of the truth of
- this as he stood with his back to the fire in his grate than he had been
- when he had found the wallet containing only his own manuscript. The
- previous half-hour had naturally changed his views of man and woman and
- Providence and the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he had picked up the letters and locked them in his desk, he ate some
- breakfast, wondering all the while by what means Mrs. Abington had
- obtained those precious writings; and after giving the matter an hour's
- thought, he came to the conclusion that she must have felt the wallet in
- the pocket of the man's cloak when she had left the table pretending to be
- shocked at the disloyal expressions of her guest—she must have felt
- the wallet and have contrived to extract the letters from it, substituting
- for them the sham act of the play which excused his entrance to the
- supper-room.
- </p>
- <p>
- The more he thought over the matter, the more convinced he became that the
- wily lady had effected her purpose in the way, he conjectured. He
- recollected that she had been for a considerable time on the chair with
- the cloak—much longer than was necessary for Jackson to drink the
- treasonable toast; and when she returned to the table, it was only to turn
- him out of the room upon a very shallow pretext. What a fool he had been
- to fancy that she was in a genuine passion when she had flung her glass of
- wine in the face of her guest because he had addressed her as Mrs.
- Baddeley!
- </p>
- <p>
- He had been amazed at the anger displayed by her in regard to that
- particular incident, but later he had thought it possible that she had
- acted the part of a jealous woman to give him a better chance of getting
- the wallet out of the man's waistcoat pocket. Now, however, he clearly
- perceived that her anxiety was to get out of the room in order to place
- the letters beyond the man's hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- Once again he laughed, saying out loud—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, I was right—a woman's wiles only are superior to the strategy
- of a devil!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he became more contemplative. The most joyful hour of his life was at
- hand. He asked himself how his dear Jessamy Bride would receive the
- letters which he was about to take to her. He did not think of himself in
- connection with her gratitude. He left himself altogether out of
- consideration in this matter. He only thought of how the girl's face would
- lighten—how the white roses which he had last seen on her cheeks
- would change to red when he put the letters into her hand, and she felt
- that she was safe.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was the reward for which he looked. He knew that he would feel
- bitterly disappointed if he failed to see the change of the roses on her
- face—if he failed to hear her fill the air with the music of her
- laughter. And then—then she would be happy for evermore, and he
- would be happy through witnessing her happiness.
- </p>
- <p>
- He finished dressing, and was in the act of going to his desk for the
- letters, which he hoped she would soon hold in her hand, when his servant
- announced two visitors.
- </p>
- <p>
- Signor Baretti, accompanied by a tall and very thin man, entered. The
- former greeted Goldsmith, and introduced his friend, who was a compatriot
- of his own, named Nicolo.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have not forgotten the matter which you honoured me by placing in my
- hands,” said Baretti. “My friend Nicolo is a master of the art of fencing
- as practised in Italy in the present day. He is under the impression,
- singular though it may seem, that he spoke to you more than once during
- your wanderings in Tuscany.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now I am sure of it,” said Nicolo in French. He explained that he
- spoke French rather better than English. “Yes, I was a student at Pisa
- when Dr. Goldsmith visited that city. I have no difficulty in recognising
- him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I, for my part, have a conviction that I have seen your face, sir,”
- said Goldsmith, also speaking in French; “I cannot, however, recall the
- circumstances of our first meeting. Can you supply the deficiency in my
- memory, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There was a students' society that met at the Boccaleone,” said Signor
- Nicolo.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I recollect it distinctly; Figli della Torre, you called yourselves,”
- said Goldsmith quickly. “You were one of the orators—quite reckless,
- if you will permit me to say so much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man smiled somewhat grimly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If he had not been utterly reckless he would not be in England to-day,”
- said Baretti. “Like myself, he is compelled to face your detestable
- climate on account of some indiscreet references to the Italian
- government, which he would certainly repeat to-morrow were he back again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It brings me back to Tuscany once more, to see your face, Signor Nicolo,”
- said Goldsmith. “Yes, though your Excellency had not so much of a beard
- and mustacio when I saw you some years ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir, nor was your Lordship's coat quite so admirable then as it is
- now, if I am not too bold to make so free a comment, sir,” said the man
- with another grim smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are not quite right, my friend,” laughed Goldsmith; “for if my memory
- serves me—and it does so usually on the matter of dress—I had
- no coat whatsoever to my back—that was of no importance in Pisa,
- where the air was full of patriotism.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The most dangerous epidemic that could occur in any country,” said
- Baretti. “There is no Black Death that has claimed so many victims. We are
- examples—Nicolo and I. I am compelled to teach Italian to a brewer's
- daughter, and Nicolo is willing to transform the most clumsy Englishman—and
- there are a good number of them, too—into an expert swordsman in
- twelve lessons—yes, if the pupil will but practise sufficiently
- afterwards.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We need not talk of business just now,” said Goldsmith. “I insist on my
- old friends sharing a bottle of wine with me. I shall drink to
- 'patriotism,' since it is the means of sending to my poor room two such
- excellent friends as the Signori Baretti and Nicolo.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He rang the bell, and gave his servant directions to fetch a couple of
- bottles of the old Madeira which Lord Clare had recently sent to him—very
- recently, otherwise three bottles out of the dozen would not have
- remained.
- </p>
- <p>
- The wine had scarcely been uncorked when the sound of a man's step was
- heard upon the stairs, and in a moment Captain Jackson burst into the
- room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have found you, you rascal!” he shouted, swaggering across the room to
- where Goldsmith was seated. “Now, my good fellow, I give you just one
- minute to restore to me those letters which you abstracted from my pocket
- last night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I give you just one minute to leave my room, you drunken blackguard,”
- said Goldsmith, laying a hand on the arm of Signor Nicolo, who was in the
- act of rising. “Come, sir,” he continued, “I submitted to your insults
- last night because I had a purpose to carry out; but I promise you that I
- give you no such license in my own house. Take your carcase away, sir; my
- friends have fastidious nostrils.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jackson's face became purple and then white. His lips receded from his
- gums until his teeth were seen as the teeth of a wolf when it is too
- cowardly to attack.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You cur!” he said through his set teeth. “I don't know what prevents me
- from running you through the body.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you not? I do,” said Goldsmith. He had taken the second bottle of wine
- off the table, and was toying with it in his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, sir,” said the bully after a pause; “I don't wish to go to Sir John
- Fielding for a warrant for your arrest for stealing my property, but, by
- the Lord, if you don't hand over those letters to me now I will not spare
- you. I shall have you taken into custody as a thief before an hour has
- passed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go to Sir John, my friend, and tell him that Dick Jackson, American spy,
- is anxious to hang himself, and mention that one Oliver Goldsmith has at
- hand the rope that will rid the world of one of its greatest scoundrels,”
- said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jackson took a step or two back, and put his hand to his sword. In a
- second both Baretti and Nicolo had touched the hilts of their weapons. The
- bully looked from the one to the other, and then laughed harshly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My little poet,” he said in a mocking voice, “you fancy that because you
- have got a letter or two you have drawn my teeth. Let me tell you for your
- information that I have something in my possession that I can use as I
- meant to use the letters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I tell you that if you use it, whatever it is, by God I shall kill
- you, were you thrice the scoundrel that you are!” cried Goldsmith, leaping
- up.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was scarcely a pause before the whistle of the man's sword through
- the air was heard; but Baretti gave Goldsmith a push that sent him behind
- a chair, and then quietly interposed between him and Jackson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pardon me, sir,” said he, bowing to Jackson, “but we cannot permit you to
- stick an unarmed man. Your attempt to do so in our presence my friend and
- I regard as a grave affront to us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then let one of you draw!” shouted the man. “I see that you are
- Frenchmen, and I have cut the throat of a good many of your race. Draw,
- sir, and I shall add you to the Frenchies that I have sent to hell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir, I wear spectacles, as you doubtless perceive,” said Baretti. “I
- do not wish my glasses to be smashed; but my friend here, though a weaker
- man, may possibly not decline to fight with so contemptible a ruffian as
- you undoubtedly are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke a few words to Nicolo in Italian, and in a second the latter had
- whisked out his sword and had stepped between Jackson and Baretti, putting
- quietly aside the fierce lunge which the former made when Baretti had
- turned partly round.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Briccone! assassin!” hissed Baretti. “You saw that he meant to kill me,
- Nicolo,” he said addressing his friend in their own tongue.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He shall pay for it,” whispered Nicolo, pushing back a chair with his
- foot until Goldsmith lifted it and several other pieces of furniture out
- of the way, so as to make a clear space in the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't kill him, friend Nicolo,” he cried. “We used to enjoy a sausage or
- two in the old days at Pisa. You can make sausage-meat of a carcase
- without absolutely killing the beast.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The fencing-master smiled grimly, but spoke no word.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jackson seemed puzzled for a few moments, and Baretti roared with
- laughter, watching him hang back. The laugh of the Italian—it was
- not melodious—acted as a goad upon him. He rushed upon Nicolo,
- trying to beat down his guard, but his antagonist did not yield a single
- inch. He did not even cease to smile as he parried the attack. His
- expression resembled that of an indulgent chess player when a lad who has
- airily offered to play with him opens the game.
- </p>
- <p>
- After a few minutes' fencing, during which the Italian declined to attack,
- Jackson drew back and lowered the point of his sword.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take a chair, sir,” said Baretti, grinning. “You will have need of one
- before my friend has finished with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith said nothing. The man had grossly insulted him the evening
- before, and he had made Mary Horneck wretched; but he could not taunt him
- now that he was at the mercy of a master-swordsman. He watched the man
- breathing hard, and then nerving himself for another attack upon the
- Italian.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jackson's second attempt to get Nicolo within the range of his sword was
- no more successful than his first. He was no despicable fencer, but his
- antagonist could afford to play with him. The sound of his hard breathing
- was a contrast to the only other sound in the room—the grating of
- steel against steel.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then the smile upon the sallow face of the fencing-master seemed gradually
- to vanish. He became more than serious—surely his expression was one
- of apprehension.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith became somewhat excited. He grasped Baretti by the arm, as one
- of Jackson's thrusts passed within half an inch of his antagonist's
- shoulder, and for the first time Nicolo took a hasty step back, and in
- doing so barely succeeded in protecting himself against a fierce lunge of
- the other man.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was now Jackson's turn to laugh. He gave a contemptuous chuckle as he
- pressed forward to follow up his advantage. He did not succeed in touching
- Nicolo, though he went very close to him more than once, and now it was
- plain that the Italian was greatly exhausted. He was breathing hard, and
- the look of apprehension on his face had increased until it had actually
- become one of terror. Jackson did not fail to perceive this, and malignant
- triumph was in every feature of his face. Any one could see that he felt
- confident of tiring out the visibly fatigued Italian, and Goldsmith, with
- staring eyes, once again clutched Baretti.
- </p>
- <p>
- Baretti's yellow skin became wrinkled up to the meeting place of his wig
- and forehead in smiles.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should like the third button of his coat for a memento, Sandrino,” said
- he.
- </p>
- <p>
- In an instant there was a quivering flash through the air, and the third
- paste button off Jackson's coat indented the wall just above Baretti's
- head and fell at his feet, a scrap of the satin of the coat flying behind
- it like the little pennon on a lance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heavens!” whispered Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, friend Nicolo was always a great humourist,” said Baretti. “For God's
- sake, Sandrino, throw them high into the air. The rush of that last was
- like a bullet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Up to the ceiling flashed another button, and fell back upon the coat from
- which it was torn.
