The Fortunes of Nigel

Chapter 12

The Ordinary, now an ignoble sound, was in the days of James, a new

institution, as fashionable among the youth of that age as the first-

rate modern club-houses are amongst those of the present day. It

differed chiefly, in being open to all whom good clothes and good

assurance combined to introduce there. The company usually dined

together at an hour fixed, and the manager of the establishment

presided as master of the ceremonies.

Monsieur le Chevalier, (as he qualified himself,) Saint Priest de

Beaujeu, was a sharp, thin Gascon, about sixty years old, banished

from his own country, as he said, on account of an affair of honour,

in which he had the misfortune to kill his antagonist, though the best

swordsman in the south of France. His pretensions to quality were

supported by a feathered hat, a long rapier, and a suit of embroidered

taffeta, not much the worse for wear, in the extreme fashion of the

Parisian court, and fluttering like a Maypole with many knots of

ribbon, of which it was computed he bore at least five hundred yards

about his person. But, notwithstanding this profusion of decoration,

there were many who thought Monsieur le Chevalier so admirably

calculated for his present situation, that nature could never have

meant to place him an inch above it. It was, however, part of the

amusement of the place, for Lord Dalgarno and other young men of

quality to treat Monsieur de Beaujeu with a great deal of mock

ceremony, which being observed by the herd of more ordinary and simple

gulls, they paid him, in clumsy imitation, much real deference. The

Gascon's natural forwardness being much enhanced by these

circumstances, he was often guilty of presuming beyond the limits of

his situation, and of course had sometimes the mortification to be

disagreeably driven back into them.

When Nigel entered the mansion of this eminent person, which had been

but of late the residence of a great Baron of Queen Elizabeth's court,

who had retired to his manors in the country on the death of that

princess, he was surprised at the extent of the accommodation which it

afforded, and the number of guests who were already assembled.

Feathers waved, spurs jingled, lace and embroidery glanced everywhere;

and at first sight, at least, it certainly made good Lord Dalgarno's

encomium, who represented the company as composed almost entirely of

youth of the first quality. A more close review was not quite so

favourable. Several individuals might be discovered who were not

exactly at their ease in the splendid dresses which they wore, and

who, therefore, might be supposed not habitually familiar with such

finery. Again, there were others, whose dress, though on a general

view it did not seem inferior to that of the rest of the company,

displayed, on being observed more closely, some of these petty

expedients, by which vanity endeavours to disguise poverty.

Nigel had very little time to make such observations, for the entrance

of Lord Dalgarno created an immediate bustle and sensation among the

company, as his name passed from one mouth to another. Some stood

forward to gaze, others stood back to make way--those of his own rank

hastened to welcome him--those of inferior degree endeavoured to catch

some point of his gesture, or of his dress, to be worn and practised

upon a future occasion, as the newest and most authentic fashion.

The _genius loci_, the Chevalier himself, was not the last to welcome

this prime stay and ornament of his establishment. He came shuffling

forward with a hundred apish _conges_ and _chers milors_, to express

his happiness at seeing Lord Dalgarno again.--"I hope you do bring

back the sun with you, _Milor_--You did carry away the sun and moon

from your pauvre Chevalier when you leave him for so long. Pardieu, I

believe you take them away in your pockets."

"That must have been because you left me nothing else in them,

Chevalier," answered Lord Dalgarno; but Monsieur le Chevalier, I pray

you to know my countryman and friend, Lord Glenvarloch!"

"Ah, ha! tres honore--Je m'en souviens,--oui. J'ai connu autrefois un

Milor Kenfarloque en Ecosse. Yes, I have memory of him--le pere de

milor apparemment-we were vera intimate when I was at Oly Root with

Monsieur de la Motte--I did often play at tennis vit Milor Kenfarloque

at L'Abbaie d'Oly Root--il etoit meme plus fort que moi--Ah le

beaucoup de revers qu'il avoit!--I have memory, too that he was among

the pretty girls--ah, un vrai diable dechaine--Aha! I have memory--"

"Better have no more memory of the late Lord Glenvarloch," said Lord

Dalgarno, interrupting the Chevalier without ceremony; who perceived

that the encomium which he was about to pass on the deceased was

likely to be as disagreeable to the son as it was totally undeserved

by the father, who, far from being either a gamester or libertine, as

the Chevalier's reminiscences falsely represented him, was, on the

contrary, strict and severe in his course of life, almost to the

extent of rigour.

"You have the reason, milor," answered the Chevalier, "you have the

right--Qu'est ce que nous avons a faire avec le temps passe?--the time

passed did belong to our fathers--our ancetres--very well--the time

present is to us--they have their pretty tombs with their memories and

armorials, all in brass and marbre--we have the petits plats exquis,

and the soupe-a-Chevalier, which I will cause to mount up

immediately."

So saying, he made a pirouette on his heel, and put his attendants in

motion to place dinner on the table. Dalgarno laughed, and, observing

his young friend looked grave, said to him, in a tone of reproach-Why,

what!-you are not gull enough to be angry with such an ass as that?"

"I keep my anger, I trust, for better purposes," said Lord

Glenvarloch; "but I confess I was moved to hear such a fellow mention

my father's name--and you, too, who told me this was no gaming-house,

talked to him of having left it with emptied pockets."

"Pshaw, man!" said Lord Dalgarno, "I spoke but according to the trick

of the time; besides, a man must set a piece or two sometimes, or he

would be held a cullionly niggard. But here comes dinner, and we will

see whether you like the Chevalier's good cheer better than his

conversation."

Dinner was announced accordingly, and the two friends, being seated in

the most honourable station at the board, were ceremoniously attended

to by the Chevalier, who did the honours of his table to them and to

the other guests, and seasoned the whole with his agreeable

conversation. The dinner was really excellent, in that piquant style

of cookery which the French had already introduced, and which the

home-bred young men of England, when they aspired to the rank of

connoisseurs and persons of taste, were under the necessity of

admiring. The wine was also of the first quality, and circulated in

great variety, and no less abundance. The conversation among so many

young men was, of course, light, lively, and amusing; and Nigel, whose

mind had been long depressed by anxiety and misfortune, naturally

found himself at ease, and his spirits raised and animated.

Some of the company had real wit, and could use it both politely and

to advantage; others were coxcombs, and were laughed at without

discovering it; and, again, others were originals, who seemed to have

no objection that the company should be amused with their folly

instead of their wit. And almost all the rest who played any prominent

part in the conversation had either the real tone of good society

which belonged to the period, or the jargon which often passes current

for it.

In short, the company and conversation was so agreeable, that Nigel's

rigour was softened by it, even towards the master of ceremonies, and

he listened with patience to various details which the Chevalier de

Beaujeu, seeing, as he said, that Milor's taste lay for the "curieux

and Futile," chose to address to him in particular, on the subject of

cookery. To gratify, at the same time, the taste for antiquity, which

he somehow supposed that his new guest possessed, he launched out in

commendation of the great artists of former days, particularly one

whom he had known in his youth, "Maitre de Cuisine to the Marechal

Strozzi--tres bon gentilhomme pourtant;" who had maintained his

master's table with twelve covers every day during the long and severe

blockade of le petit Leyth, although he had nothing better to place on

it than the quarter of a carrion-horse now and then, and the grass and

weeds that grew on the ramparts. "Despardieux c'dtoit un homme

superbe! With one tistle-head, and a nettle or two, he could make a

soupe for twenty guests--an haunch of a little puppy-dog made a roti

des plus excellens; but his coupe de maitre was when the rendition--

what you call the surrender, took place and appened; and then, dieu me

damme, he made out of the hind quarter of one salted horse, forty-five

couverts; that the English and Scottish officers and nobility, who had

the honour to dine with Monseigneur upon the rendition, could not tell

what the devil any of them were made upon at all.

The good wine had by this time gone so merrily round, and had such

genial effect on the guests, that those of the lower end of the table,

who had hitherto been listeners, began, not greatly to their own

credit, or that of the ordinary, to make innovations.

"You speak of the siege of Leith," said a tall, raw-boned man, with

thick mustaches turned up with a military twist, a broad buff belt, a

long rapier, and other outward symbols of the honoured profession,

which lives by killing other people--"you talk of the siege of Leith,

and I have seen the place--a pretty kind of a hamlet it is, with a

plain wall, or rampart, and a pigeon-house or so of a tower at every

angle. Uds daggers and scabbards, if a leaguer of our days had been

twenty-four hours, not to say so many months, before it, without

carrying the place and all its cocklofts, one after another, by pure

storm, they would have deserved no better grace than the Provost-

Marshal gives when his noose is reeved."

"Saar," said the Chevalier, "Monsieur le Capitaine, I vas not at the

siege of the petit Leyth, and I know not what you say about the

cockloft; but I will say for Monseigneur de Strozzi, that he

understood the grande guerre, and was grand capitaine--plus grand--

that is more great, it may be, than some of the capitaines of

Angleterre, who do speak very loud--tenez, Monsieur, car c'est a

vous!"

