At the outset, though the pump room was full every morning and the gardens and long room in the evening were well attended, the spa lacked animation. The music pleased, the singers pleased, the coloured lamps dangled in chains between the branches and pleased. Yet the company was dull; there was little noise of conversation, and no mirth or laughter; the family groups were not broken up; the people looked at each other and walked round and round in silence; after the first round or so, when they had seen all the dresses, the girls yawned and wanted to sit down.
The master of the ceremonies exerted himself in vain. He had hoped so much and promised so much that it was sad to see him standing in front of the orchestra and vainly endeavouring to find couples for the minuet. How should they dance a minuet when there were no leaders to begin? And where were the gentlemen? Most of them were at the tavern or the cockpit, drinking and cockfighting, and making bets. What was the use of calling a country dance when there were none to stand up except ladies and old men? Mr. Prappet, in a blue silk coat and embroidered waistcoat, hat under arm, and flourishing his legs as a fencing master flourishes his arms, fell into despondency. "I make no progress, Mr. Pentecrosse," he said. "I cannot begin with the beaux of the town; they are nautical or rustical, to tell the truth, and they are beneath the gentry of the county. If I begin with them none of the gentry will condescend either to dance with them or to follow them, and so the character of the assembly will be gone. We must obey the laws of society. We want rank, sir. We want a leader. We want two or three people of fashion, otherwise these county families, none of whom will yield precedence to any other, and will not endure that one should stand up before the other, will never unbend. They are jealous. Give me a leader—a nobleman—a baronet—a lady of quality—and you shall see how they will fall in. First, the nobility, according to rank; after them, the gentry; then the town degrees must be observed. But, in order to observe degrees, sir, we must have rank among us. At present we are a mob. An assembly in the polite world should be like the English Constitution, which, Mr. Pentecrosse, consists of Lords and Commons—Ladies, and the wives and daughters of commoners."
To me it was amusing only to see the people in their fine dresses marching round and round while the music played, trailing their skirts on the floor, swinging their hoops, and handling their fans; for the lack of young men, talking to the clergy from the cathedrals and the colleges, and casting at each other glances of envy if one was better dressed, or of scorn when one was worse dressed than themselves.
"As for the men, Jack," said Captain Crowle, "I keep looking about me. I try the pump room in the morning, the ordinary at dinner, the taverns after dinner. My lad, there is not one among them all who is fit to be mated with our Molly. Gentlemen, are they? I like not the manner of these gentlemen. They are mostly young, but drink hard already. If their faces are red and swollen at twenty-five, what will they be at forty? My girl shall marry none of them. Nor shall she dance with them. She shall stay at home."
In fact, during the first week or two after the opening of the spa, Molly remained at home and was not seen in the long room or in the gardens.
The town was nearly full, many of the visitors having to put up with mean lodgings in the crazy old courts, of which there are so many in Lynn, when the first arrival from London took place. It was that of a clergyman named Benjamin Purdon, Artium Magister, formerly of Trinity College, Cambridge. He was a man of insignificant presence, his figure being small and thin, but finely dressed. His head was almost hidden by a full ecclesiastical wig. Apparently he was between forty and fifty years of age; he looked about him and surveyed the company with an air of superiority, as if he had been a person of rank. He spoke with a loud, rather a high voice; his face was pale and his hands, which he displayed, were as white as any woman's, on one finger he wore a large ring with a stone on which were carved three graces, or Greek goddesses, standing in a row. To some the ring was a stumbling-block, as hardly in accordance with the profession of a divine. "Art," however, he was wont to say, "knows nothing of Eve's apple and its consequences. Art is outside religion;" and so forth. Fustian stuff, it seems to me, looking back; but at that time we were carried away by the authority of the man.
