Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

limbs were encased in leather breeches, and high but not clumsy boots, armed with sharp spurs met them at the knee; two silken cords crossed his breast, one of which sustained a drinking flask, and the other a travelling purse which, for greater security, rested in the right-hand breechespocket; a broad leathern belt with a large buckle in front girt in his waist, and on his head he wore a close-fitting cap of dark green cloth with a horizontal vizière. He held in one hand a short riding whip with a thick thong and heavy handle, and in the other a pair of small saddlebags and holsters for pistols.

“ Tu prendras ça, mon garcon,” he said, tossing me the saddle-bags, “il y a là de quoi nous nourrir en route ;-and here,” he added, “is a flask like mine, slip the cord over your shoulder, tighten your girths with this belt, buckle on these spurs, and then jump into your saddle.”

He set me an example which I was not slow to follow, and in a few minutes we were trotting down the long avenue of poplars that leads out of Baden Baden.

“ If my eyes don't deceive me, Adrien,” exclaimed Bobèche, as we turned a gentle angle of the road, “voilà Tom with the very horses I was wishing for. Ah! he is going our way, and at a foot's-pace; we shall soon overtake him. Piquez des deux !!!"

We rode on accordingly, and soon came up with the groom of the English baronet, whom Bobèche, ignorant of his real name, and confounding it with previous impressions, persisted in calling Sir Bulldog, it being, in point of fact, Sir George Buller.

“ Bon jour, Tom,” cried Bobèche, our horses instantaneously subsiding into a walk at the slightest check of the bridle. “Vere vas you go today, hey Tom?"

“Bon joor, Bobbish,” politely returned the Englishman, “ the same to you, young man. You seems in a hurry.”

Question and answer would have scantily performed their legitimate object if I had not spoken for my companion.

“We had need to be,—we have a hundred leagues to do before tomorrow night.”

“I'm blow'd !” said the groom, though what he meant by the expression I could form no idea.

“Bobèche wants to know where you are going to."
“I'm only a hairing of these here cattle," replied Tom.

“ Dis lui que c'est un brave garcon, Adrien, et que je désire bien lui emprunter ses chevaux jusqu'à Kehl.

“ Bobèche wants to borrow your horses as far as Kehl,” said I, interpreting.

“Does he ?" returned the groom. “Well, if I was mounted as you two are, I should be glad to borrow any thing. But borrowing and lending's not in my book, so tell him, leastways where hosses is concerned."

“Que dit-il ?" inquired Bobèche, with a broad grin, for he had only made the request pour

rire. Impossible !" was my answer. “ Vill you ave von littel brandy, Tom?” said Bobèche, unslinging his flask and mustering his best English, of which he knew just half-a-dozen words, all within the category of roadside conversation.

“ I'm agreeable," answered the groom, passing the back of his hand across his mouth ;="Stand still, Nancy, can't you,"—this was addressed

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

66

to the mare he led. “Here's towards your good healths, mounseers, and a pleasant

ride to you." The flask went rapidly round from hand to hand, and was quickly replaced across Bobèche's shoulder.

“Tell Bobbish from me, young man, that if he wants them hosses to get over the ground, there is but one way as I sees to make 'em go.” “ And what's that ?”

Why, for me to take care on you to this here place,--this Kell as you calls it. The mare wants a little exercise, and as for the brown hoss the more you takes out of him the better.”

Bobèche was charmed with the proposal.
The
groom

lent back in his seat; he touched the mare just over the crupper, and she lashed out with her hind legs with a vehemence that gave sudden life to the dull posters which we bestrode.

“Go it!" said Tom, with English brevity, and giving the rein to the horse he rode, in another moment he was careering in front of us, Miss Nancy performing every imaginable sort of gambol as she kept pace with him.

The example was too infectious for even German horses to refuse to be inoculated by it; they, too, flourished their tails, snorted and kicked, and, under the influence of this newly-begotten enthusiasm, set off at a good round pace which they never stinted till we drew up at the Post at Kehl.

Tom gave way to some very strong expressions of regret, in which he adverted to the probable loss of his eye-sight, at not being able to accompany us any further on our journey, and after insisting our drinking his health, in return for the compliment which he had paid us, we took leave of him, and when we turned our heads could see him very earnestly engaged in pledging the worthy postmaster of Kehl in his own execrable Kirschenwasser.

“ Ct Anglais là,” said Bobèche, “ce brave Tom groom, est du vrai bois dont on fait d'bons courriers. Nom d'un fouet, comme ça monte à cheval !"

This eulogy uttered, we rode on to the Rhine, crossed the bridge of boats, traversed the citadel, passed the gates, and entered Strasbourg.