- </p>
- <p>
- And still Nicolo fenced away with that look of apprehension still on his
- face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is his fun,” said Baretti. “Oh, body of Bacchus! A great humourist!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The next button that Nicolo cutoff with the point of his sword he caught
- in his left hand and threw to Goldsmith, who also caught it.
- </p>
- <p>
- The look of triumph vanished from Jackson's face. He drew back, but his
- antagonist would not allow him to lower his sword, but followed him round
- the room untiringly. He had ceased his pretence of breathing heavily, but
- apparently his right arm was tired, for he had thrown his sword into his
- left hand, and was now fencing from that side.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly the air became filled with floating scraps of silk and satin.
- They quivered to right and left, like butterflies settling down upon a
- meadow; they fluttered about by the hundred, making a pretty spectacle.
- Jackson's coat and waistcoat were in tatters, yet with such consummate
- dexterity did the fencingmaster cut the pieces out of both garments that
- Goldsmith utterly failed to see the swordplay that produced so amazing a
- result. Nicolo seemed to be fencing pretty much as usual.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then a curious incident occurred, for the front part of one of the
- man's pocket fell on the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- With an oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap on the floor.
- The pocked being cut away, a packet of letters, held against the lining by
- a few threads of silk, became visible, and in another moment Nicolo had
- spitted them on his sword, and laid them on the table in a single flash.
- Goldsmith knew by the look that Jackson cast at them that they were the
- batch of letters which he had received in the course of his traffic with
- the American rebels.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, Sandrino,” said Baretti, affecting to yawn. “Finish the rascal off,
- and let us go to that excellent bottle of Madeira which awaits us. Come,
- sir, the carrion is not worth more than you have given him; he has kept us
- from our wine too long already.”
- </p>
- <p>
- With a curiously tricky turn of the wrist, the master cut off the right
- sleeve of the man's coat close to his shoulder, and drew it in a flash
- over his sword. The disclosing of the man's naked arm and the hiding of
- the greater part of his weapon were comical in the extreme; and with an
- oath Jackson dropped his sword and fell in a heap upon the floor,
- thoroughly exhausted.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0349.jpg" alt="0349 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0349.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- Baretti picked up the sword, broke the blade across his knee, and flung
- the pieces into a corner, the tattered sleeve still entangled in the
- guard.
- </p>
- <p>
- “John,” shouted Goldsmith to his servant, who was not far off. (He had
- witnessed the duel through the keyhole of the door until it became too
- exciting, and then he had put his head into the room.) “John, give that
- man your oldest coat. It shall never be said that I turned a man naked out
- of my house.” When John Eyles had left the room, Oliver turned to the
- half-naked panting man. “You are possibly the most contemptible bully and
- coward alive,” said he. “You did not hesitate to try and accomplish the
- ruin of the sweetest girl in the world, and you came here with intent to
- murder me because I succeeded in saving her from your clutches. If I let
- you go now, it is because I know that in these letters, which I mean to
- keep, I have such evidence against you as will hang you whenever I see fit
- to use it, and I promise you to use it if you are in this country at the
- end of two days. Now, leave this house, and thank my servant for giving
- you his coat, and this gentleman”—he pointed to Nicolo—“for
- such a lesson in fencing as, I suppose, you never before received.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man rose, painfully and laboriously, and took the coat with which John
- Eyles returned. He looked at Goldsmith from head to foot.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You contemptible cur!” he said, “I have not yet done with you. You have
- now stolen the second packet of letters; but, by the Lord, if one of them
- passes out of your hands it will be avenged. I have friends in pretty high
- places, let me tell you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not doubt it,” said Baretti. “The gallows is a high enough place for
- you and your friends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The ruffian turned upon him in a fury.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look to yourself, you foreign hound!” he said, his face becoming livid,
- and his lips receding from his mouth so as to leave his wolf-fangs bare as
- before. “Look to yourself. You broke my sword after luring me on to be
- made a fool of for your sport. Look to yourself!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Turn that rascal into the street, John,” cried Goldsmith, and John
- bustled forward. There was fighting in the air. If it came to blows he
- flattered himself that he could give an interesting exhibition of his
- powers—not quite so showy, perhaps, as that given by the Italian,
- but one which he was certain was more English in its style.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No one shall lay a hand on me,” said Jackson. “Do you fancy that I am
- anxious to remain in such a company?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, sir; you are in my charge, now,” said John, hustling him to the
- door. “Come—out with you—sharp!”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the room they heard the sound of the man descending the stairs slowly
- and painfully. They became aware of his pause in the lobby below to put on
- the coat which John had given to him, and a moment later they saw him walk
- in the direction of the Temple lodge.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Goldsmith turned to Signor Nicolo, who was examining one of the
- prints that Hogarth had presented to his early friend, who had hung them
- on his wall.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You came at an opportune moment, my friend,” said he. “You have not only
- saved my life, you have afforded me such entertainment as I never have
- known before. Sir, you are certainly the greatest living master of your
- art.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The best swordsman is the best patriot,” said Baretti.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is why so many of your countrymen live in England,” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alas! yes,” said Nicolo. “Happily you Englishmen are not good patriots,
- or you would not be able to live in England.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not an Englishman,” said Goldsmith. “I am an Irish patriot, and
- therefore I find it more convenient to live out of Ireland. Perhaps it is
- not good patriotism to say, as I do, 'Better to live in England than to
- starve in Ireland.' And talking of starving, sirs, reminds me that my
- dinner hour is nigh. What say you, Signor Nicolo? What say you, Baretti?
- Will you honour me with your company to dinner at the Crown and Anchor an
- hour hence? We shall chat over the old days at Pisa and the prospects of
- the Figli della Torre, Signor Nicolo. We cannot stay here, for it will
- take my servant and Mrs. Ginger a good two hours to sweep up the fragments
- of that rascal's garments. Lord! what a patchwork quilt Dr. Johnson's
- friend Mrs. Williams could make if she were nigh.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Patchwork should not only be made, it should be used by the blind,” said
- Baretti. “Touching the dinner you so hospitably propose, I have no
- engagement for to-day, and I dare swear that Nicolo has none either.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has taken part in one engagement, at least,” said Goldsmith,
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I am now at your service,” said the fencing-master.
- </p>
- <p>
- They went out together, Goldsmith with the precious letters in his pocket—the
- second batch he put in the place of Mary Hor-neck's in his desk—and,
- parting at Fleet street, they agreed to meet at the Crown and Anchor in an
- hour.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXVII.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was with a
- feeling of deep satisfaction, such as he had never before known, that
- Goldsmith walked westward to Mrs. Horneck's house. All the exhilaration
- that he had experienced by watching the extraordinary exhibition of
- adroitness on the part of the fencingmaster remained with him. The
- exhibition had, of course, been a trifle bizarre. It had more than a
- suspicion of the art of the mountebank about it. For instance, Nicolo's
- pretence of being overmatched early in the contest—breathing hard
- and assuming a terrified expression—yielding his ground and allowing
- his opponent almost to run him through—could only be regarded as
- theatrical; while his tricks with the buttons and the letters, though
- amazing, were akin to the devices of a rope-dancer. But this fact did not
- prevent the whole scene from having an exhilarating effect upon Goldsmith,
- more especially as it represented his repayment of the debt which he owed
- to Jackson.
- </p>
- <p>
- And now to this feeling was added that of the greatest joy of his life in
- having it in his power to remove from the sweetest girl in the world the
- terror which she believed to be hanging over her head. He felt that every
- step which he was taking westward was bringing him nearer to the
- realisation of his longing-his longing to see the white roses on Mary's
- cheeks change to red once more.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a disappointment to him to learn that Mary had gone down to Barton
- with the Bunburys. Her mother, who met him in the hall, told him this with
- a grave face as she brought him into a parlour.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think she expected you to call during the past ten days, Dr.
- Goldsmith,” said the lady. “I believe that she was more than a little
- disappointed that you could not find time to come to her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was she, indeed? Did she really expect me to call?” he asked. This fresh
- proof of the confidence which the Jessamy Bride reposed in him was very
- dear to him. She had not merely entrusted him with her enterprise on the
- chance of his being able to save her; she had had confidence in his
- ability to save her, and had looked for his coming to tell her of his
- success.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She seemed very anxious to see you,” said Mrs. Horneck. “I fear, dear Dr.
- Goldsmith, that my poor child has something on her mind. That is her
- sister's idea also. And yet it is impossible that she should have any
- secret trouble; she has not been out of our sight since her visit to
- Devonshire last year. At that time she had, I believe, some silly, girlish
- fancy—my brother wrote to me that there had been in his
- neighbourhood a certain attractive man, an officer who had returned home
- with a wound received in the war with the American rebels. But surely she
- has got over that foolishness!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, yes. You may take my word for it, madam, she has got over that
- foolishness,” said Goldsmith. “You may take my word for it that when she
- sees me the roses will return to her cheeks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do hope so,” said Mrs. Horneck. “Yes, you could always contrive to make
- her merry, Dr. Goldsmith. We have all missed you lately; we feared that
- that disgraceful letter in the <i>Packet</i> had affected you. That was
- why my son called upon you at your rooms. I hope he assured you that
- nothing it contained would interfere with our friendship.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was very kind of you, my dear madam,” said he; “but I have seen Mary
- since that thing appeared.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure you have. Did you not think that she looked very ill?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very ill indeed, madam; but I am ready to give you my assurance that when
- I have been half an hour with her she will be on the way to recovery. You
- have not, I fear, much confidence in my skill as a doctor of medicine,
- and, to tell you the truth, whatever your confidence in this direction may
- amount to, it is a great deal more than what I myself have. Still, I think
- you will say something in my favour when you see Mary's condition begin to
- improve from the moment we have a little chat together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is wherein I have the amplest confidence in you, dear Dr. Goldsmith.
- Your chat with her will do more for her than all the medicine the most
- skilful of physicians could prescribe. It was a very inopportune time for
- her to fall sick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think that all sicknesses are inopportune. But why Mary's?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I have good reason to believe, Dr. Goldsmith, that had she not
- steadfastly refused to see a certain gentleman who has been greatly
- attracted by her, I might now have some happy news to convey to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The gentleman's name is Colonel Gwyn, I think.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke in a low voice and after a long pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, you have guessed it, then? You have perceived that the gentleman was
- drawn toward her?” said the lady smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have every reason to believe in his sincerity,” said Goldsmith. “And
- you think that if Mary had been as well as she usually has been, she would
- have listened to his proposals, madam?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should she not have done so, sir?” said Mrs. Horneck.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why not, indeed?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Colonel Gwyn would be a very suitable match for her,” said she. “He is,
- to be sure, several years her senior; that, however, is nothing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You think so—you think that a disparity in age should mean nothing
- in such a case?” said Oliver, rather eagerly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How could any one be so narrowminded as to think otherwise?” cried Mrs.
- Horneck. “Whoever may think otherwise, sir, I certainly do not. I hope I
- am too good a mother, Dr. Goldsmith. Nay, sir, I could not stand between
- my daughter and happiness on such a pretext as a difference in years.
- After all, Colonel Gwyn is but a year or two over thirty—thirty-seven,
- I believe—but he does not look more than thirty-five.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No one more cordially agrees with you than myself on the point to which
- you give emphasis, madam,” said Goldsmith. “And you think that Mary will
- see Colonel Gwyn when she returns?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope so; and therefore I hope, dear sir, that you will exert yourself
- so that the bloom will be brought back to her cheeks,” said the lady.