He came to us down the river by a tilt boat from Cambridge, and accepted, contentedly, quite a humble lodging, barely furnished with a chair and a flock bed. "Humility becomes a divine," he said, in a high, authoritative voice. "The room will serve. A coal fire and an open window will remove the mustiness. Who am I that I should demand the luxuries of Lucullus? The Cloth should daily offer an example. We must macerate the flesh." He was thin, but he certainly practised not maceration. "We must subdue the body. To him who meditates a hovel becomes a palace. There is an ordinary, you say, daily at the 'Crown'—At two shillings? For the better subjugation of the carnal appetite it should have been one and sixpence. Nevertheless, I have heard of the green goslings of Lynn. Perhaps I shall now be privileged to taste them. There were excellent ruffs and reeves when I was at college that came to the market-place from the fens in the May time. You have a Portuguese trade I am told—in wine, I hope, otherwise we are not likely to get anything fit for a gentleman to drink. It is, indeed, little that I take; were it not for my infirmities, I should take none. Your port, I hope, is matured. More sickness is caused by new wine than by any other cause. Give me wine of twenty years—but that is beyond hope in this place. If it is three, four, or five years old, I shall be fortunate beyond my expectation." He did not say all these fine things at once, or to one person; but by bits to his brother clergyman, the vicar of St. Margaret's; to Captain Crowle, to the mayor, to the landlady of the Crown Inn, to the ladies in the long room. "You see me as I am, a poor scholar, a humble minister of the church—servus servorum, to use the style and title of the Pope; one who despises wealth." Yet his cassock was of thick silk and his bands were laced. "I live in London because I can there find, when I want it, a lectureship for my preaching, and a library—that of Sion College—for my reading, study, meditation, and writing. I leave behind me, unfinished, my work—mymagnum opus—forgive the infirmity natural to man of desiring to live in the memory of men. I confess that I look forward with pleasure to future fame: my 'History of the Early Councils' will be a monument—if I may be permitted so to speak of it—a monument of erudition. I come here by order of my physician. Ladies, this sluggish body, which gives us so much trouble, must be kept in health (as well as in subjection) if we would perform the tasks laid down for us. The waters which I am about to drink will, under Providence, drive away those symptoms which have made my friends, rather than myself, anxious. As for me, what cause have I for anxiety? Why should I not be ready to lay down pen and book, and teach no more?"
He was, perhaps—though we must allow a good deal to his profession—too fond of preaching. He preached in the morning at the pump room. Holding a glass of water to the light, he discoursed on the marvels of Providence in concealing sovereign remedies under the guise of simple water, such as one may find in any running brook to all appearance, and yet so potent. He would preach in the gardens. He would show the piety of his character even when taking supper—a cold chicken and a bottle of Lisbon—in an alcove beside the dancing platform. In this way he rapidly acquired a great reputation, and drew after him every day a following of ladies; there are always ladies who desire nothing so much as pious talk on matters of religion with one who has a proper feeling for the sex, and is courteous and complimentary, deferent and assiduous, as well as learned, pious, and eloquent. The good man, for his part, was never tired of conversing with these amiable ladies, especially with the younger sort; but I believe there were jealousies among them, each desiring the whole undivided man for herself, which is not uncommon even among ladies of the strictest profession in religion.
It was presently learned that Mr. Purdon had offered to take the services at St. Nicholas for a few weeks in order to enable the curate to attend the bedside of a parent. He undertook this duty without asking for any fee or pay, a fact which greatly increased his reputation. He continued the morning services, now held in a well-filled church, and delivered a sermon on Sunday morning. Never before had the good people who sat in the church heard discourses of so much eloquence, such close reasoning, such unexpected illustrations; with passages so tender and so pathetic. The women wept; the men cleared their throats; the sermons of his reverence drew after him the whole company, except those who spent their Sunday morning at the tavern, and also excepting the clergymen of the cathedrals and the colleges. These, for some reason, looked upon him with distrust.
Among those who thus regarded him was the vicar of St. Margaret's, the Rev. Mark Gentle. He was, to begin with, the very opposite of the other in all respects. He lived simply, drinking no wine; he was a silent man, whose occasional words were received with consideration; he was a great scholar, with a fine library. His discourses were not understood by the congregation, but they were said to be full of learning. He did not make himself agreeable to the ladies; he never talked of religion; he never spoke of his own habits or his own learning. He was a tall spare man with a thin face and a long nose, of the kind which is said to accompany a sense of humour; and he had sometimes a curious light in his eye like the flash of a light in the dark.