A GRAYBEARD'S GOSSIP ABOUT HIS LITERARY

ACQUAINTANCE.

No. VIII.

Forsan et hæc olim meminisse juvabit. James and Horace Snith-Dinner at Sir Humphrey Davy's-A Comedy

hissed by its Author-A Farce repeated after its signal CondemnationPercy Bysshe Shelley-His Life-Writings-Death.

As every thing is now assigned to some mysterious sympathy, I may presume that some Adelphian association has guided my pen from the Hunt brothers to the two Smiths. These gentlemen, when first they

mingled in the Sydenham festivities, had not written the fortunate “Rejected Addresses ;” but they had commenced their literary career by contributing their " Imitations of Horace" to the Monthly Mirror. Nor had the elder brother then begun to write and sing the comic songs which, in addition to his fascinating qualities as a companion, and his distinguished personal appearance, subsequently made him so great a favourite in the circles of fashion. His contributions of many years, to various periodicals, were collected and published by his brother, in 1840. Besides these fugitive pieces, he wrote three of the Entertainments for Mr. Mathews's “At Home;" and continued to enliven the world by occasional epigrams and jeux d'esprit, up to the time of his death, in December, 1839, when I followed his remains, as I had done those of poor John Scott, to their final resting-place in the vaults of Saint Martin's church.

Horace Smith, devoting himself more exclusively to literature, became a writer of novels, and as he took leave of the public in the preface to “ Love and Mesmerism," published in 1845, announcing it as his last work of fiction, it was fully expected, in accordance with established usage, that another would have speedily made its appearance. Such, however, has not hitherto been the case, nor have I heard that he meditates any violation of his promise. As I can reckon more than fifty volumes in

prose
and verse which

may claim him as author, besides others which he has edited, he was probably sincere in exclaiming with his Roman namesake, “ Ohe, jam satis est ;nor is it impossible that advancing years and diminished powers may have warned him against repeating the self-delusion of the Archbishop of Grenada. If I mistake not, however, I can still occasionally trace his pen in the pages of the New Monthly Magazine, to which, I believe, he has been a contributor from its first establishment in 1821.

In accordance with the anecdotical and gossiping character of these notices, I shall record such notabilia touching the two brothers, as still linger in my memory. At our earlier Sydenham gatherings they used to recite a dialogue written by themselves, a farrago of mere nonsense, abounding in solecisms and absurdities, yet bearing throughout such a close approximation to a rational and argumentative discourse, as might easily deceive a careless or obtuse listener. Fully had they obeyed the mandate in Shakspeare- “Speak what terrible language you will ; though you understand it not yourselves, no matter. Chough's language, gabble enough and good enough.” As it was most gravely delivered, the interlocutors appearing to be deeply interested, and even at times to become highly excited ; and as we know, moreover, that “ True nomeaning puzzles more than wit,” it became really difficult to discover that the whole was a piece of solemn Tomfoolery. Hill's habitual guests, who were much too sharpwitted to be themselves entrapped, were only the more willing, by their serious looks, to assist in hoaxing others, an object which I once saw them accomplish to their heart's content. A merchant who had lately come to the village, and who possessed more money than wit, having listened very attentively to this gallimaufry, and being asked his opinion of it, looked very wise, and then pronounced this sapient judgment.

Why, to confess the truth, there were two or three things that I did not fully comprehend, but I give my implicit assent to the greater portion of the propositions, while I find the whole very interesting, and beautifully written."

“ She hears upon

A general shout of laughter attended the success of the joke, and utterly bewildered the bamboozled merchant, who seemed to think that he had been invited to meet a party of lunatics. If there be any

truth in the saying, that “Great wits to madness often are allied,” he was not, perhaps, very widely mistaken.

Soon after the appearance of the “Rejected Addresses,” the authors were invited to meet a large dinner-party at the house of Sir Humphrey and Lady Davy. During a momentary silence, a deaf old lady, who had not caught any of the names, called out to the hostess, from the further end of the table,

“Lady Davy! I'm told the writers of the Rejected Addresses' have just brought out a new work called · Horace in London,' which is uncommonly stupid.”

To drown this ill-timed escapade, and at the same time to make a cover for the parties compromised, the company immediately began to talk very loudly and merrily, just as the French, during the late war, would sometimes fire a feu de joie to conceal a defeat; while the hostess, leaning across to the elder brother, exclaimed,

“ Poor old lady! I hope you'll excuse her. I have no doubt she was told that the work in question was uncommonly clever, not stupid. But her ears are always playing at cross purposes. “ Yes, yes, I understand it all,” was the reply.

the same principle as the Irish echo, which if you shout, ' How d’ye do, Pat?' replies, Indeed, I'm mighty bad.' And so is our Horace in London,'--mighty bad indeed. Your friend's informant was quite correct in saying it is uncommonly stupid ; but there's nothing new in the remark, for we ourselves have always maintained the same opinion, and I'm glad to find we have got the public with us.”