"O Monsieur." answered the swordsman, "we know the Frenchman will

fight well behind his barrier of stone, or when he is armed with back,

breast, and pot."

"Pot!" exclaimed the Chevalier, "what do you mean by pot--do you mean

to insult me among my noble guests? Saar, I have done my duty as a

pauvre gentilhomme under the Grand Henri Quatre, both at Courtrai and

Yvry, and, ventre saint gris! we had neither pot nor marmite, but did

always charge in our shirt."

"Which refutes another base scandal," said Lord Dalgarno, laughing,

"alleging that linen was scarce among the French gentlemen-at-arms."

"Gentlemen out at arms and elbows both, you mean, my lord," said the

captain, from the bottom of the table." Craving your lordship's

pardon, I do know something of these same gens-d'armes."

"We will spare your knowledge at present, captain, and save your

modesty at the same time the trouble of telling us how that knowledge

was acquired," answered Lord Dalgarno, rather contemptuously.

"I need not speak of it, my lord," said the man of war; "the world

knows it--all perhaps, but the men of mohair--the poor sneaking

citizens of London, who would see a man of valour eat his very hilts

for hunger, ere they would draw a farthing from their long purses to

relieve them. O, if a band of the honest fellows I have seen were once

to come near that cuckoo's nest of theirs!"

"A cuckoo's nest!-and that said of the city of London!" said a gallant

who sat on the opposite side of the table, and who, wearing a splendid

and fashionable dress, seemed yet scarce at home in it--"I will not

brook to hear that repeated."

"What!" said the soldier, bending a most terrific frown from a pair of

broad black eyebrows, handling the hilt of his weapon with one hand,

and twirling with the other his huge mustaches; "will you quarrel for

your city?"

"Ay, marry will I," replied the other. "I am a citizen, I care not who

knows it; and he who shall speak a word in dispraise of the city, is

an ass and a peremptory gull, and I will break his pate, to teach him

sense and manners."

The company, who probably had their reasons for not valuing the

captain's courage at the high rate which he himself put upon it, were

much entertained at the manner in which the quarrel was taken up by

the indignant citizen; and they exclaimed on all sides, "Well run,

Bow-bell!"--"Well crowed, the c**k of Saint Paul's!"--"Sound a charge

there, or the soldier will mistake his signals, and retreat when he

should advance."

"You mistake me, gentlemen," said the captain, looking round with an

air of dignity. "I will but inquire whether this cavaliero citizen is

of rank and degree fitted to measure swords with a man of action;

(for, conceive me, gentlemen, it is not with every one that I can

match myself without loss of reputation;) and in that case he shall

soon hear from me honourably, by way of cartel."

"You shall feel me most dishonourably in the way of cudgel," said the

citizen, starting up, and taking his sword, which he had laid in a

corner. "Follow me."

"It is my right to name the place of combat, by all the rules of the

sword," said the captain; "and I do nominate the Maze, in Tothill-

Fields, for place--two gentlemen, who shall be indifferent judges, for

witnesses;--and for time--let me say this day fortnight, at daybreak."

"And I," said the citizen, "do nominate the bowling-alley behind the

house for place, the present good company for witnesses, and for time

the present moment."

So saying, he cast on his beaver, struck the soldier across the

shoulders with his sheathed sword, and ran down stairs. The captain

showed no instant alacrity to follow him; yet, at last, roused by the

laugh and sneer around him, he assured the company, that what he did

he would do deliberately, and, assuming his hat, which he put on with

the air of Ancient Pistol, he descended the stairs to the place of

combat, where his more prompt adversary was already stationed, with

his sword unsheathed. Of the company, all of whom seemed highly

delighted with the approaching fray, some ran to the windows which

overlooked the bowling-alley, and others followed the combatants down

stairs. Nigel could not help asking Dalgarno whether he would not

interfere to prevent mischief.

"It would be a crime against the public interest," answered his

friend; "there can no mischief happen between two such originals,

which will not be a positive benefit to society, and particularly to

the Chevalier's establishment, as he calls it. I have been as sick of

that captain's buff belt, and red doublet, for this month past, as

e'er I was of aught; and now I hope this bold linendraper will cudgel

the ass out of that filthy lion's hide. See, Nigel, see the gallant

citizen has ta'en his ground about a bowl's-cast forward, in the midst

of the alley--the very model of a hog in armour. Behold how he prances

with his manly foot, and brandishes his blade, much as if he were

about to measure forth cambric with it. See, they bring on the

reluctant soldado, and plant him opposite to his fiery antagonist,

twelve paces still dividing them--Lo, the captain draws his tool, but,

like a good general, looks over his shoulder to secure his retreat, in

case the worse come on't. Behold the valiant shop-keeper stoops his

head, confident, doubtless, in the civic helmet with which his spouse

has fortified his skull--Why, this is the rarest of sport. By Heaven,

he will run a tilt at him, like a ram."