"The Reverend Benjamin Purdon," he said, with such a flash, "interests me greatly. He is a most learned person—indeed, he says so, himself. I quoted a well-known passage of a Greek tragedy to him yesterday, and he said that his Hebrew he left behind him when he came into the country. We must not think that this proves anything. A man's ear may be deceived. I offered him the use of my library, but he declined. That proves nothing, either, because he may not wish to read at present. I hear that the women weep when he preaches; and that proves nothing. Sir, I should like the opinion of Sion College, which is a collection of all the rectors and vicars of the city churches, as to the learning of this ecclesiastic. He is, doubtless, all that he proclaims himself. But, after all, that means nothing. We shall probably learn more about him. Whatever we learn will, we may confidently expect, redound to his credit, and increase his reputation."
This he said in my presence, to my father. "I know not," he replied, "how much this learned theologian professes, but humility is not one of his virtues. I offered, meeting him in the Herb Market yesterday, to show him the school as a venerable monument erected for the sake of learning three hundred years ago. 'Pedagogue!' he answered. 'Know thy place!' So he swept on his way, swelling under his silken cassock."
Captain Crowle, however, with many others, was greatly taken with him. "Jack," he said, "the London clergyman shames our rusticity. Learning flows from him with every word he speaks. He makes the women cry. He is full of pious sentiment. If we have many visitors so edifying, this discovery is like to prove for all of us the road to heaven as well as the means of wealth."
Alas! the road to heaven seldom, so far as I understand, brings the pilgrim within reach of the means of wealth. But this the captain could not understand, because he had been amassing wealth for his ward, not for himself, and therefore knew not the dangers of the pursuit.
The Reverend Benjamin Purdon was only a forerunner. He was followed by the rest of the company—the delectable company—brought together for our destruction. I would not willingly anticipate the sequel of these arrivals among us, but there are moments when I am fain to declare a righteous wrath. As for revenge—but it would be idle to speak of revenge. When a man has taken all that he can devise or procure in the way of revenge—bodily pain, ruin, loss of position, exposure, everything—the first injury remains untouched. This cannot be undone; nor can the injury be atoned by any suffering or any punishment. Revenge, again, grows more hungry by what should satisfy it; revenge is never satisfied. Revenge has been forbidden to man because he cannot be trusted. It is the Lord's. In this case it was the Lord who avenged our cause, and, I believe, turned the injury into a blessing, and made our very loss a ladder that led to heaven.
A day or two after Mr. Purdon's arrival came a carriage and four containing a very fine lady indeed, with her maid and her man. She drove to the Crown, the people all looking after her. A large coat of arms was emblazoned on the door of her carriage, with a coronet and supporters; her man was dressed in a noble livery of pale green with scarlet epaulettes. A little crowd gathered round the door of the Crown while the footman held the door open and the lady spoke with the landlord.
"Sir," she said, inclining her head graciously and smiling upon the crowd, "I have been directed to ask for thy good offices in procuring a lodging. I am a simple person, but a body must have cleanliness and room to turn about."
"Madam," said the landlord, "there is but one lodging in the town which is worthy of your ladyship. I have, myself, across the market-place, a house which contains three or four rooms. These I would submit to your ladyship's consideration."
This was an excellent beginning. The lady took the rooms at the rent proposed and without haggling; there were two bedrooms, for herself and her maid, and one room in which she could sit; the man found lodgings elsewhere. It appeared from his statement that his mistress was none other than the Lady Anastasia, widow of the late Lord Langston, and sister of the living Earl of Selsey. It was, therefore, quite true, as Sam Semple had announced, that persons of quality were coming to the spa.
