The Reminiscences of Sir Henry Hawkins (Baron Brampton) Part 20

He took a room and showed himself publicly; but at night the police--those stalwart county men--paid a tiptoe visit to his bedroom.

They had no right to this privilege, but perhaps Harry thought it would be better for his brother if they did so. Why they went on tiptoe was that Harry told them his brother was in so weak a state that he woke up with the least noise. The police very kindly believed him, and paid their first and second visit on tiptoe.

When they went the third time, however, their bird had flown. Johnny had let himself down by the window, and, evading the vigilance of those who may have been on the lookout, escaped.

But he did not go without providing a subst.i.tute. Harry was to answer all inquiries, and waited the arrival of his watchers, lying in Johnny's bedroom. When the officers came he opened the door in his night apparel, and said, "Hush! don't disturb him; poor Johnny ain't slept hardly for a week over this 'ere job. But you can have a peep at him, only don't make a noise. There he is!" and he pointed to a fancy nightcap of his brother's, which only wanted Johnny's head to make the story true.

The good constables, having seen it as they saw it the night before, left the house as quietly as mice, still on tiptoe.

Harry described this performance to me himself.

Jervis had the whole country scoured for him, but unless he had scoured it himself, there was little chance of any one else finding the culprit.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE KNEBWORTH THEATRICAL ENTERTAINMENTS--SIR EDWARD BULWER--LYTTON--CHARLES d.i.c.kENS, CHARLES MATHEWS, MACREADY, DOUGLAS JERROLD, AND MANY OTHERS.

Among my pleasantest reminiscences were the partly amateur and partly professional entertainments that took place at the celebrated seat of the distinguished author, Sir Edward Bulwer-Lytton, about the year 185-.

At that time a gentleman of position usually sought to enhance the family dignity by a seat in Parliament. The most brilliant mediocrity even could not succeed without the patronage of the great families, while the great families were dependent upon those who had the franchise for the seats they coveted.

Forty-shilling freeholders were of some importance in those days; hence these theatrical performances at Knebworth Park, for Sir Edward wanted their suffrages without bribery or corruption.

Those who were the happy possessors of what they called the "frankise" were also distinguished enough, to be invited to the great performances at the candidate's beautiful estate.

It was a happy thought to give a succession of dramatic entertainments, amongst which "Every Man in his Humour" was one. Sir Edward knew his const.i.tuents and their tastes; it would be better than oratory at some village inn to ask them to the stately hall of Knebworth, and give them one of our fine old English plays.

I have already said that I had made up my mind in my earliest days to go to the Bar or on the Stage, and that love for the histrionic art (sometimes called the footlights) never left me.

For some reason or other I was invited to join the ill.u.s.trious company which a.s.sembled on those eventful evenings, although I was cast for a very humble part in the performance. Nor is there much to wonder at when I tell you who my colleagues were.

First comes that most distinguished comedian of his day, Charles Mathews. I had known him for many a year, and liked him the better, if that was possible, the longer I knew him.

Mathews was the leader of the company; next was another ill.u.s.trious man whose name will live for ever, and who was not only one of the greatest authors of his time, but also the most distinguished of the non-professional actors. Had he been on the stage, Mathews himself could not have surpa.s.sed him. This was Charles d.i.c.kens.

After him comes a great friend of Sir Edward, John Foster, a barrister of Lincoln's Inn, and author of the "Life of Goldsmith," as well as editor of the _Examiner_ newspaper.

I am not quite sure whether Macready was present on this particular occasion, but I think he was; there were really so many ill.u.s.trious names that it is impossible at this distance of time to be sure of every one. Macready was a great friend of Bulwer, and with d.i.c.kens and others was engaged in giving stage representations for charitable purposes in London and the provinces, so that it is at least possible I may be confounding Knebworth with some other place where I was one of the company.

Amongst us also was another whose name will always command the admiration of his countrymen, Douglas Jerrold. There were also Mark Lemon, Frank Stone, and another Royal Academician, John Leech, Frederick d.i.c.kens, Radcliffe, Eliot Yorke, Henry Hale, and others whose names escape my memory at the present moment.

No greater honour could be shown to a young barrister than to invite him to meet so distinguished a company, and what was even more gratifying to my vanity, asking me to act with them in the performance. There were many ladies, some of them of the greatest distinction, but without the leave of those who are their immediate relatives, which I have no time now to obtain, I forbear to mention their names in this work.

The business--for business it was, as well as the greatest pleasure--was no little strain on my energies, for I was now obtaining a large amount of work, and appearing in court every day. I had the orthodox number of devils--at least seven--to a.s.sist me, and every morning they came and received the briefs they were to hold.

Alas! of the ill.u.s.trious people I have mentioned all are dead, all save one lady and myself.

When will such a company meet again?

I was no sooner in the midst of Knebworth's delightful a.s.sociations than I was anxious to return to the toilsome duties of the Law Courts, with their prosaic pleadings and windbag eloquence. I was wanted in several consultations long before the courts met, so that it was idle to suppose I could stay the night at Knebworth. But what would I have given to be able to do so?

Not my briefs! They were the business of my life, without which the Knebworth pleasures would not have been possible. I never looked with any other feeling than that of pleasure on my work, and whenever the question arose I decided without hesitation in favour of the more profitable but less delightful occupation.