- “That is your duty, Doctor; remember that, I pray. You are to bring back
- the bloom to her cheeks in order that Colonel Gwyn may be doubly attracted
- to her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I understand—I understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke slowly, gravely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew you would help us,” said Mrs. Horneck, “and so I hope that you
- will lose no time in coming to us after Mary's return to-morrow. Your
- Jessamy Bride will, I trust, be a real bride before many days have
- passed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, that was his duty: to help Mary to happiness. Not for him, not for
- him was the bloom to be brought again to her cheeks—not for him, but
- for another man. For him were the sleepless nights, the anxious days, the
- hours of thought—all the anxiety and all the danger resulting from
- facing an unscrupulous scoundrel. For another man was the joy of putting
- his lips upon the delicate bloom of her cheeks, the joy of taking her
- sweet form into his arms, of dwelling daily in her smiles, of being for
- evermore beside her, of feeling hourly the pride of so priceless a
- possession as her love.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was his thought as he walked along the Strand with bent head; and
- yet, before he had reached the Crown and Anchor, he said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Even so; I am satisfied—I am satisfied.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It chanced that Dr. Johnson was in the tavern with Steevens, and Goldsmith
- persuaded both to join his party. He was glad that he succeeded in doing
- so, for he had felt it was quite possible that Baretti might inquire of
- him respecting the object of Jackson's visit to Brick Court, and he could
- not well explain to the Italian the nature of the enterprise which he had
- so successfully carried out by the aid of Mrs. Abington. It was one thing
- to take Mrs. Abington into his confidence, and quite another to confide in
- Baretti. He was discriminating enough to be well aware of the fact that,
- while the secret was perfectly safe in the keeping of the actress, it
- would be by no means equally so if confided to Baretti, although some
- people might laugh at him for entertaining an opinion so contrary to that
- which was generally accepted by the world, Mrs. Abington being a woman and
- Baretti a man.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had perceived long ago that Baretti was extremely anxious to learn all
- about Jackson—that he was wondering how he, Goldsmith, should have
- become mixed up in a matter which was apparently of imperial importance,
- for at the mention of the American rebels Baretti had opened his eyes. He
- was, therefore, glad that the talk at the table was so general as to
- prevent any allusion being made to the incidents of the day.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr. Johnson made Signor Nicolo acquainted with a few important facts
- regarding the use of the sword and the limitations of that weapon, which
- the Italian accepted with wonderful gravity; and when Goldsmith, on the
- conversation drifting into the question of patriotism and its trials,
- declared that a successful patriot was susceptible of being defined as a
- man who loved his country for the benefit of himself, Dr. Johnson roared
- out—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir, that is very good. If Mr. Boswell were here—and indeed, sir, I
- am glad that he is not—he would say that your definition was so good
- as to make him certain you had stolen it from me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir, 'tis not so good as to have been stolen from you,” said
- Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir,” said Dr. Johnson, “I did not say that it was good enough to have
- been stolen from me. I only said that it was good enough to make a very
- foolish person suppose that it was stolen from me. No sensible person, Dr.
- Goldsmith, would believe, first, that you would steal; secondly, that you
- would steal from me; thirdly, that I would give you a chance of stealing
- from me; and fourthly, that I would compose an apophthegm which when it
- comes to be closely examined is not so good after all. Now, sir, are you
- satisfied with the extent of my agreement with you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir, I am more than satisfied,” said Goldsmith, while Nicolo, the cunning
- master of fence, sat by with a puzzled look on his saffron face. This was
- a kind of fencing of which he had had no previous experience.
- </p>
- <p>
- After dining Goldsmith made the excuse of being required at the theatre,
- to leave his friends. He was anxious to return thanks to Mrs. Abington for
- managing so adroitly to accomplish in a moment all that he had hoped to
- do.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found the lady not in the green room, but in her dressing room; her
- costume was not, however, the less fascinating, nor was her smile the less
- subtle as she gave him her hand to kiss. He knelt on one knee, holding her
- hand to his lips; he was too much overcome to be able to speak, and she
- knew it. She did not mind how long he held her hand; she was quite
- accustomed to such demonstrations, though few, she well knew, were of
- equal sincerity to those of Oliver Goldsmith's.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, my poet,” she said at last, “have you need of my services to banish
- any more demons from the neighbourhood of your friends?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was right,” he managed to say after another pause, “yes, I knew I was
- not mistaken in you, my dear lady.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; you knew that I was equal to combat the wiles of the craftiest demon
- that ever undertook the slandering of a fair damsel,” said she. “Well,
- sir, you paid me a doubtful compliment—a more doubtful compliment
- than the fair damsel paid to you in asking you to be her champion. But you
- have not told me of your adventurous journey with our friend in the
- hackney coach.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay,” he cried, “it is you who have not yet told me by what means you
- became possessed of the letters which I wanted—by what magic you
- substituted for them the mock act of the comedy which I carried with me
- into the supper room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha, sir!” said she, “'twas a simple matter, after all. I gathered from
- a remark the fellow made when laying his cloak across the chair, that he
- had the letters in one of the pockets of that same cloak. He gave me a
- hint that a certain Ned Cripps, who shares his lodging, is not to be
- trusted, so that he was obliged to carry about with him every document on
- which he places a value. Well, sir, my well known loyalty naturally
- received a great shock when he offered to drink to the American rebels,
- and you saw that I left the table hastily. A minute or so sufficed me to
- discover the wallet with the letters; but then I was at my wits' end to
- find something to occupy their place in the receptacle. Happily my eye
- caught the roll of your manuscript, which lay in your hat on the floor
- beneath the chair, and heigh! presto! the trick was played. I had a
- sufficient appreciation of dramatic incident to keep me hoping all the
- night that you would be able to get possession of the wallet, believing it
- contained the letters for which you were in search. Lord, sir! I tried to
- picture your face when you drew out your own papers.” The actress lay back
- on her couch and roared with laughter, Goldsmith joining in quite
- pleasantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah!” he said; “I can fancy that I see at this moment the expression which
- my face wore at the time. But the sequel to the story is the most
- humourous. I succeeded last night in picking the fellow's pocket, but he
- paid me a visit this afternoon with the intent of recovering what he
- termed his property.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, lud! Call you that humourous? How did you rid yourself of him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- At the story of the fight which had taken place in Brick Court, Mrs.
- Abington laughed heartily after a few breathless moments.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By my faith, sir!” she cried; “I would give ten guineas to have been
- there. But believe me, Dr. Goldsmith,” she added a moment afterwards, “you
- will live in great jeopardy so long as that fellow remains in the town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, my dear,” said he. “It was Baretti whom he threatened as he left my
- room—not I. He knows that I have now in my possession such documents
- as would hang him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, is not that the very reason why he should make an attempt upon your
- life?” cried the actress. “He may try to kill Baretti on a point of
- sentiment, but assuredly he will do his best to slaughter you as a matter
- of business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Faith, madam, since you put it that way I do believe that there is
- something in what you say,” said Goldsmith. “So I will e'en take a
- hackney-coach to the Temple and get the stalwart Ginger to escort me to
- the very door of my chambers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do so, sir. I am awaiting with great interest the part which you have yet
- to write for me in a comedy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I swear to you that it will be the best part ever written by me, my dear
- friend. You have earned my everlasting gratitude.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! was the lady so grateful as all that?” cried the actress, looking at
- him with one of those arch smiles of hers which even Sir Joshua Reynolds
- could not quite translate to show the next century what manner of woman
- was the first Lady Teazle, for the part of the capricious young wife of
- the elderly Sir Peter was woven around the fascinating country girl's
- smile of Mrs. Abington.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXVIII.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>oldsmith kept his
- word. He took a hackney-coach to the Temple, and was alert all the time he
- was driving lest Jackson and his friends might be waiting to make an
- attack upon him. He reached his chambers without any adventure, however,
- and on locking his doors, took out the second parcel of letters and set
- himself to peruse their contents.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had no need to read them all—the first that came to his hand was
- sufficient to make him aware of the nature of the correspondence. It was
- perfectly plain that the man had been endeavouring to traffic with the
- rebels, and it was equally certain that the rebel leaders had shown
- themselves to be too honourable to take advantage of the offers which he
- had made to them. If this correspondence had come into the hands of
- Cornwallis he would have hanged the fellow on the nearest tree instead of
- merely turning him out of his regiment and shipping him back to England as
- a suspected traitor.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he locked the letters once again in his desk he felt that there was
- indeed every reason to fear that Jackson would not rest until he had
- obtained possession of such damning evidence of his guilt. He would
- certainly either make the attempt to get back the letters, or leave the
- country, in order to avoid the irretrievable ruin which would fall upon
- him if any one of the packet went into the hands of a magistrate; and
- Goldsmith was strongly of the belief that the man would adopt the former
- course.
- </p>
- <p>
- Only for an instant, as he laid down the compromising document, did he ask
- himself how it was possible that Mary Horneck should ever have been so
- blind as to be attracted to such a man, and to believe in his honesty.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew enough of the nature of womankind to be aware of the glamour which
- attaches to a soldier who has been wounded in fighting the enemies of his
- country. If Mary had been less womanly than she showed herself to be, he
- would not have loved her so well as he did. Her womanly weaknesses were
- dear to him, and the painful evidence that he had of the tenderness of her
- heart only made him feel that she was all the more a woman, and therefore
- all the more to be loved.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the afternoon of the next day before he set out once more for the
- Hornecks.
- </p>
- <p>
- He meant to see Mary, and then go on to Sir Joshua Reynolds's to dine.
- There was to be that night a meeting of the Royal Academy, which he would
- attend with the president, after Sir Joshua's usual five o'clock dinner.
- It occurred to him that, as Baretti would also most probably be at the
- meeting, he would do well to make him acquainted with the dangerous
- character of Jackson, so that Baretti might take due precautions against
- any attack that the desperate man might be induced to make upon him. No
- doubt Baretti would make a good point in conversation with his friends of
- the notion of Oliver Goldsmith's counselling caution to any one; but the
- latter was determined to give the Italian his advice on this matter,
- whatever the consequences might be.
- </p>
- <p>
- It so happened, however, that he was unable to carry out his intention in
- full, for on visiting Mrs. Horneck, he learned that Mary would not return
- from Barton until late that night, and at the meeting of the Academy
- Baretti failed to put in an appearance.
- </p>
- <p>
- He mentioned to Sir Joshua that he had something of importance to
- communicate to the Italian, and that he was somewhat uneasy at not having
- a chance of carrying out his intention in this respect.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You would do well, then, to come to my house for supper,” said Reynolds.
- “I think it is very probable that Baretti will look in, if only to
- apologise for his absence from the meeting. Miss Kauffman has promised to
- come, and I have secured Johnson as well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith agreed, and while Johnson and Angelica Kauffman walked in front,
- he followed with Reynolds some distance behind—not so far, however,
- as to be out of the range of Johnson's voice. Johnson was engaged in a
- discourse with his sweet companion—he was particularly fond of such
- companionship—on the dignity inseparable from a classic style in
- painting, and the enormity of painting men and women in the habiliments of
- their period and country. Angelica Kauffman was not a painter who required
- any considerable amount of remonstrance from her preceptors to keep her
- feet from straying in regard to classical traditions. The artist who gave
- the purest Greek features and the Roman toga alike to the Prodigal Son and
- King Edward III could not be said to be capable of greatly erring from Dr.
- Johnson's precepts.