The following anecdote I am enabled to state on the authority of one of the parties concerned. In the year 1813, Horace Smith wrote a comedy in five acts, entitled, “First Impressions ; or, Trade in the West," the authorship of which he had carefully concealed from all but his friend Barron Field, at whose chambers in the Temple he had agreed to dine on the night of the first representation, that they might proceed to the theatre together. One other person was present, a Mr. Langsdorff, a young German, attached to the Bavarian or some German embassy, in whose presence the friends took good care not to betray their special reasons for drinking success to the new play: after which ceremony they proceeded all three to Drury Lane, and took their places next to each other in the pit. Anxious as he must naturally have been for the fate of his first dramatic attempt, the author, deeming himself as safe in his incognito as Gyges in his brazen ring, suppressed, nevertheless, every remark or emotion that might have excited suspicion in his neighbour.

All went on smoothly until the delivery of a claptrap speech by one of the actors, to the effect that the money raised in England for a single charity, often exceeded the revenues of a whole German principality. “Vot is dat ?" whispered Langsdorff to the author ; "does he loff at de Jairmans ? den I sall damn his blay.” Whereupon, and in spite of the eager deprecations of Field, he set up a low hiss, which presently awakened sympathising though not very alarming echoes in various parts of the house. Every play-goer knows that a sound of this sort, like a snow-ball, vires acquirit eundo, and that even an individual goose seldom fails to obtain consonant responses from a more or less numerous flock. His first hostile attempt produced no great effect, but the patriotic and unpacified German, renewing the experiment on every reappearance of a certain character, that proved unpalatable to a portion of the audience, succeeded at length in establishing a decided opposition. The unfortunate author, sitting upon thorns, but endeavouring to look particularly comfortable, had sought to avoid suspicion, when the fate of the comedy seemed doubtful, by venturing now and then on a gentle sibillation, delivered sotto voce, more in sorrow than in anger, and with the natural tenderness of a father correcting his own child. But as the clamour became louder, and the failure of the play appeared more certain, his anxiety to escape detection was pushed to such a nervous excess, that he hissed totis viribus, and even commenced a vociferous cry of “Off! off !” A change, however, presently came over the spirit of the house : the objectionable character had disappeared, two or three scenes in succession had won manifest favour, and when the author, still more excited by some fresh but very partial signs of disapprobation, would have renewed the cry, which Langsdorff was ever ready to commence, it was put down by still louder and more clamorous exclamations of “ Silence! turn them out! turn them out!” Peremptory and angry as was the mandate, it was most gratefully obeyed by the playwright : even his German neighbour was at length compelled to hold his tongue ; the piece was given out for repetition without a dissentient voice ; it was acted twenty nights successively ; and though it possesses but little merit, for I have lately reperused it, it may claim the distinction of being the first instance, since the days of the Countess of Macclesfield and Savage, where the condemnation of the offspring has been eagerly sought by its own parent.

On equally good authority I can relate another theatrical anecdote, applicable to the same writer, but which did not terminate quite so pleasantly. He was about to bring out a farce, the great success of which was so confidently predicted by the performers during the rehearsals, and more especially by his friend Tom Dibdin, himself an experienced dramatist, that the author, in an unlucky hour, consented to the insertion of a paragraph in the Morning Chronicle, assigning to him the paternity of the forthcoming piece, which was entitled “The Absent Apothecary.” That he might witness his anticipated triumph in comfort, without being seen, Mr. Raymond gave him admission to his own private box, which adjoined the corner of the two-shilling gallery, where the playwright took his seat, presently to find that the foretold glory was like Johnny Gilpin's “luckless boast, for which he paid full dear.” A furious contest arose between the supporters and the assailants of the new piece, in a momentary lull of which he had the pleasure of hearing a savage-looking fellow in the gallery, close to his elbow, exclaim to a friend of the same stamp, “I say, Jack, if I could get hold of the precious ass that wrote this rubbish, I'm blessed if I wouldn't take and chuck him right over!" Not having the least wish to be thrown overboard by the gallery gods, like his great ancestor Vulcan (for I believe all the Smiths lay claim to this genealogical descent) the author quietly left the box, and stole down stairs, verily believing that if he were discovered, he would be torn to pieces by the dissentients, so furiously had they become excited by the struggle for victory. On reaching the outside of the theatre, and finding himself shrouded in friendly darkness

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »