two hours of drink and quiet afterwards, up comes the carriage, in bursts my
Jemmy, as fine as a duchess, and scented like our shop. "Come, my dear," says
she, "it's 'Normy' to?night" (or "Annybalony," or the "Nosey di Figaro," or the
"Gazzylarder," as the case may be). "Mr. Foster strikes off punctually at eight,
and you know it's the fashion to be always present at the very first bar of the
aperture." And so off we are obliged to budge, to be miserable for five hours,
and to have a headache for the next twelve, and all because it's the fashion!
After the aperture, as they call it, comes the opera, which, as I am given to
understand, is the Italian for singing. Why they should sing in Italian, I can't
conceive; or why they should do nothing BUT sing. Bless us! how I used to long
for the wooden magpie in the "Gazzylarder" to fly up to the top of the church-
steeple, with the silver spoons, and see the chaps with the pitchforks come in
and carry off that wicked Don June. Not that I don't admire Lablash, and Rubini,
and his brother, Tomrubini: him who has that fine bass voice, I mean, and acts
the Corporal in the first piece, and Don June in the second; but three hours is
a LITTLE too much, for you can't sleep on those little rickety seats in the
boxes.
The opera is bad enough; but what is that to the bally? You SHOULD have seen my
Jemmy the first night when she stopped to see it; and when Madamsalls Fanny and
Theresa Hustler came forward, along with a gentleman, to dance, you should have
seen how Jemmy stared, and our girl blushed, when Madamsall Fanny, coming
forward, stood on the tips of only five of her toes, and raising up the other
five, and the foot belonging to them, almost to her shoulder, twirled round, and
round, and round, like a teetotum, for a couple of minutes or more; and as she
settled down, at last, on both feet, in a natural decent posture, you should
have heard how the house roared with applause, the boxes clapping with all their
might, and waving their handkerchiefs; the pit shouting, " Bravo!" Some people,
who, I suppose, were rather angry at such an exhibition, threw bunches of
flowers at her; and what do you think she did? Why, hang me, if she did not come
forward, as though nothing had happened, gather up the things they had thrown at
her, smile, press them to her heart, and begin whirling round again faster than
ever. Talk about coolness, I never saw such in all MY born days.
"Nasty thing!" says Jemmy, starting up in a fury; "if women WILL act so, it
serves them right to be treated so."
"Oh, yes! she acts beautifully," says our friend his Excellency, who along with
Baron von Punter and Tagrag, used very seldom to miss coming to our box.
"She may act very beautifully, Munseer, but she don't dress so; and I am very
glad they threw that orange-peel and all those things at her, and that the
people waved to her to get off."
Here his Excellency, and the Baron and Tag, set up a roar of laughter.
"My dear Mrs. Coxe," says Tag, "those are the most famous dancers in the world;
and we throw myrtle, geraniums, and lilies and roses at them, in token of our
immense admiration!"
"Well, I never!" said my wife; and poor Jemimarann slunk behind the curtain, and
looked as red as it almost. After the one had done the next begun; but when, all
of a sudden, a somebody came skipping and bounding in, like an Indian-rubber
ball, flinging itself up, at least six feet from the stage, and there shaking
about its legs like mad, we were more astonished than ever!
"That's Anatole," says one of the gentlemen.
"Anna who?" says my wife; and she might well be mistaken: for this person had a
hat and feathers, a bare neck and arms, great black ringlets, and a little
calico frock, which came down to the knees.
"Anatole. You would not think he was sixty-three years old, he's as active as a
man of twenty."
"HE!" shrieked out my wife; "what, is that there a man? For shame! Munseer.
Jemimarann, dear, get your cloak, and come along; and I'll thank you, my dear,
to call our people, and let us go home."
You wouldn't think, after this, that my Jemmy, who had shown such a horror at
the bally, as they call it, should ever grow accustomed to it; but she liked to
hear her name shouted out in the crush- room, and so would stop till the end of
everything; and, law bless you! in three weeks from that time, she could look at
the ballet as she would at a dancing-dog in the streets, and would bring her
double-barrelled opera-glass up to her eyes as coolly as if she had been a born
duchess. As for me, I did at Rome as Rome does; and precious fun it used to be,
sometimes.