But I managed a compromise now and then. For instance, after I had done my duty in the consultations, and seen my work fairly started in court, I contrived to take the train pretty early to Knebworth, in order to attend rehearsals as well as perform in the evening.

Sir Edward's good-nature caused him much distress at my having to journey to and fro. What _could_ he do? He offered me the sole use of his library during the time I was there if I could make it in any way helpful, and said it should be fitted up as a bedroom and study. But it was impossible to do other than I did. The rehearsals were nearly always going on--we had audiences as though they were _matinees_--and they afforded much amus.e.m.e.nt to us as well as the spectators when we made our corrections or abused one another for some egregious blunder.

This, of course, did not include Mathews, who coached us from an improvised royalty box, where he graciously acted as George IV., got up in a wonderful Georgian costume for the occasion. George was so good that he diverted the attention of the audience from us, and made a wonderful hit in his new character.

I will not say that at our regular performances we always won the admiration, but I will affirm that we certainly received the forbearance, of our audience, which says a great deal for them. This observation, however, does not, of course, apply to the professional artists, but only to myself, who, luckily, through all the business still kept my head.

And it will be easily understood that this was the more difficult, especially if I may include my temper with it, when the good-natured Baronet actually invited several of his Hertford friends and neighbours to take part in the performances, some of them being friends of my own and members of my profession.

So that at this electioneering time the whole of that division was alive with theatricals and "Every Man in his Humour," which was exactly what Sir Edward wanted.

It was an ordeal for some of us to rehea.r.s.e with the celebrities of the stage, but I need not say their good-humour and delight in showing how this and that should be done, and how this and that should be spoken, was, I am sure, reciprocated by all the amateurs in studying the corrections. Never were lessons more kindly given, or received with more pleasurable surprise. Some could scarcely conceive how they could so blunder in accent and emphasis. However, most things require learning, even advocacy and acting.

Eliot Yorke was stage-manager, and wrote a very excellent prologue. It must have been good, it was so heartily applauded, and the same may be said of all of us. I think Radcliffe studied the part of Old Knowell, while I played Young Knowell. Speaking after this interval of many years, I believe we were all word-perfect and pretty well conscious of our respective duties. Charles d.i.c.kens arranged our costumes, while Nathan supplied them. He arranged me well. I was quite satisfied with my Elizabethan ruff wound round my throat, but must confess that it was a little uncomfortable for the first three or four hours. My hose also gave me great satisfaction and some little annoyance.

I thought if I could walk into court without changing my costume, what a sensation I should create! What would Campbell or Jervis say to _Young Knowell_?

My father, as I have mentioned, lived at Hitchin, about six miles from Knebworth, and my professional duties calling me so early to town, I arranged to sleep at Hitchin, and go to London by an early train in the morning. Sir Edward was much concerned at all this, and again wondered whether his library could not be appropriated. But the other was the only practicable plan, and was adopted. Every day I was in court by nine o'clock, sometimes worked till five, then went by rail to Stevenage and drove to Knebworth, three miles. That was the routine. It was then time to put on my Elizabethan ruff and hose.

After the play I once more donned my private costume, and supped luxuriously at a round table, where all our splendid company were a.s.sembled.

After supper some of us used to retire to Douglas Jerrold's room in one of the towers, and there we spent a jovial evening, prolonging the entertainment until the small hours of the morning.

Then my fly, which had been waiting a long time, enabled me to reach Hitchin and get three hours' sleep.

All this was hard work, but I was really strong, and in the best of health, so that I enjoyed the labour as well as the pleasure. One cannot now conceive how it was possible to go through so much without breaking down. I attribute it, however, to the attendant excitement, which braced me up, and have always found that excitement will enable you to exceed your normal strength.

I had very many theatrical friends, all of them delightful in every way. Amongst them Wright and Paul Bedford. Such companions as these are not to be met with twice, each with his individuality, while the two in combination were incomparable. They kept one in a perpetual state of laughter. Paul was irresistible in his drollery, and whether it was mimicry or original humour, you could not but revel in its quaint conceits.

Such men are benefactors; they brighten the darkest hours of existence, turn sorrow into laughter, and enable men to forget their troubles and live a little while in the sunshine of humour. Banish philosophy if you please, banish ambition if you must banish something, but leave us _humour_, the light of the social world. All who have experienced its beautiful influence can appreciate its value, and understand it as one of the choicest blessings conferred on our existence.

The dullest company was enlivened when Wright entered upon the scene.

I remember Paul being told one day at the Garrick Club that a certain poor barrister, who had been an actor, was going to marry the daughter of an old friend. "Ah!" said he, "yes, he's _a lover without spangles_."

Who but Paul would have thought of so grotesque a simile? And yet its applicability was simply due to the language of the stage.

I remember Robson, too, and his wonderful acting; he had no rival.

Nature had given him the talent which Art had cultivated to the highest perfection. Next come the Keelys' impersonations of every phase of dramatic life--originals in acting, and actors of originals.

But I must not linger over this portion of my story. It would occupy many pages, and time and s.p.a.ce are limited; I therefore take my leave of one of the pleasantest chapters in my reminiscences.

All, alas! have pa.s.sed away--all I knew and loved, all who made that time so happy; and reluctantly as I say it, it must be said: "Farewell, dear, grand old. Knebworth, with all thy glories and all the glad faces and merry hearts I met within your walls--a long, long, farewell!"