- </p>
- <p>
- All through supper the sage continued his discourse at intervals of
- eating, giving his hearty commendation to Sir Joshua's conscientious
- adherence to classical traditions, and shouting down Goldsmith's mild
- suggestion that it might be possible to adhere to these traditions so
- faithfully as to inculcate a certain artificiality of style which might
- eventually prove detrimental to the best interests of art.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, sir!” cried Johnson, rolling like a three-decker swinging at
- anchor, and pursing out his lips, “would you contend that a member of
- Parliament should be painted for posterity in his every-day clothes—that
- the King should be depicted as an ordinary gentleman?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, yes, sir, if the King were an ordinary gentleman,” replied
- Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- Whitefoord, who never could resist the chance of making a pun, whispered
- to Oliver that in respect of some Kings there was more of the ordinary
- than the gentleman about them, and when Miss Reynolds insisted on his
- phrase being repeated to her, Johnson became grave.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir,” he cried, turning once more to Goldsmith, “there is a very flagrant
- example of what you would bring about. When a monarch, even depicted in
- his robes and with the awe-inspiring insignia of his exalted position, is
- not held to be beyond the violation of a punster, what would he be if
- shown in ordinary garb? But you, sir, in your aims after what you call the
- natural, would, I believe, consider seriously the advisability of the
- epitaphs in Westminster Abbey being written in English.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And why not, sir?” said Goldsmith; then, with a twinkle, he added, “For
- my own part, sir, I hope that I may live to read my own epitaph in
- Westminster Abbey written in English.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Every one laughed, including—when the bull had been explained to her—Angelica
- Kauffman.
- </p>
- <p>
- After supper Sir Joshua put his fair guest into her chair, shutting its
- door with his own hands, and shortly afterwards Johnson and Whitefoord
- went off together. But still Goldsmith, at the suggestion of Reynolds,
- lingered in the hope that Baretti would call. He had probably been
- detained at the house of a friend, Reynolds said, and if he should pass
- Leicester Square on his way home, he would certainly call to explain the
- reason of his absence from the meeting.
- </p>
- <p>
- When another half-hour had passed, however, Goldsmith rose and said that
- as Sir Joshua's bed-time was at hand, it would be outrageous for him to
- wait any longer. His host accompanied him to the hall, and Ralph helped
- him on with his cloak. He was in the act of receiving his hat from the
- hand of the servant when the hall-bell was rung with starling violence.
- The ring was repeated before Ralph could take the few steps to the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If that is Baretti who rings, his business must be indeed urgent,” said
- Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- In another moment the door was opened, and the light of the lamp showed
- the figure of Steevens in the porch. He hurried past Ralph, crying out so
- as to reach the ear of Reynolds.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A dreadful thing has happened tonight, sir! Baretti was attacked by two
- men in the Haymarket, and he killed one of them with his knife. He has
- been arrested, and will be charged with murder before Sir John Fielding in
- the morning. I heard of the terrible business just now, and lost no time
- coming to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Merciful heaven!” cried Goldsmith. “I was waiting for Baretti in order to
- warn him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You could not have any reason for warning him against such an attack as
- was made upon him,” said Steevens. “It seems that the fellow whom Baretti
- was unfortunate enough to kill was one of a very disreputable gang well
- known to the constables. It was a Bow street runner who stated what his
- name was.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what was his name?” asked Reynolds.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Richard Jackson,” replied Steevens. “Of course we never heard the name
- before. The attack upon Baretti was the worst that could be imagined.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The world is undoubtedly rid of a great rascal,” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Undoubtedly; but that fact will not save our friend from being hanged,
- should a jury find him guilty,” said Steevens. “We must make an effort to
- avert so terrible a thing. That is why I came here now; I tried to speak
- to Baretti, but the constables would not give me permission. They carried
- my name to him, however, and he sent out a message asking me to go without
- delay to Sir Joshua and you, as well as Dr. Johnson and Mr. Garrick. He
- hopes you may find it convenient to attend before Sir John Fielding at Bow
- street in the morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That we shall,” said Sir Joshua. “He shall have the best legal advice
- available in England; and, meantime, we shall go to him and tell him that
- he may depend on our help, such as it is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The coach in which Steevens had come to Leicester Square was still
- waiting, and in it they all drove to where Baretti was detained in
- custody. The constables would not allow them to see the prisoner, but they
- offered to convey to him any message which his friends might have, and
- also to carry back to them his reply.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith was extremely anxious to get from Baretti's own lips an account
- of the assault which had been made upon him; but he could not induce the
- constables to allow him to go into his presence. They, however, bore in
- his message to the effect that he might depend on the help of all his
- friends in his emergency.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Joshua sent for the watchmen by whom the arrest had been effected, and
- they stated that Baretti had been seized by the crowd—afar from
- reputable crowd—so soon as it was known that a man had been stabbed,
- and he had been handed over to the constables, while a surgeon examined
- the man's wound, but was able to do nothing for him; he had expired in the
- surgeon's hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- Baretti's statement made to the watch was that he was on his way to the
- meeting of the Academy, and being very late, he was hurrying through the
- Haymarket when a woman jostled him, and at the same instant two men rushed
- out from the entrance to Jermyn street and attacked him with heavy sticks.
- One of the men closed with him to prevent his drawing his sword, but he
- succeeded in freeing one arm, and in defending himself with the small
- fruit knife which he invariably carried about with him, as was the custom
- in France and Italy, where fruit is the chief article of diet, he had
- undoubtedly stabbed his assailant, and by a great mischance he must have
- severed an artery.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Bow street runner who had seen the dead body told Reynolds and his
- friends that he recognised the man as one Jackson, who had formerly held a
- commission in the army, and had been serving in America, when, being tried
- by court-martial for some irregularities, he had been sent to England by
- Cornwallis. He had been living by his wits for some months, and had
- recently joined a very disreputable gang, who occupied a house in
- Whetstone Park.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So far from our friend having been guilty of a criminal offence, it seems
- to me that he has rid the country of a vile rogue,” said Goldsmith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If the jury take that view of the business they'll acquit the gentleman,”
- said the Bow street runner. “But I fancy the judge will tell them that
- it's the business of the hangman only to rid the country of its rogues.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith could not but perceive that the man had accurately defined the
- view which the law was supposed to take of the question of getting rid of
- the rogues, and his reflections as he drove to his chambers, having parted
- from Sir Joshua Reynolds and Steevens, made him very unhappy. He could not
- help feeling that Baretti was the victim of his—Goldsmith's—want
- of consideration. What right had he, he asked himself, to drag Baretti
- into a matter in which the Italian had no concern? He felt that a man of
- the world would certainly have acted with more discretion, and if anything
- happened to Baretti he would never forgive himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIX.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>fter a very
- restless night he hastened to Johnson, but found that Johnson had already
- gone to Garrick's house, and at Garrick's house Goldsmith learned that
- Johnson and Garrick had driven to Edmund Burke's; so it was plain that
- Baretti's friends were losing no time in setting about helping him. They
- all met in the Bow Street Police Court, and Goldsmith found that Burke had
- already instructed a lawyer on behalf of Baretti. His tender heart was
- greatly moved at the sight of Baretti when the latter was brought into
- court, and placed in the dock, with a constable on each side. But the
- prisoner himself appeared to be quite collected, and seemed proud of the
- group of notable persons who had come to show their friendship for him. He
- smiled at Reynolds and Goldsmith, and, when the witnesses were being
- examined, polished the glasses of his spectacles with the greatest
- composure. He appeared to be confident that Sir John Fielding would allow
- him to go free when evidence was given that Jackson had been a man of
- notoriously bad character, and he seemed greatly surprised when the
- magistrate announced that he was returning him for trial at the next
- sessions.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith asked Sir John Fielding for permission to accompany the prisoner
- in the coach that was taking him to Newgate, and his request was granted.
- </p>
- <p>
- He clasped Baretti's hand with tears in his eyes when they set out on this
- melancholy drive, saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear friend, I shall never forgive myself for having brought you to
- this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha, sir!” said Baretti. “'Tis not you, but the foolish laws of this
- country that must be held accountable for the situation of the moment. In
- what country except this could a thing so ridiculous occur? A gross
- ruffian attacks me, and in the absence of any civil force for the
- protection of the people, I am compelled to protect myself from his
- violence. It so happens that instead of the fellow killing me, I by
- accident kill him, and lo! a pigheaded magistrate sends me to be tried for
- my life! Mother of God! that is what is called the course of justice in
- this country! The course of idiocy it had much better be called!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not be alarmed,” said Goldsmith. “When you appear before a judge and
- jury you will most certainly be acquitted. But can you forgive me for
- being the cause of this great inconvenience to you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can easily forgive you, having no reason to hold you in any way
- responsible for this <i>contretemps</i>,” said Baretti. “But I cannot
- forgive that very foolish person who sat on the Bench at Bow street and
- failed to perceive that my act had saved his constables and his hangman a
- considerable amount of trouble! Heavens! that such carrion as the fellow
- whom I killed should be regarded sacred—as sacred as though he were
- an Archbishop! Body of Bacchus! was there ever a contention so
- ridiculous?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will only be inconvenienced for a week or two, my dear friend,” said
- Goldsmith. “It is quite impossible that you could be convicted—oh,
- quite impossible. You shall have the best counsel available, and Reynolds
- and Johnson and Beauclerk will speak for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Baretti declined to be pacified by such assurances. He continued
- railing against England and English laws until the coach arrived at
- Newgate.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was with a very sad heart that Goldsmith, when he was left alone in the
- coach, gave directions to be driven to the Hor-necks' house in
- Westminster. On leaving his chambers in the morning, he had been uncertain
- whether it was right for him to go at once to Bow street or to see Mary
- Horneck. He felt that he should relieve Mary from the distress of mind
- from which she had suffered for so long, but he came to the conclusion
- that he should let nothing come between him and his duty in respect of the
- man who was suffering by reason of his friendship for him, Goldsmith. Now,
- however, that he had discharged his duty so far as he could in regard to
- Baretti, he lost no time in going to the Jessamy Bride.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Horneck again met him in the hall. Her face was very grave, and the
- signs of recent tears were visible on it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear Dr. Goldsmith,” she said, “I am in deep distress about Mary.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How so, madam?” he gasped, for a dreadful thought had suddenly come to
- him. Had he arrived at this house only to hear that the girl was at the
- point of death?
- </p>
- <p>
- “She returned from Barton last night, seeming even more depressed than
- when she left town,” said Mrs. Horneck. “But who could fancy that her
- condition was so low as to be liable to such complete prostration as was
- brought about by my son's announcement of this news about Signor Baretti?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It prostrated her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, when Charles read out an account of the unhappy affair which is
- printed in one of the papers, Mary listened breathlessly, and when he read
- out the name of the man who was killed, she sank from her chair to the
- floor in a swoon, just as though the man had been one of her friends,
- instead of one whom none of us could ever possibly have met.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now she is lying on the sofa in the drawingroom awaiting your coming with
- strange impatience—I told her that you had been here yesterday and
- also the day before. She has been talking very strangely since she awoke
- from her faint—accusing herself of bringing her friends into
- trouble, but evermore crying out, 'Why does he not come—why does he
- not come to tell me all that there is to be told?' She meant you, dear Dr.