My friend the Baron insisted one night on my going behind the scenes; where,
being a subscriber, he said I had what they call my ONTRAY. Behind, then, I
went; and such a place you never saw nor heard of! Fancy lots of young and old
gents of the fashion crowding round and staring at the actresses practising
their steps. Fancy yellow snuffy foreigners, chattering always, and smelling
fearfully of tobacco. Fancy scores of Jews, with hooked-noses and black muzzles,
covered with rings, chains, sham diamonds, and gold waistcoats. Fancy old men
dressed in old nightgowns, with knock- knees, and dirty flesh-colored cotton
stockings, and dabs of brick- dust on their wrinkled old chops, and tow-wigs
(such wigs!) for the bald ones, and great tin spears in their hands mayhap, or
else shepherds' crooks, and fusty garlands of flowers made of red and green
baize. Fancy troops of girls giggling, chattering, pushing to and fro, amidst
old black canvas, Gothic halls, thrones, pasteboard Cupids, dragons, and such
like. Such dirt, darkness, crowd, confusion and gabble of all conceivable
languages was never known!
If you COULD but have seen Munseer Anatole! Instead of looking twenty, he looked
a thousand. The old man's wig was off, and a barber was giving it a touch with
the tongs; Munseer was taking snuff himself, and a boy was standing by with a
pint of beer from the public-house at the corner of Charles Street.
I met with a little accident during the three-quarters of an hour which they
allow for the entertainment of us men of fashion on the stage, before the
curtain draws up for the bally, while the ladies in the boxes are gaping, and
the people in the pit are drumming with their feet and canes in the rudest
manner possible, as though they couldn't wait.
Just at the moment before the little bell rings and the curtain flies up, and we
scuffle off to the sides (for we always stay till the very last moment), I was
in the middle of the stage, making myself very affable to the fair figgerantys
which was spinning and twirling about me, and asking them if they wasn't cold,
and such like politeness, in the most condescending way possible, when a bolt
was suddenly withdrawn, and down I popped, through a trap in the stage, into the
place below. Luckily I was stopped by a piece of machinery, consisting of a heap
of green blankets and a young lady coming up as Venus rising from the sea. If I
had not fallen so soft, I don'
t know what might have been the consequence of the
collusion. I never told Mrs. Coxe, for she can't bear to hear of my paying the
least attention to the fair sex.
STRIKING A BALANCE.
Next door to us, in Portland Place, lived the Right Honorable the Earl of
Kilblazes, of Kilmacrasy Castle, County Kildare, and his mother the Dowager
Countess. Lady Kilblazes had a daughter, Lady Juliana Matilda MacTurk, of the
exact age of our dear Jemimarann; and a son, the Honorable Arthur Wellington
Anglesea Blucher Bulow MacTurk, only ten months older than our boy Tug.
My darling Jemmy is a woman of spirit, and, as become her station, made every
possible attempt to become acquainted with the Dowager Countess of Kilblazes,
which her ladyship (because, forsooth, she was the daughter of the Minister, and
Prince of Wales's great friend, the Earl of Portansherry) thought fit to reject.
I don't wonder at my Jemmy growing so angry with her, and determining, in every
way, to put her ladyship down. The Kilblazes' estate is not so large as the
Tuggeridge property by two thousand a year at least; and so my wife, when our
neighbors kept only two footmen, was quite authorized in having three; and she
made it a point, as soon as ever the Kilblazes' carriage-and-pair came round, to
have out her own carriage-and-four.
Well, our box was next to theirs at the Opera; only twice as big. Whatever
masters went to Lady Juliana, came to my Jemimarann; and what do you think Jemmy
did? she got her celebrated governess, Madame de Flicflac, away from the
Countess, by offering a double salary. It was quite a treasure, they said, to
have Madame Flicflac: she had been (to support her father, the Count, when he
emigrated) a FRENCH dancer at the ITALIAN Opera. French dancing, and Italian,
therefore, we had at once, and in the best style: it is astonishing how quick
and well she used to speak?the French especially.