The Lady Anastasia, at this time was about twenty-six years of age, or perhaps thirty, a handsome woman still, though no longer in the first flush of her beauty. Her dress, as well as her manner, proclaimed the woman of fashion. I confess that, as a simple sailor, one who could not pretend to be a gentleman and had never before seen a woman of rank, much less conversed with one, I was quite ready, after she had honoured me with a few words of condescension and kindness, to become her slave. She could bear herself with the greatest dignity and even severity, as certain ladies discovered who presumed upon her kindness and assumed familiarity. But while she could freeze with a frown and humiliate with a look, she could, and did, the next moment subdue the most obdurate, and disarm the most resentful with her gracious smile and with her voice, which was the softest, the most musical and the most moving that you can imagine. She had been a widow for two or three years, and, having now put off the weeds, she was rejoicing at the freedom which the world allows to a young widow of fortune and of rank.
You may be sure that the news of her arrival was speedily spread through the town. On the first night Lady Anastasia remained in her lodgings; but the ringers of St. Margaret's gave her a welcome with the bells, and in the morning the horns saluted her with a tune and a flourish under her windows. To the ringers she sent her thanks, with money for a supper and plenty of beer, and to the horns she sent out a suitable present of money, also with thanks.
Later on, a deputation, consisting of the mayor in his robes and his gold chain, accompanied by the aldermen in their gowns, the vicar in his cassock and gown, the doctor in his best velvet coat and his biggest wig, and Captain Crowle in his Sunday suit of black cloth, waited on the Lady Anastasia. They marched along the street from the town hall, preceded by the beadle in his green coat with brass buttons and laced hat, carrying the borough mace, all to do honour to this distinguished visitor.
They were received by the lady reclining on the sofa. Beside her stood her maid in a white apron and a white cap. At the door stood her man in his green livery—very fine. As for the Lady Anastasia's dress, I will attempt on another occasion a more particular description. Suffice it to say that it was rich and splendid. The reception which she accorded to the deputation was most gracious and condescending, in this respect surpassing anything that they had expected. They looked, indeed, for the austerity and dignity of rank, and were received by the affability which renders rank wherein it is found, admired and respected. Indeed, whatever I shall have to relate concerning this lady, it must be acknowledged that she possessed the art of attracting all kinds of people, of compelling their submission to her slightest wishes and of commanding their respectful affection. So much I must concede.
The mayor bade her welcome to the spa. "Madam," he said, "this town until yesterday was but a seaport, and we ourselves for the most part merchants and sailors. We are not people of fashion; we do not call ourselves courtiers; but you will find us honest. And we hope that you will believe in our honesty when we venture, with all respect, to declare ourselves greatly honoured by this visit of your ladyship."
"Indeed, worshipful sir, and reverend sir—and you, gentlemen, I am grateful for your kind words. I am here only in the pursuit of health. I want nothing more, believe me, but to drink your sovereign waters—of which my physician speaks most highly—and when my health allows me, to attend your church."
"We hope to offer your ladyship more than the pump room," the mayor continued. "We have devised, in our humble way, rooms for the entertainment of the company with music and gardens, and we hope to have an assembly for dancing in the long room. They are not such entertainments as your ladyship is accustomed to adorn, but such as they are, we shall be deeply honoured if you will condescend to join them. You will find the gentry, and their ladies, of the county and others not unworthy of your ladyship's acquaintance."
"Sir, I accept your invitation with great pleasure. These gaieties are, indeed unexpected. I look forward, gentlemen, to making the acquaintance, before many days, of your ladies as well."
So she rose and dropped a curtsey, while her man threw open the door and the deputation withdrew.
The doctor remained behind.
"Madam," he said, "you have been ordered—advised—by your physician to try the waters of our spa. Permit me, as the only physician of the town, an unworthy member of that learned college, to take charge of your health during your stay. Your ladyship will allow me to feel your pulse. Humph! It beats strong—a bounding pulse—as we of the profession say. A bounding pulse. To be sure your ladyship is in the heyday of life, with youth and strength. A bounding pulse. Some of my brethren might be alarmed as at febrile indications; they would bleed you—evenad plenum rivum—forgive the Latin. For my own part I laugh at these precautions. I find in the strength of the pulse nothing but the ardour of youth. I see no necessity for reduction of strength by blood letting. Your ladyship will perhaps detail the symptoms for which this visit to the spa was ordered."