- Goldsmith. She has somehow come to think of you as able to soothe her in
- this curious imaginary distress, from which she is suffering quite as
- acutely as if it were a real sorrow. Oh, I was quite overcome when I saw
- the poor child lying as if she were dead before my eyes! Her condition is
- the more sad, as I have reason to believe that Colonel Gwyn means to call
- to-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never mind Colonel Gwyn for the present, madam,” said Goldsmith, “Will
- you have the goodness to lead me to her room? Have I not told you that I
- am confident that I can restore her to health?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, Dr. Goldsmith, if you could!—ah, if you only could! But alas,
- alas!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He followed her upstairs to the drawingroom where he had had his last
- interview with Mary. Even before the door was opened the sound of sobbing
- within the room came to his ears.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, my dear child,” said her mother with an affectation of cheerfulness,
- “you see that Dr. Goldsmith has kept his word. He has come to his Jessamy
- Bride.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The girl started up, but the struggle she had to do so showed him most
- pathetically how weak she was.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, he is come he is come!” she cried. “Leave him with me, mother; he has
- much to tell me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.” said he; “I have much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Horneck left the room after kissing the girl's forehead.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had hardly closed the door before Mary caught Goldsmith's hand
- spasmodically in both her own—he felt how they were trembling-as she
- cried—
- </p>
- <p>
- “The terrible thing that has happened! He is dead—you know it, of
- course? Oh, it is terrible—terrible! But the letters!—they
- will be found upon him or at the place where he lived, and it will be
- impossible to keep my secret longer. Will his friends—he had evil
- friends, I know—will they print them, do you think? Ah, I see by
- your face that you believe they will print the letters, and I shall be
- undone—undone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear,” he said, “you might be able to bear the worst news that I could
- bring you; but will you be able to bear the best?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The best! Ah, what is the best?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is more difficult to prepare for the best than for the worst, my
- child. You are very weak, but you must not give way to your weakness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stared at him with wistful, expectant eyes. Her hands were clasped
- more tightly than ever upon his own. He saw that she was trying to speak,
- but failing to utter a single word.
- </p>
- <p>
- He waited for a few moments and then drew out of his pocket the packet of
- her letters, and gave it to her. She looked at it strangely for certainly
- a minute. She could not realise the truth. She could only gaze mutely at
- the packet. He perceived that that gradual dawning of the truth upon her
- meant the saving of her life. He knew that she would not now be
- overwhelmed with the joy of being saved.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she gave a sudden cry. The letters dropped from her hand. She flung
- her arms around his neck and kissed him again and again on the cheeks.
- Quite as suddenly she ceased kissing him and laughed—not
- hysterically, but joyously, as she sprang to her feet with scarcely an
- effort and walked across the room to the window that looked upon the
- street. He followed her with his eyes and saw her gazing out. Then she
- turned round with another laugh that rippled through the room. How long
- was it since he had heard her laugh in that way?
- </p>
- <p>
- She came toward him, and then he knew that he had had his reward, for her
- cheeks that had been white were now glowing with the roses of June, and
- her eyes that had been dim were sparkling with gladness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah,” she cried, putting out both her hands to him. “Ah, I knew that I was
- right in telling you my secret, and in asking you to help me. I knew that
- you would not fail me in my hour of need, and you shall be dear to me for
- evermore for having helped me. There is no one in the world like you, dear
- Oliver Goldsmith. I have always felt that—so good, so true, so full
- of tenderness and that sweet simplicity which has made the greatest and
- best people in the world love you, as I love you, dear, dear friend! O,
- you are a friend to be trusted—a friend who would be ready to die
- for his friend. Gratitude—you do not want gratitude. It is well that
- you do not want gratitude, for what could gratitude say to you for what
- you have done? You have saved me from death—from worse than death—and
- I know that the thought that you have done so will be your greatest
- reward. I will always be near you, that you may see me and feel that I
- live only because you stretched out your kind hand and drew me out of the
- deep waters—the waters that had well-nigh closed over my head.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat before her, looking up to the sweet face that looked down upon him.
- His eyes were full of tears. The world had dealt hardly with him; but he
- felt that his life had not been wholly barren of gladness, since he had
- lived to see—even through the dimness of tears—so sweet a face
- looking into his own with eyes full of the light of—was it the
- gratitude of a girl? Was it the love of a woman?
- </p>
- <p>
- He could not speak. He could not even return the pressure of the small
- hands that clasped his own with all the gracious pressure of the tendrils
- of a climbing flower.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you nothing to say to me—no word to give me at this moment?”
- she asked in a whisper, and her head was bent closer to his, and her
- fingers seemed to him to tighten somewhat around his own.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What word?” said he. “Ah, my child, what word should come from such a man
- as I to such a woman as you? No, I have no word. Such complete happiness
- as is mine at this moment does not seek to find expression in words. You
- have given me such happiness as I never hoped for in my life. You have
- understood me—you alone, and that to such as I means happiness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She dropped his hands so suddenly as almost to suggest that she had flung
- them away from her. She took an impatient step or two in the direction of
- the window.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You talk of my understanding you,” she said in a voice that had a sob in
- it. “Yes, but have you no thought of understanding me? Is it only a man's
- nature that is worth trying to understand? Is a woman's not worthy of a
- thought?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He started up and seemed about to stretch his arms out to her, but with a
- sudden drawing in of his breath he put his hands behind his back and
- locked the fingers of both together.
- </p>
- <p>
- Thus he stood looking at her while she had her face averted, not knowing
- the struggle that was going on between the two powers that are ever in the
- throes of conflict within the heart of a man who loves a woman well enough
- to have no thought of himself—no thought except for her happiness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he said at last. “No, my dear, dear child; I have no word to say to
- you! I fear to speak a word. The happiness that a man builds up for
- himself may be destroyed by the utterance of one word. I wish to remain
- happy—watching your happiness—in silence. Perhaps I may
- understand you—I may understand something of the thought which
- gratitude suggests to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, gratitude!” said she in a tone that was sad even in its scornfulness.
- She had not turned her head toward him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I may understand something of your nature—the sweetest, the
- tenderest that ever made a woman blessed; but I understand myself better,
- and I know in what direction lies my happiness—in what direction
- lies your happiness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! are you sure that they are two—that they are separate?” said
- she. And now she moved her head slowly so that she was looking into his
- face.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long pause. She could not see the movement of his hands. He
- still held them behind him. At last he said slowly—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure, my dear one. Ah, I am but too sure. Would to God there were a
- chance of my being mistaken! Ah, dear, dear child, it is my lot to look on
- happiness through another man's eyes. And, believe me, there is more
- happiness in doing so than the world knows of. No, no! Do not speak—for
- God's sake, do not speak to me! Do not say those words which are trembling
- on your lips, for they mean unhappiness to both of us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She continued looking at him; then suddenly, with a little cry, she turned
- away, and throwing herself down on the sofa, burst into tears, with her
- face upon one of the arms, which her hands held tightly.
- </p>
- <p>
- After a time he went to her side and laid a hand upon her hair.
- </p>
- <p>
- She raised her head and looked up to him with streaming eyes. She put a
- hand out to him, saying in a low but clear voice—
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are right. Oh, I know you are right. I will not speak that word; but
- I can never—never cease to think of you as the best—the
- noblest—the truest of men. You have been my best friend—my
- only friend—and there is no dearer name that a man can be called by
- a woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He bent his head and kissed her on the forehead, but spoke no word.
- </p>
- <p>
- A moment afterwards Mrs. Horneck entered the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, mother, mother!” cried the girl, starting up, “I knew that I was
- right—I knew that Dr. Goldsmith would be able to help me. Ah, I am a
- new girl since he came to see me. I feel that I am well once more—that
- I shall never be ill again! Oh, he is the best doctor in the world!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, what a transformation there is already!” said her mother. “Ah, Dr.
- Goldsmith was always my dear girl's friend!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Friend—friend!” she said slowly, almost gravely. “Yes, he was
- always my friend, and he will be so forever—my friend—our
- friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Always, always,” said Mrs. Horneck. “I am doubly glad to find that you
- have cast away your fit of melancholy, my dear, because Colonel Gwyn has
- just called and expresses the deepest anxiety regarding your condition.
- May I not ask him to come up in order that his mind may be relieved by
- seeing you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no! I will not see Colonel Gwyn to-day,” cried the girl. “Send him
- away—send him away. I do not want to see him. I want to see no one
- but our good friend Oliver Goldsmith. Ah, what did Colonel Gwyn ever do
- for me that I should wish to see him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear Mary——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Send him away, dear mother. I tell you that indeed I am not yet
- sufficiently recovered to be able to have a visitor. Dr. Goldsmith has not
- yet given me a good laugh, and till you come and find us laughing together
- as we used to laugh in the old days, you cannot say that I am myself
- again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will not do anything against your inclinations, child,” said Mrs.
- Horneck. “I will tell Colonel Gwyn to renew his visit to you next week.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do, dear mother,” cried the girl, laughing. “Say next week, or next year,
- sweetest of mothers, or—best of all—say that he had better
- come by and by, and then add, in the true style of Mr. Garrick, that 'by
- and by is easily said.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXX.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>s he went to his
- chambers to dress before going to dine with the Dillys in the Poultry,
- Goldsmith was happier than he had been for years. He had seen the light
- return to the face that he loved more than all the faces in the world, and
- he had been strong enough to put aside the temptation to hear her confess
- that she returned the love which he bore her, but which he had never
- confessed to her. He felt happy to know that the friendship which had been
- so great a consolation to him for several years—the friendship for
- the family who had been so good and so considerate to him—was the
- same now as it had always been. He felt happy in the reflection that he
- had spoken no word that would tend to jeopardise that friendship. He had
- seen enough of the world to be made aware of the fact that there is no
- more potent destroyer of friendship than love. He had put aside the
- temptation to speak a word of love; nay, he had prevented her from
- speaking what he believed would be a word of love, although the speaking
- of that word would have been the sweetest sound that had ever fallen upon
- his ears.
- </p>
- <p>
- And that was how he came to feel happy.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet, that same night, when he was sitting alone in his room, he found
- a delight in adding to that bundle of manuscripts which he had dedicated
- to her and which some weeks before he had designed to destroy. He added
- poem after poem to the verses which Johnson had rightly interpreted—verses
- pulsating with the love that was in his heart—verses which Mary
- Horneck could not fail to interpret aright should they ever come before
- her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But they shall never come before her eyes,” he said. “Ah, never—never!
- It is in my power to avert at least that unhappiness from her life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet before he went to sleep he had a thought that perhaps one day she
- might read those verses of his—yes, perhaps one day. He wondered if
- that day was far off or nigh.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he had been by her side, after Colonel Gwyn had left the house, he
- had told her the story of the recovery of her letters; he did not,
- however, think it necessary to tell her how the man had come to entertain
- his animosity to Baretti; and she thus regarded the latter's killing of
- Jackson as an accident.
- </p>
- <p>
- After the lapse of a day or two he began to think if it might not be well
- for him to consult with Edmund Burke as to whether it would be to the
- advantage of Baretti or otherwise to submit evidence as to the threats
- made use of by Jackson in regard to Baretti. He thought that it might be
- possible to do so without introducing the name of Mary Horneck. But Burke,
- after hearing the story—no mention of the name of Mary Horneck being
- made by Goldsmith—came to the conclusion that it would be unwise to
- introduce at the trial any question of animosity on the part of the man
- who had been killed, lest the jury might be led to infer—as, indeed,
- they might have some sort of reason for doing-that the animosity on
- Jackson's part meant animosity on Baretti's part. Burke considered that a
- defence founded upon the plea of accident was the one which was most
- likely to succeed in obtaining from a jury a verdict of acquittal. If it
- could be shown that the man had attacked Baretti as impudently as some of
- the witnesses for the Crown were ready to admit that he did, Burke and his
- legal advisers thought that the prisoner had a good chance of obtaining a
- verdict.
- </p>
- <p>
- The fact that neither Burke nor any one else spoke with confidence of the
- acquittal had, however, a deep effect upon Goldsmith. His sanguine nature
- had caused him from the first to feel certain of Baretti's safety, and any
- one who reads nowadays an account of the celebrated trial would
- undoubtedly be inclined to think that his feeling in this matter was fully
- justified. That there should have been any suggestion of premeditation in
- the unfortunate act of self-defence on the part of Baretti seems amazing
- to a modern reader of the case as stated by the Crown. But as Edmund Burke
- stated about that time in the House of Commons, England was a gigantic
- shambles. The barest evidence against a prisoner was considered sufficient
- to bring him to the gallows for an offence which nowadays, if proved
- against him on unmistakable testimony, would only entail his incarceration
- for a week. Women were hanged for stealing bread to keep their children
- from that starvation which was the result of the kidnapping of their
- husbands to serve in the navy; and yet Burke's was the only influential
- voice that was lifted up against a system in comparison with which slavery
- was not only tolerable, but commendable.