Master Arthur MacTurk was at the famous school of the Reverend Clement Coddler,
along with a hundred and ten other young fashionables, from the age of three to
fifteen; and to this establishment Jemmy sent our Tug, adding forty guineas to
the hundred and twenty paid every year for the boarders. I think I found out the
dear soul's reason; for, one day, speaking about the school to a mutual
acquaintance of ours and the Kilblazes, she whispered to him that "she never
would have thought of sending her darling boy at the rate which her next-door
neighbors paid; THEIR lad, she was sure, must be starved: however, poor people,
they did the best they could on their income!"
Coddler's, in fact, was the tip-top school near London: he had been tutor to the
Duke of Buckminster, who had set him up in the school, and, as I tell you, all
the peerage and respectable commoners came to it. You read in the bill, (the
snopsis, I think, Coddler called it,) after the account of the charges for
board, masters, extras, young nobleman (or gentleman) is expected to bring a
knife, fork, spoon, and goblet of silver (to prevent breakage), which will not
be returned; a dressing-gown and slippers; toilet- box, pomatum, curling-irons,
The pupil must on NO ACCOUNT be allowed to have more than ten guineas of
pocket-money, unless his parents particularly desire it, or he be above fifteen
years of age. WINE will be an extra charge; as are warm, vapor, and douche
baths. CARRIAGE EXERCISE will be provided at the rate of fifteen guineas per
quarter. It is EARNESTLY REQUESTED that no young nobleman (or gentleman) be
allowed to smoke. In a place devoted to THE CULTIVATION OF POLITE LITERATURE,
such an ignoble enjoyment were profane.
"CLEMENT CODDLER, M. A.,
"Chaplain and late tutor to his Grace the Duke of Buckminster.
"MOUNT PARNASSUS, RICHMOND, SURREY."
To this establishment our Tug was sent. "Recollect, my dear," said his mamma,
"that you are a Tuggeridge by birth, and that I expect you to beat all the boys
in the school; especially that Wellington MacTurk, who, though he is a lord's
son, is nothing to you, who are the heir of Tuggeridgeville."
Tug was a smart young fellow enough, and could cut and curl as well as any young
chap of his age: he was not a bad hand at a wig either, and could shave, too,
very prettily; but that was in the old time, when we were not great people: when
he came to be a gentleman, he had to learn Latin and Greek, and had a deal of
lost time to make up for, on going to school.
However, we had no fear; for the Reverend Mr. Coddler used to send monthly
accounts of his pupil's progress, and if Tug was not a wonder of the world, I
don't know who was. It was
General behavior excellent.
English very good.
French tres bien.
Latin optime.
And so on:?he possessed all the virtues, and wrote to us every month for money.
My dear Jemmy and I determined to go and see him, after he had been at school a
quarter; we went, and were shown by Mr. Coddler, one of the meekest, smilingest
little men I ever saw, into the bedrooms and eating-rooms (the dromitaries and
refractories he called them), which were all as comfortable as comfortable might
be. "It is a holiday, today," said Mr. Coddler; and a holiday it seemed to be.
In the dining-room were half a dozen young gentlemen playing at cards ("All
tip-top nobility," observed Mr. Coddler);?in the bedrooms there was only one
gent: he was lying on his bed, reading novels and smoking cigars. "Extraordinary
genius!" whispered Coddler. "Honorable Tom Fitz-Warter, cousin of Lord Byron's;
smokes all day; and has written the SWEETEST poems you can imagine. Genius, my
dear madam, you know?genius must have its way." "Well, UPON my word," says
Jemmy, "if that's genius, I had rather that Master Tuggeridge Coxe Tuggeridge
remained a dull fellow."
"Impossible, my dear madam," said Coddler. "Mr. Tuggeridge Coxe COULDN'T be
stupid if he TRIED."
Just then up comes Lord Claude Lollypop, third son of the Marquis of
Allycompane. We were introduced instantly: "Lord Claude Lollypop, Mr. and Mrs.
Coxe." The little lord wagged his head, my wife bowed very low, and so did Mr.
Coddler; who, as he saw my lord making for the playground, begged him to show us
the way.?"Come along," says my lord; and as he walked before us, whistling, we
had leisure to remark the beautiful holes in his jacket, and elsewhere.
About twenty young noblemen (and gentlemen) were gathered round a pastry-cook's
shop at the end of the green. "That's the grub- shop," said my lord, "where we
young gentlemen wot has money buys our wittles, and them young gentlemen wot has
none, goes tick."
Then we passed a poor red-haired usher sitting on a bench alone. "That's Mr.