It was even as Lord Dalgarno had anticipated; for the citizen, who

seemed quite serious in his zeal for combat, perceiving that the man

of war did not advance towards him, rushed onwards with as much good

fortune as courage, beat down the captain's guard, and, pressing on,

thrust, as it seemed, his sword clear through the body of his

antagonist, who, with a deep groan, measured his length on the ground.

A score of voices cried to the conqueror, as he stood fixed in

astonishment at his own feat, "Away, away with you!--fly, fly--fly by

the back door!--get into the Whitefriars, or cross the water to the

Bankside, while we keep off the mob and the constables." And the

conqueror, leaving his vanquished foeman on the ground, fled

accordingly, with all speed.

"By Heaven," said Lord Dalgarno, "I could never have believed that the

fellow would have stood to receive a thrust--he has certainly been

arrested by positive terror, and lost the use of his limbs. See, they

are raising him."

Stiff and stark seemed the corpse of the swordsman, as one or two of

the guests raised him from the ground; but, when they began to open

his waistcoat to search for the wound which nowhere existed, the man

of war collected, his scattered spirits; and, conscious that the

ordinary was no longer a stage on which to display his valour, took to

his heels as fast as he could run, pursued by the laughter and shouts

of the company.

"By my honour," said Lord Dalgarno, "he takes the same course with his

conqueror. I trust in heaven he will overtake him, and then the

valiant citizen will suppose himself haunted by the ghost of him he

has slain."

"Despardieux, milor," said the Chevalier, "if he had stayed one

moment, he should have had a _torchon_--what you call a dishclout,

pinned to him for a piece of shroud, to show he be de ghost of one

grand fanfaron."

"In the meanwhile," said Lord Dalgarno, "you will oblige us, Monsieur

le Chevalier, as well as maintain your own honoured reputation, by

letting your drawers receive the man-at-arms with a cudgel, in case he

should venture to come way again."

"Ventre saint gris, milor," said the Chevalier, "leave that to me.--

Begar, the maid shall throw the wash-sud upon the grand poltron!"

When they had laughed sufficiently at this ludicrous occurrence, the

party began to divide themselves into little knots--some took

possession of the alley, late the scene of combat, and put the field

to its proper use of a bowling-ground, and it soon resounded with all

the terms of the game, as "run, run-rub, rub--hold bias, you infernal

trundling timber!" thus making good the saying, that three things are

thrown away in a bowling-green, namely, time, money, and oaths. In the

house, many of the gentlemen betook themselves to cards or dice, and

parties were formed at Ombre, at Basset, at Gleek, at Primero, and

other games then in fashion; while the dice were used at various

games, both with and without the tables, as Hazard, In-and-in,

Passage, and so forth. The play, however, did not appear to be

extravagantly deep; it was certainly conducted with great decorum and

fairness; nor did there appear any thing to lead the young Scotsman in

the least to doubt his companion's assurance, that the place was

frequented by men of rank and quality, and that the recreations they

adopted were conducted upon honourable principles.

Lord Dalgarno neither had proposed play to his friend, nor joined in

the amusement himself, but sauntered from one table to another,

remarking the luck of the different players, as well as their capacity

to avail themselves of it, and exchanging conversation with the

highest and most respectable of the guests. At length, as if tired of

what in modern phrase would have been termed lounging, he suddenly

remembered that Burbage was to act Shakespeare's King Richard, at the

Fortune, that afternoon, and that he could not give a stranger in

London, like Lord Glenvarloch, a higher entertainment than to carry

him to that exhibition; "unless, indeed," he added, in a whisper,

"there is paternal interdiction of the theatre as well as of the

ordinary."

"I never heard my father speak of stage-plays," said Lord Glenvarloch,

"for they are shows of a modern date, and unknown in Scotland. Yet, if

what I have heard to their prejudice be true, I doubt much whether he

would have approved of them."