- </p>
- <p>
- Baretti was indeed the only one of that famous circle of which Johnson was
- the centre, who felt confident that he would be acquitted. For all his
- railing against the detestable laws of the detestable country—which,
- however, he found preferable to his own—he ridiculed the possibility
- of his being found guilty. It was Johnson who considered it within the
- bounds of his duty to make the Italian understand that, however absurd was
- the notion of his being carted to the gallows, the likelihood was that he
- would experience the feelings incidental to such an excursion.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went full of this intention with Reynolds to visit the prisoner at
- Newgate, and it may be taken for granted that he discharged his duty with
- his usual emphasis. It is recorded, however, on the excellent authority of
- Boswell, that Baretti was quite unmoved by the admonition of the sage.
- </p>
- <p>
- It is also on authority of Boswell that we learn that Johnson was guilty
- of what appears to us nowadays as a very gross breach of good taste as
- well as of good feeling, when, on the question of the likelihood of
- Baretti's failing to obtain a verdict being discussed, he declared that if
- one of his friends were fairly hanged he should not suffer, but eat his
- dinner just the same as usual. It is fortunate, however, that we know
- something of the systems adopted by Johnson when pestered by the idiotic
- insistence of certain trivial matters by Boswell, and the record of
- Johnson's pretence to appear a callous man of the world probably deceived
- no one in the world except the one man whom it was meant to silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- But, however callous Dr. Johnson may have pretended to be—however
- insincere Tom Davis the bookseller may—according to Johnson—have
- been, there can be no doubt that poor Goldsmith was in great trepidation
- until the trial was over. He gave evidence in favour of Baretti, though
- Boswell, true to his detestation of the man against whom he entertained an
- envy that showed itself every time he mentioned his name, declined to
- mention this fact, taking care, however, that Johnson got full credit for
- appearing in the witness-box with Burke, Garrick and Beauclerk.
- </p>
- <p>
- Baretti was acquitted, the jury being satisfied that, as the fruit-knife
- was a weapon which was constantly carried by Frenchmen and Italians, they
- might possibly go so far as to assume that it had not been bought by the
- prisoner solely with the intention of murdering the man who had attacked
- him in the Haymarket. The carrying of the fruit-knife seems rather a
- strange turning-point of a case heard at a period when the law permitted
- men to carry swords presumably for their own protection.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith's mind was set at ease by the acquittal of Baretti, and he
- joined in the many attempts that were made to show the sympathy which was
- felt—or, as Boswell would have us believe Johnson thought, was
- simulated—by his friends for Baretti. He gave a dinner in honour of
- the acquittal, inviting Johnson, Burke, Garrick, and a few others of the
- circle, and he proposed the health of their guest, which, he said, had not
- been so robust of late as to give all his friends an assurance that he
- would live to a ripe old age. He also toasted the jury and the counsel, as
- well as the turnkeys of Newgate and the usher of the Old Bailey.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the trial was over, however, he showed that the strain to which he
- had been subjected was too great for him. His health broke down, and he
- was compelled to leave his chambers and hurry off to his cottage on the
- Edgware Road, hoping to be benefitted by the change to the country, and
- trusting also to be able to make some progress with the many works which
- he had engaged himself to complete for the booksellers. He had, in
- addition, his comedy to write for Garrick, and he was not unmindful of his
- promise to give Mrs. Abington a part worthy of her acceptance.
- </p>
- <p>
- He returned at rare intervals to town, and never failed at such times to
- see his Jessamy Bride, with whom he had resumed his old relations of
- friendship. When she visited her sister at Barton she wrote to him in her
- usual high spirits. Little Comedy also sent him letters full of the fun in
- which she delighted to indulge with him, and he was never too busy to
- reply in the same strain. The pleasant circle at Bun-bury's country house
- wished to have him once again in their midst, to join in their pranks, and
- to submit, as he did with such good will, to their practical jests.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not go to Barton. He had made up his mind that that was one of the
- pleasures of life which he should forego. At Barton he knew that he would
- see Mary day by day, and he could not trust himself to be near her
- constantly and yet refrain from saying the words which would make both of
- them miserable. He had conquered himself once, but he was not sure that he
- would be as strong a second time.
- </p>
- <p>
- This perpetual struggle in which he was engaged—this constant
- endeavour to crush out of his life the passion which alone made life
- endurable to him, left him worn and weak, so it was not surprising that,
- when a coach drove up to his cottage one day, after many months had
- passed, and Mrs. Horneck stepped out, she was greatly shocked at the
- change which was apparent in his appearance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good heaven, Dr. Goldsmith!” she cried when she entered his little
- parlour, “you are killing yourself by your hard work. Sir Joshua said he
- was extremely apprehensive in regard to your health the last time he saw
- you, but were he to see you now, he would be not merely apprehensive but
- despairing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, my dear madam,” he said. “I am only suffering from a slight attack
- of an old enemy of mine. I am not so strong as I used to be; but let me
- assure you that I feel much better since you have been good enough to give
- me an opportunity of seeing you at my humble home. When I caught sight of
- you stepping out of the coach I received a great shock for a moment; I
- feared that—ah, I cannot tell you all that I feared.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “However shocked you were, dear Dr. Goldsmith, you were not so shocked as
- I was when you appeared before me,” said the lady. “Why, dear sir, you are
- killing yourself. Oh, we must change all this. You have no one here to
- give you the attention which your condition requires.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, madam! Am not I a physician myself?” said the Doctor, making a
- pitiful attempt to assume his old manner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, sir! every moment I am more shocked,” said she. “I will take you in
- hand. I came here to beg of you to go to Barton in my interests, but now I
- will beg of you to go thither in your own.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To Barton? Oh, my dear madam——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir, I insist! Ah! I might have known you better than to fancy I
- should easier prevail upon you by asking you to go to advance your own
- interests rather than mine. You were always more ready to help others than
- to help yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How is it possible, dear lady, that you need my poor help?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! I knew the best way to interest you. Dear friend, I know of no one
- who could be of the same help to us as you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is no one who would be more willing, madam.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have proved it long ago, Dr. Goldsmith. When Mary had that mysterious
- indisposition, was not her recovery due to you? She announced that it was
- you, and you only, who had brought her back to life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! my dear Jessamy Bride was always generous. Surely she is not again in
- need of my help.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is for her sake I come to you to-day, Dr. Goldsmith. I am sure that
- you are interested in her future—in the happiness which we all are
- anxious to secure for her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Happiness? What happiness, dear madam?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will tell you, sir. I look on you as one of our family—nay, I can
- talk with you more confidentially than I can with my own son.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have ever been indulgent to me, Mrs. Horneck.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you have ever been generous, sir; that is why I am here to-day. I
- know that Mary writes to you. I wonder if she has yet told you that
- Colonel Gwyn made her an offer with my consent.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; she has not told me that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke slowly, rising from his chair, but endeavoring to restrain the
- emotion which he felt.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is not unlike Mary to treat the matter as if it were finally settled,
- and so not worthy of another thought,” said Mrs. Horneck.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Finally settled?” repeated Goldsmith. “Then she has accepted Colonel
- Gwyn's proposal?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “On the contrary, sir, she rejected it,” said the mother.
- </p>
- <p>
- He resumed his seat. Was the emotion which he experienced at that moment
- one of gladness?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, she rejected a suitor whom we all considered most eligible,” said
- the lady. “Colonel Gwyn is a man of good family, and his own character is
- irreproachable. He is in every respect a most admirable man, and I am
- convinced that my dear child's happiness would be assured with him—and
- yet she sends him away from her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is possibly because she knows her own mind—her own heart, I
- should rather say; and that heart the purest in the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alas! she is but a girl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, to my mind, she is something more than a girl. No man that lives is
- worthy of her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That may be true, dear friend; but no girl would thank you to act too
- rigidly on that assumption—an assumption which would condemn her to
- live and die an old maid. Now, my dear Dr. Goldsmith, I want you to take a
- practical and not a poetical view of a matter which so closely concerns
- the future of one who is dear to me, and in whom I am sure you take a
- great interest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would do anything for her happiness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know it. Well you have long been aware, I am sure, that she regards you
- with the greatest respect and esteem—nay, if I may say it, with
- affection as well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! affection—affection for me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know it. If you were her brother she could not have a warmer regard
- for you. And that is why I have come to you to-day to beg of you to yield
- to the entreaties of your friends at Barton and pay them a visit. Mary is
- there, and I hope you will see your way to use your influence with her on
- behalf of Colonel Gwyn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What! I, madam?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Has my suggestion startled you? It should not have done so. I tell you,
- my friend, there is no one to whom I could go in this way, saving
- yourself. Indeed, there is no one else who would be worth going to, for no
- one possesses the influence over her that you have always had. I am
- convinced, Dr. Goldsmith, that she would listen to your persuasion while
- turning a deaf ear to that of any one else. You will lend us your
- influence, will you not, dear friend?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must have time to think—to think. How can I answer you at once in
- this matter? Ah, you cannot know what my decision means to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had left his chair once more and was standing against the fireplace
- looking into the empty grate.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are wrong,” she said in a low tone. “You are wrong; I know what is in
- your thoughts—in your heart. You fear that if Mary were married she
- would stand on a different footing in respect to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! a different footing!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think that you are in error in that respect,” said the lady. “Marriage
- is not such a change as some people seem to fancy it is. Is not Katherine
- the same to you now as she was before she married Charles Bunbury?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her with a little smile upon his face. How little she knew of
- what was in his heart!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, yes, my dear Little Comedy is unchanged,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And your Jessamy Bride would be equally unchanged,” said Mrs. Horneck.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But where lies the need for her to marry at once?” he inquired. “If she
- were in love with Colonel Gwyn there would be no reason why they should
- not marry at once; but if she does not love him——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who can say that she does not love him?” cried the lady. “Oh, my dear Dr.
- Goldsmith, a young woman is herself the worst judge in all the world of
- whether or not she loves one particular man. I give you my word, sir, I
- was married for five years before I knew that I loved my husband. When I
- married him I know that I was under the impression that I actually
- disliked him. Marriages are made in heaven, they say, and very properly,
- for heaven only knows whether a woman really loves a man, and a man a
- woman. Neither of the persons in the contract is capable of pronouncing a
- just opinion on the subject.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think that Mary should know what is in her own heart.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alas! alas! I fear for her. It is because I fear for her I am desirous of
- seeing her married to a good man—a man with whom her future
- happiness would be assured. You have talked of her heart, my friend; alas!