Hicks, the Husher, ma'am," says my lord. "We keep him, for he's very useful to
throw stones at, and he keeps the chaps' coats when there's a fight, or a game
at cricket.?Well, Hicks, how's your mother? what's the row now?" "I believe, my
lord," said the usher, very meekly, "there is a pugilistic encounter somewhere
on the premises
?the Honorable Mr. Mac?"
"Oh! COME along," said Lord Lollypop, "come along: this way, ma'am! Go it, ye
cripples!" And my lord pulled my dear Jemmy's gown in the kindest and most
familiar way, she trotting on after him, mightily pleased to be so taken notice
of, and I after her. A little boy went running across the green. "Who is it,
Petitoes?" screams my lord. "Turk and the barber," pipes Petitoes, and runs to
the pastry-cook's like mad. "Turk and the ba?," laughs out my lord, looking at
us. "HURRA! THIS way, ma'am!" And turning round a corner, he opened a door into
a court-yard, where a number of boys were collected, and a great noise of shrill
voices might be heard. "Go it, Turk!" says one. "Go it, barber!" says another.
"PUNCH HITH LIFE OUT!" roars another, whose voice was just cracked, and his
clothes half a yard too short for him!
Fancy our horror when, on the crowd making way, we saw Tug pummelling away at
the Honorable Master MacTurk! My dear Jemmy, who don't understand such things,
pounced upon the two at once, and, with one hand tearing away Tug, sent him
spinning back into the arms of his seconds, while, with the other, she clawed
hold of Master MacTurk's red hair, and, as soon as she got her second hand free,
banged it about his face and ears like a good one.
"You nasty?wicked?quarrelsome?aristocratic" (each word was a
bang)?"aristocratic?oh! oh! oh!"?Here the words stopped; for what with the
agitation, maternal solicitude, and a dreadful kick on the shins which, I am
ashamed to say, Master MacTurk administered, my dear Jemmy could bear it no
longer, and sunk fainting away in my arms.
DOWN AT BEULAH.
Although there was a regular cut between the next-door people and us, yet Tug
and the Honorable Master MacTurk kept up their acquaintance over the back-garden
wall, and in the stables, where they were fighting, making friends, and playing
tricks from morning to night, during the holidays. Indeed, it was from young Mac
that we first heard of Madame de Flicflac, of whom my Jemmy robbed Lady
Kilblazes, as I before have related. When our friend the Baron first saw Madame,
a very tender greeting passed between them; for they had, as it appeared, been
old friends abroad. "Sapristie," said the Baron, in his lingo, "que fais-tu ici,
Amenaide?" "Et toi, mon pauvre Chicot," says she, "est-ce qu'on t'a mis a la
retraite? Il parait que tu n'es plus General chez Franco?" CHUT!" says the
Baron, putting his finger to his lips.
"What are they saying, my dear?" says my wife to Jemimarann, who had a pretty
knowledge of the language by this time.
"I don't know what 'Sapristie' means, mamma; but the Baron asked Madame what she
was doing here? and Madame said, 'And you, Chicot, you are no more a General at
Franco.'?Have I not translated rightly, Madame?"
"Oui, mon chou, mon ange. Yase, my angel, my cabbage, quite right. Figure
yourself, I have known my dear Chicot dis twenty years."
"Chicot is my name of baptism," says the Baron; "Baron Chicot de Punter is my
name."
"And being a General at Franco," says Jemmy, "means, I suppose, being a French
General?"
"Yes, I vas," said he, "General Baron de Punter?n'est 'a pas, Amenaide?"
"Oh, yes!" said Madame Flicflac, and laughed; and I and Jemmy laughed out of
politeness: and a pretty laughing matter it was, as you shall hear.
About this time my Jemmy became one of the Lady-Patronesses of that admirable
institution, "The Washerwoman's-Orphans' Home;" Lady de Sudley was the great
projector of it; and the manager and chaplain, the excellent and Reverend Sidney
Slopper. His salary, as chaplain, and that of Doctor Leitch, the physician (both
cousins of her ladyship's), drew away five hundred pounds from the six
subscribed to the Charity: and Lady de Sudley thought a fete at Beulah Spa, with
the aid of some of the foreign princes who were in town last year, might bring a