"Approved of them!" exclaimed Lord Dalgarno--"why, George Buchanan

wrote tragedies, and his pupil, learned and wise as himself, goes to

see them, so it is next door to treason to abstain; and the cleverest

men in England write for the stage, and the prettiest women in London

resort to the playhouses, and I have a brace of nags at the door which

will carry us along the streets like wild-fire, and the ride will

digest our venison and ortolans, and dissipate the fumes of the wine,

and so let's to horse--Godd'en to you, gentlemen--Godd'en, Chevalier

de la Fortune."

Lord Dalgarno's grooms were in attendance with two horses, and the

young men mounted, the proprietor upon a favourite barb, and Nigel

upon a high-dressed jennet, scarce less beautiful. As they rode

towards the theatre, Lord Dalgarno endeavoured to discover his

friend's opinion of the company to which he had introduced him, and to

combat the exceptions which he might suppose him to have taken. "And

wherefore lookest thou sad," he said, "my pensive neophyte? Sage son

of the Alma Mater of Low-Dutch learning, what aileth thee? Is the leaf

of the living world which we have turned over in company, less fairly

written than thou hadst been taught to expect? Be comforted, and pass

over one little blot or two; thou wilt be doomed to read through many

a page, as black as Infamy, with her sooty pinion, can make them.

Remember, most immaculate Nigel, that we are in London, not Leyden--

that we are studying life, not lore. Stand buff against the reproach

of thine over-tender conscience, man, and when thou summest up, like a

good arithmetician, the actions of the day, before you balance the

account on your pillow, tell the accusing spirit, to his brimstone

beard, that if thine ears have heard the clatter of the devil's bones,

thy hand hath not trowled them--that if thine eye hath seen the

brawling of two angry boys, thy blade hath not been bared in their

fray."

"Now, all this may be wise and witty," replied Nigel; "yet I own I

cannot think but that your lordship, and other men of good quality

with whom we dined, might have chosen a place of meeting free from the

intrusion of bullies, and a better master of your ceremonial than

yonder foreign adventurer."

"All shall be amended, Sancte Nigelle, when thou shalt come forth a

new Peter the Hermit, to preach a crusade against dicing, drabbing,

and company-keeping. We will meet for dinner in Saint Sepulchre's

Church; we will dine in the chancel, drink our flask in the vestry,

the parson shall draw every cork, and the clerk say amen to every

health. Come man, cheer up, and get rid of this sour and unsocial

humour. Credit me, that the Puritans who object to us the follies and

the frailties incident to human nature, have themselves the vices of

absolute devils, privy malice and backbiting hypocrisy, and spiritual

pride in all its presumption. There is much, too' in life which we

must see, were it only to learn to shun it. Will Shakespeare, who

lives after death, and who is presently to afford thee such pleasure

as none but himself can confer, has described the gallant Falconbridge

as calling that man

But here we are at the door of the Fortune, where we shall have

matchless Will speaking for himself.--Goblin, and you other lout,

leave the horses to the grooms, and make way for us through the

press."

They dismounted, and the assiduous efforts of Lutin, elbowing,

bullying, and proclaiming his master's name and title, made way

through a crowd of murmuring citizens, and clamorous apprentices, to

the door, where Lord Dalgarno speedily procured a brace of stools upon

the stage for his companion and himself, where, seated among other

gallants of the same class, they had an opportunity of displaying

their fair dresses and fashionable manners, while they criticised the

piece during its progress; thus forming, at the same time, a

conspicuous part of the spectacle, and an important proportion of the

audience.

Nigel Olifaunt was too eagerly and deeply absorbed in the interest of

the scene, to be capable of playing his part as became the place where

he was seated. He felt all the magic of that sorcerer, who had

displayed, within the paltry circle of a wooden booth, the long wars

of York and Lancaster, compelling the heroes of either line to stalk

across the scene in language and fashion as they lived, as if the

grave had given up the dead for the amusement and instruction of the

living. Burbage, esteemed the best Richard until Garrick arose, played

the tyrant and usurper with such truth and liveliness, that when the

Battle of Bosworth seemed concluded by his death, the ideas of reality

and deception were strongly contending in Lord Glenvarloch's

imagination, and it required him to rouse himself from his reverie, so

strange did the proposal at first sound when his companion declared

King Richard should sup with them at the Mermaid.

They were joined, at the same time, by a small party of the gentlemen

with whom they had dined, which they recruited by inviting two or

three of the most accomplished wits and poets, who seldom failed to

attend the Fortune Theatre, and were even but too ready to conclude a

day of amusement with a night of pleasure. Thither the whole party

adjourned, and betwixt fertile cups of sack, excited spirits, and the

emulous wit of their lively companions, seemed to realise the joyous

boast of one of Ben Jonson's contemporaries, when reminding the bard

of