- that is just why I fear for her. I know how her heart dominates her life
- and prevents her from exercising her judgment. A girl who is ruled by her
- heart is in a perilous way. I wonder if she told you what her uncle, with
- whom she was sojourning in Devonshire, told me about her meeting a certain
- man there—my brother did not make me acquainted with his name—and
- being so carried away with some plausible story he told that she actually
- fancied herself in love with him—actually, until my brother,
- learning that the man was a disreputable fellow, put a stop to an affair
- that could only have had a disastrous ending. Ah! her heart——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, she told me all that. Undoubtedly she is dominated by her heart.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is, I repeat, why I tremble for her future. If she were to meet at
- some time, when perhaps I might not be near her, another adventurer like
- the fellow whom she met in Devonshire, who can say that she would not
- fancy she loved him? What disaster might result! Dear friend, would you
- desire to save her from the fate of your Olivia?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long pause before he said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madam, I will do as you ask me. I will go to Mary and endeavour to point
- out to her that it is her duty to marry Colonel Gwyn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew you would grant my request, my dear, dear friend,” cried the
- mother, catching his hand and pressing it. “But I would ask of you not to
- put the proposal to her quite in that way. To suggest that a girl with a
- heart should marry a particular man because her duty lies in that
- direction would be foolishness itself. Duty? The word is abhorrent to the
- ear of a young woman whose heart is ripe for love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are a woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am one indeed; I know what are a woman's thoughts—her longings—her
- hopes—and alas! her self-deceptions. A woman's heart—ah, Dr.
- Goldsmith, you once put into a few lines the whole tragedy of a woman's
- life. What experience was it urged you to write those lines?—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- 'When lovely woman stoops to folly.
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And finds too late. . .'
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- To think that one day, perhaps a child of mine should sing that song of
- poor Olivia!” He did not tell her that Mary had already quoted the lines
- in his hearing. He bowed his head, saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will go to her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will be saving her—ah, sir, will you not be saving yourself,”
- cried Mrs. Horneck.
- </p>
- <p>
- He started slightly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Saving myself? What can your meaning be, Mrs. Horneck?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I tell you I was shocked beyond measure when I entered this room and saw
- you,” she replied. “You are ill, sir; you are very ill, and the change to
- the garden at Barton will do you good. You have been neglecting yourself—yes,
- and some one who will nurse you back to life. Oh, Barton is the place for
- you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is no place I should like better to die at,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “To die at?” she said. “Nonsense, sir! you are I trust, far from death
- still. Nay, you will find life, and not death, there. Life is there for
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your daughter Mary is there,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXI.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e wrote that very
- evening, after Mrs. Horneck had taken her departure, one of his merry
- letters to Katherine Bunbury, telling her that he had resolved to yield
- gracefully to her entreaties to visit her, and meant to leave for Barton
- the next day. When that letter was written he gave himself up to his
- thoughts.
- </p>
- <p>
- All his thoughts were of Mary. He was going to place a barrier between her
- and himself. He was going to give himself a chance of life by making it
- impossible for him to love her. This writer of books had brought himself
- to think that if Mary Horneck were to marry Colonel Gwyn he, Oliver
- Goldsmith, would come to think of her as he thought of her sister—with
- the affection which exists between good friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- While her mother had been talking to him about her and her loving heart,
- he had suddenly become possessed of the truth: it was her sympathetic
- heart that had led her to make the two mistakes of her life. First, she
- had fancied that she loved the impostor whom she had met in Devonshire,
- and then she had fancied that she loved him, Oliver Goldsmith. He knew
- what she meant by the words which she had spoken in his presence. He knew
- that if he had not been strong enough to answer her as he had done that
- day, she would have told him that she loved him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her mother was right. She was in great danger through her liability to
- follow the promptings of her heart. If already she had made two such
- mistakes as he had become aware of, into what disaster might not she be
- led in the future?
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes; her mother was right. Safety for a girl with so tender a heart was to
- be found only in marriage—marriage with such a man as Colonel Gwyn
- undoubtedly was. He recollected the details of Colonel Gwyn's visit to
- himself, and how favourably impressed he had been with the man. He
- undoubtedly possessed every trait of character that goes to constitute a
- good man and a good husband. Above all, he was devoted to Mary Horneck,
- and there was no man who would be better able to keep her from the dangers
- which surrounded her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, he would go to Barton and carry out Mrs. Horneck's request. He would,
- moreover, be careful to refrain from any mention of the word duty, which
- would, the lady had declared, if introduced into his argument, tend to
- frustrate his intention.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went down to Barton by coach the next day. He felt very ill indeed, and
- he was not quite so confident as Mrs. Horneck that the result of his visit
- would be to restore him to perfect health. His last thought before leaving
- was that if Mary was made happy nothing else was worth a moment's
- consideration.
- </p>
- <p>
- She met him with a chaise driven by Bunbury, at the cross roads, where the
- coach set him down; and he could not fail to perceive that she was even
- more shocked than her mother had been at his changed appearance. While
- still on the top of the coach he saw her face lighted with pleasure the
- instant she caught sight of him. She waved her hand toward him, and
- Bunbury waved his whip. But the moment he had swung himself painfully and
- laboriously to the ground, he saw the look of amazement both on her face
- and on that of her brother-in-law.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was speechless, but it was not in the nature of Bunbury to be so.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good Lord! Noll, what have you been doing to yourself?” he cried. “Why,
- you're not like the same man. Is he, Mary?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mary only shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have been ill,” said Oliver. “But I am better already, having seen you
- both with your brown country faces. How is my Little Comedy? Is she ready
- to give me another lesson in loo?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She will give you what you need most, you may be certain,” said Bunbury,
- while the groom was strapping on his carpet-bag. “Oh! yes; we will take
- care that you get rid of that student's face of yours,” he continued.
- “Yes, and those sunken eyes! Good Lord! what a wreck you are! But we'll
- build you up again, never fear! Barton is the place for you and such as
- you, my friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I tell you I am better already,” cried Goldsmith; and then, as the chaise
- drove off, he glanced at the girl sitting opposite to him. Her face had
- become pale, her eyes were dim. She had spoken no word to him; she was not
- even looking at him. She was gazing over the hedgerows and the ploughed
- fields.
- </p>
- <p>
- Bunbury rattled away in unison with the rattling of the chaise along the
- uneven road. He roared with laughter as he recalled some of the jests
- which had been played upon Goldsmith when he had last been at Barton; but
- though Oliver tried to smile in response, Mary was silent. When the chaise
- arrived at the house, however, and Little Comedy welcomed her guest at the
- great door, her high spirits triumphed over even the depressing effect of
- her husband's artificial hilarity. She did not betray the shock which she
- experienced on observing how greatly changed was her friend since he had
- been with her and her sister at Ranelagh. She met him with a laugh and a
- cry of “You have never come to us without your scratch-wig? If you have
- forgot it, you will e'en have to go back for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The allusion to the merriment which had made the house noisy when he had
- last been at Barton caused Oliver to brighten up somewhat; and later on,
- at dinner, he yielded to the influence of Katherine Bun-bury's splendid
- vitality. Other guests were at the table, and the genial chat quickly
- became general. After dinner, he sang several of his Irish songs for his
- friends in the drawing-room, Mary playing an accompaniment on the
- harpsichord. Before he went to his bed-room he was ready to confess that
- Mrs. Horneck had judged rightly what would be the effect upon himself of
- his visit to the house he loved. He felt better—better than he had
- been for months.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the morning he was pleased to find that Mary seemed to have recovered
- her usual spirits. She walked round the grounds with him and her sister
- after breakfast, and laughed without reservation at the latter's amusing
- imitation, after the manner of Garrick, of Colonel Gwyn's declaration of
- his passion, and of Mary's reply to him. She had caught very happily the
- manner of the suitor, though of course she made a burlesque of the scene,
- especially in assuming the fluttered demureness which she declared she had
- good reason for knowing had frightened the lover so greatly as to cause
- him to talk of the evil results of drinking tea, when he had meant to talk
- about love.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had such a talent for this form of fun, and she put so much character
- into her casual travesties of every one whom she sought to imitate, she
- never gave offence, as a less adroit or less discriminating person would
- be certain to have done. Mary laughed even more heartily than Goldsmith at
- the account her sister gave of the imaginary scene.
- </p>
- <p>
- Goldsmith soon found that the proposal of Colonel Gwyn had passed into the
- already long list of family jests, and he saw that he was expected to
- understand the many allusions daily made to the incident of his rejection.
- A new nickname had been found by her brother-in-law for Mary, and of
- course Katherine quickly discovered one that was extremely appropriate to
- Colonel Gwyn; and thus, with sly glances and good-humoured mirth, the
- hours passed as they had always done in the house which humoured mirth,
- the hours passed as they had always done in the house which had ever been
- so delightful to at least one of the guests.
- </p>
- <p>
- He could not help feeling, however, before his visit had reached its
- fourth day, that the fact of their treating in this humourous fashion an
- incident which Mrs. Horneck had charged him to treat very seriously was
- extremely embarrassing to his mission. How was he to ask Mary to treat as
- the most serious incident in her life the one which was every day treated
- before her eyes with levity by her sister and her husband?
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet he felt daily the truth of what Mrs. Horneck had said to him—that
- Mary's acceptance of Colonel Gwyn would be an assurance of her future such
- as might not be so easily found again. He feared to think what might be in
- store for a girl who had shown herself to be ruled only by her own
- sympathetic heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- He resolved that he would speak to her without delay respecting Colonel
- Gwyn; and though he was afraid that at first she might be disposed to
- laugh at his attempt to put a more serious complexion upon her rejection
- of the suitor whom her mother considered most eligible, he had no doubt
- that he could bring her to regard the matter with some degree of gravity.
- </p>
- <p>
- The opportunity for making an attempt in this direction occurred on the
- afternoon of the fourth day of his visit. He found himself alone with Mary
- in the still-room. She had just put on an apron in order to put new covers
- on the jars of preserved walnuts. As she stood in the middle of the
- many-scented room, surrounded by bottles of distilled waters and jars of
- preserved fruits and great Worcester bowls of potpourri, with bundles of
- sweet herbs and drying lavenders suspended from the ceiling, Charles
- Bunbury, passing along the corridor with his dogs, glanced in.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What a housewife we have become!” he cried. “Quite right, my dear; the
- head of the Gwyn household will need to be deft.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mary laughed, throwing a sprig of thyme at him, and Oliver spoke before
- the dog's paws sounded on the polished oak of the staircase.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am afraid, my Jessamy Bride,” said he, “that I do not enter into the
- spirit of this jest about Colonel Gwyn so heartily as your sister or her
- husband.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Tis foolish on their part,” said she. “But Little Comedy is ever on the
- watch for a subject for her jests, and Charles is an active abettor of her
- in her folly. This particular jest is, I think, a trifle threadbare by
- now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Colonel Gwyn is a gentleman who deserves the respect of every one,” said
- he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed, I agree with you,” she cried. “I agree with you heartily. I do
- not know a man whom I respect more highly. Had I not every right to feel
- flattered by his attention?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No—no; you have no reason to feel flattered by the attention of any
- man from the Prince down—or should I say up?” he replied.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Twould be treason to say so,” she laughed. “Well, let poor Colonel Gwyn
- be. What a pity 'tis Sir Isaac Newton did not discover a new way of
- treating walnuts for pickling! That discovery would have been more
- valuable to us than his theory of gravitation, which, I hold, never saved
- a poor woman a day's work.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not want to let Colonel Gwyn be,” said he quietly. “On the contrary,
- I came down here specially to talk of him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, I perceive that you have been speaking with my mother,” said she,
- continuing her work.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mary, my dear, I have been thinking about you very earnestly of late,”
- said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only of late!” she cried. “Ah! I flattered myself that I had some of your
- thoughts long ago as well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have always thought of you with the truest affection, dear child. But
- latterly you have never been out of my thoughts.” She ceased her work and
- looked towards him gratefully—attentively. He left his seat and went
- to her side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My sweet Jessamy Bride,” said he, “I have thought of your future with
- great uneasiness of heart. I feel towards you as—as—perhaps a
- father might feel, or an elder brother. My happiness in the future is
- dependent upon yours, and alas! I fear for you; the world is full of
- snares.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know that,” she quietly said. “Ah, you know that I have had some
- experience of the snares. If you had not come to my help what shame would
- have been mine!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear child, there was no blame to be attached to you in that painful
- affair,” said he. “It was your tender heart that led you astray at first,
- and thank God you have the same good heart in your bosom. But alas! 'tis
- just the tenderness of your heart that makes me fear for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay; it can become as steel upon occasions,” said she. “Did not I send
- Colonel Gwyn away from me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were wrong to do so, my Mary,” he said. “Colonel Gwyn is a good man—he
- is a man with whom your future would be sure. He would be able to shelter
- you from all dangers—from the dangers into which your own heart may
- lead you again as it led you before.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have come here to plead the cause of Colonel Gwyn?” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he replied. “I believe him to be a good man. I believe that as his
- wife you would be safe from all the dangers which surround such a girl as
- you in the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! my dear friend,” she cried. “I have seen enough of the world to know
- that a woman is not sheltered from the dangers of the world from the day
- she marries. Nay, is it not often the case that the dangers only begin to
- beset her on that day?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Often—often. But it would not be so with you, dear child—at
- least, not if you marry Colonel Gwyn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Even if I do not love him? Ah! I fear that you have become a worldly man
- all at once, Dr. Goldsmith. You counsel a poor weak girl from the
- standpoint of her matchmaking mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, God knows, my sweet Mary, what it costs me to speak to you in this
- way. God knows how much sweeter it would be for me to be able to think of
- you always as I think of you know—bound to no man—the dearest
- of all my friends. I know it would be impossible for me to occupy the same
- position as I now do in regard to you if you were married. Ah! I have seen
- that there is no more potent divider of friendship than marriage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yet you urge upon me to marry Colonel Gwyn?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes—yes—I say I do think it would mean the assurance of your—your
- happiness—yes, happiness in the future.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Surely no man ever had so good a heart as you!” she cried. “You are ready
- to sacrifice yourself—I mean you are ready to forego all the
- pleasure which our meeting, as we have been in the habit of meeting for
- the past four years, gives you, for the sake of seeing me on the way to
- happiness—or what you fancy will be happiness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am ready, my dear child; you know what the sacrifice means to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do,” she said after a pause. “I do, because I know what it would mean
- to me. But you shall not be called to make that sacrifice. I will not
- marry Colonel Gwyn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay—nay—do not speak so definitely,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will speak definitely,” she cried. “Yes, the time is come for me to
- speak definitely. I might agree to marry Colonel Gwyn in the hope of being
- happy if I did not love some one else; but loving some one else with all
- my heart, I dare not—oh! I dare not even entertain the thought of
- marrying Colonel Gwyn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You love some one else?” he said slowly, wonderingly. For a moment there
- went through his mind the thought—
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Her heart has led her astray once again.</i>'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I love some one else with all my heart and all my strength,” she cried;
- “I love one who is worthy of all the love of the best that lives in the
- world. I love one who is cruel enough to wish to turn me away from his
- heart, though that heart of his has known the secret of mine for long.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Now he knew what she meant. He put his hands together before her, saying
- in a hushed voice—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, child—child—spare me that pain—let me go from you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not till you hear me,” she said. “Ah! cannot you perceive that I love you—only
- you, Oliver Goldsmith?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hush—for God's sake!” he cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will not hush,” she said. “I will speak for love's sake—for the
- sake of that love which I bear you—for the sake of that love which I
- know you return.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alas—alas!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know it. Is there any shame in such a girl as I am confessing her love
- for such a man as you? I think that there is none. The shame before heaven
- would be in my keeping silence—in marrying a man I do not love. Ah!
- I have known you as no one else has known you. I have understood your
- nature—so sweet—so simple—so great—so true. I
- thought last year when you saved me from worse than death that the feeling
- which I had for you might perhaps be gratitude; but now I have come to
- know the truth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laid his hand on her arm, saying in a whisper—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stop—stop—for God's sake, stop! I—I—do not love
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him and laughed at first. But as his head fell, her laugh
- died away. There was a long silence, during which she kept her eyes fixed
- upon him, as he stood before her looking at the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do not love me?” she said in a slow whisper. “Will you say those
- words again with your eyes looking into mine?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not humiliate me further,” he said. “Have some pity upon me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No—no; pity is not for me,” she said. “If you spoke the truth when
- you said those words, speak it again now. Tell me again that you do not
- love me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You say you know me,” he cried, “and yet you think it possible that I
- could take advantage of this second mistake that your kind and sympathetic
- heart has made for your own undoing. Look there—there—into
- that glass, and see what a terrible mistake your heart has made.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He pointed to a long, narrow mirror between the windows. It reflected an
- exquisite face and figure by the side of a face on which long suffering
- and struggle, long years of hardship and toil, had left their mark—a
- figure attenuated by want and ill-health.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look at that ludicrous contrast, my child,” he said, “and you will see
- what a mistake your heart has made. Have I not heard the jests which have
- been made when we were walking together? Have I not noticed the pain they
- gave you? Do you think me capable of increasing that pain in the future?
- Do you think me capable of bringing upon your family, who have been kinder
- than any living beings to me, the greatest misfortune that could befall
- them? Nay, nay, my dear child; you cannot think that I could be so base.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will not think of anything except that I love the man who is best
- worthy of being loved of all men in the world,” said she. “Ah, sir, cannot
- you perceive that your attitude toward me now but strengthens my affection
- for you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mary—Mary—this is madness!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Listen to me,” she said. “I feel that you return my affection; but I will
- put you to the test. If you can look into my face and tell me that you do
- not love me I will marry Colonel Gwyn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was another pause before he said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have I not spoken once? Why should you urge me on to so painful an
- ordeal? Let me go—let me go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not until you answer me—not until I have proved you. Look into my
- eyes, Oliver Goldsmith, and speak those words to me that you spoke just
- now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, dear child——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You cannot speak those words.” There was another long silence. The
- terrible struggle that was going on in the heart of that man whose words
- are now so dear to the hearts of so many million men and women, was
- maintained in silence. No one but himself could hear the tempter's voice
- whispering to him to put his arms round the beautiful girl who stood
- before him, and kiss her on her cheeks, which were now rosy with
- expectation.
- </p>
- <p>
- He lifted up his head. His lips moved, He put out a hand to her a little
- way, but with a moan he drew it back. Then he looked into her eyes, and
- said slowly—
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is the truth. I do not love you with the heart of a lover.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is enough. Leave me! My heart is broken!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She fell into a chair, and covered her face with her hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her for a moment; then, with a cry of agony, he went out of
- the room—out of the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- In his heart, as he wandered on to the high road, there was not much of
- the exaltation of a man who knows that he has overcome an unworthy
- impulse.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXII.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen he did not
- return toward night Charles Bunbury and his wife became alarmed. He had
- only taken his hat and cloak from the hall as he went out; he had left no
- line to tell them that he did not mean to return.
- </p>
- <p>
- Bunbury questioned Mary about him. Had he not been with her in the
- still-room, he inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- She told him the truth—as much of the truth as she could tell.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am afraid that his running away was due to me,” she said. “If so, I
- shall never forgive myself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What can be your meaning, my dear?” he inquired. “I thought that you and
- he had always been the closest friends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If we had not been such friends we should never have quarreled,” said
- she. “You know that our mother has had her heart set upon my acceptance of
- Colonel Gwyn. Well, she went to see Goldsmith at his cottage, and begged
- of him to come to me with a view of inducing me to accept the proposal of
- Colonel Gwyn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I heard nothing of that,” said he, with a look of astonishment. “And so I
- suppose when he began to be urgent in his pleading you got annoyed and
- said something that offended him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She held down her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You should be ashamed of yourself,” said he “Have you not seen long ago
- that that man is no more than a child in simplicity?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am ashamed of myself,” said she. “I shall never forgive myself for my
- harshness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That will not bring him back,” said her brother-in-law. “Oh! it is always
- the best of friends who part in this fashion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Two days afterwards he told his wife that he was going to London. He had
- so sincere an attachment for Goldsmith, his wife knew very well that he
- felt that sudden departure of his very deeply, and that he would try and
- induce him to return.
- </p>
- <p>
- But when Bunbury came back after the lapse of a couple of days, he came
- back alone. His wife met him in the chaise when the coach came up. His
- face was very grave.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I saw the poor fellow,” he said. “I found him at his chambers in Brick
- Court. He is very ill indeed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, too ill to be moved?” she cried. He shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Far too ill to be moved,” he said. “I never saw a man in worse condition.
- He declared, however, that he had often had as severe attacks before now,
- and that he has no doubt he will recover. He sent his love to you and to
- Mary. He hopes you will forgive him for his rudeness, he says.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His rudeness! his rudeness!” said Katherine, her eyes streaming with
- tears. “Oh, my poor friend—my poor friend!” She did not tell her
- sister all that her husband had said to her. Mary was, of course, very
- anxious to hear how Oliver was, but Katherine only said that Charles had
- seen him and found him very ill. The doctor who was in attendance on him
- had promised to write if he thought it advisable for him to have a change
- to the country.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next morning the two sisters were sitting together when the postboy's
- horn sounded. They started up simultaneously, awaiting a letter from the
- doctor.
- </p>
- <p>
- No letter arrived, only a narrow parcel, clumsily sealed, addressed to
- Miss Hor-neck in a strange handwriting.
- </p>
- <p>
- When she had broken the seals she gave a cry, for the packet contained
- sheet after sheet in Goldsmith's hand—poems addressed to her—the
- love-songs which his heart had been singing to her through the long
- hopeless years.
- </p>
- <p>
- She glanced at one, then at another, and another, with beating heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- She started up, crying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! I knew it, I knew it! He loves me—he loves me as I love him—only
- his love is deep, while mine was shallow! Oh, my dear love—he loves
- me, and now he is dying! Ah! I know that he is dying, or he would not have
- sent me these; he would have sacrificed himself—nay, he has
- sacrificed himself for me—for me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She threw herself on a sofa and buried her face in her hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear—dear sister,” said Katherine, “is it possible that you—you——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That I loved him, do you ask?” cried Mary, raising her head. “Yes, I
- loved him—I love him still—I shall never love any one else,
- and I am going to him to tell him so. Ah! God will be good—God will
- be good. My love shall live until I go to him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My poor child!” said her sister. “I could never have guessed your secret.
- Come away. We will go to him together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They left by the coach that day, and early the next morning they went
- together to Brick Court.
- </p>
- <p>
- A woman weeping met them at the foot of the stairs. They recognised Mrs.
- Abington.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not tell me that I am too late—for God's sake say that he still
- lives!” cried Mary.
- </p>
- <p>
- The actress took her handkerchief from her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not speak. She did not even shake her head. She only looked at the
- girl, and the girl understood.
- </p>
- <p>
- She threw herself into her sister's arms.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is dead!” she cried. “But, thank God, he did not die without knowing
- that one woman in the world loved him truly for his own sake.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That surely is the best thought that a man can have, going into the
- Presence,” said Mrs. Abington. “Ah, my child, I am a wicked woman, but I
- know that while you live your fondest reflection will be that the thought
- of your love soothed the last hours of the truest man that ever lived. Ah,
- there was none like him—a man of such sweet simplicity that every
- word he spoke came from his heart. Let others talk about his works; you
- and I love the man, for we know that he was greater and not less than
- those works. And now he is in the presence of God, telling the Son who on
- earth was born of a woman that he had all a woman's love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mary put her arm about the neck of the actress, and kissed her.
- </p>
- <p>
- She went with her sister among the weeping men and women—he had been
- a friend to all—up the stairs and into the darkened room.
- </p>
- <p>
- She threw herself on her knees beside the bed.
- </p>
- <h3>
- THE END.
- </h3>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
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