The lady obeyed.
"These symptoms," said the doctor, "are grave. As yet they are menacing only. Nature has given warning. Nature opens her book so that we who know her language may read. We meet her warnings by sharp action. Your ladyship will, therefore, while continuing the course recommended by my learned brother, take one glass of the water daily; in the morning, before breakfast, fasting. Each dose must contain seven ounces and six drachms. I shall have the honour to visit your ladyship daily, and we will regulate the treatment according to the operation of the water."
"And must I give up the innocent pleasures offered me by your friends, doctor? Surely, you will not be so cruel."
"By no means, madam. Partake of all—of all—in moderation. Cards are good, if you like them. Dancing, if you like it—with your symptoms you must, above all things, nourish the body and keep the mind in cheerfulness."
The doctor withdrew and proceeded to relate to the pump room some particulars, with embellishments, of his interview with the Lady Anastasia.
"Nothing," he said, "can be imagined more gracious than her manner. It is at once dignified and modest. 'I trust myself entirely to your hands,' she said. What an example to patients of lower rank! 'I rely entirely on your skill and knowledge,' she added. It should be a lesson for all. I confess that it is gratifying even though the compliment was not undeserved, and the confidence is not misplaced. We may look for her ladyship in the long room this evening. I hope to present to her many of the ladies of the company. It is a great thing for the visitors and patients of the spa, that this accession of rank and fashion has arrived. Her beauty will prove more attractive to the gentlemen than the cockpit and the tavern; her manners and her dress will be the admiration of the ladies. She will lead in the dance, she will be queen of the spa. The widow of the right honourable the Lord Langston, the daughter and the sister of the right honourable the Earl of Selsey"—he rolled out the titles as if he could not have too much of them or too many—"has come among us. We will restore her to health by means of our spa; she will instruct our young folk in the manners of the polite world."
In the evening the lady came to the long room soon after the music commenced. Mr. Prappet, bowing low, invited her to honour the evening by dancing a minuet. He presented a gentleman, the son of a Norfolk squire, who, with many blushes, being still young, led out this lady, all jewels, silk, ribbons, and patches, and with such grace as he could command, performed the stately dance of the fashionable assembly.
"HE PRESENTED A GENTLEMAN, THE SON OF A NORFOLK SQUIRE.""HE PRESENTED A GENTLEMAN, THE SON OF A NORFOLK SQUIRE."
"HE PRESENTED A GENTLEMAN, THE SON OF A NORFOLK SQUIRE.""HE PRESENTED A GENTLEMAN, THE SON OF A NORFOLK SQUIRE."
"HE PRESENTED A GENTLEMAN, THE SON OF A NORFOLK SQUIRE."
This done, the master of the ceremonies presented another gentleman, and her ladyship condescended to a second dance—after which she retired and sat down. The first gentleman then danced with another lady; the second gentleman succeeded him, and dance followed dance. Mr. Prappet presented to Lady Anastasia those of the ladies who belonged to the gentry, and she was presently surrounded by a court or company, with whom she discoursed pleasantly and graciously. The spa had found a leader; the assembly was no longer frigid and constrained; everybody talked and everybody laughed; the family groups were broken up; none of the younger gentlemen deserted the assembly for the cockpit; and when the country dance began and Lady Anastasia led, dancing down the middle, taking hands and freely mixing with ladies who had no pretensions to family, being perhaps the daughters of merchants, and those in Lynn itself, the barriers were broken down, and without setting themselves apart on account of family pride, the whole company gave itself up to pleasure. When the music ceased, there was a run upon the supper tables, and you could hear nothing but the drawing of corks, the clicking of knives and forks, the music of pleasant talk, and the laughter of girls. When, at midnight, the Lady Anastasia called for her chair, a dozen young gentlemen sprang up to escort her home, walking beside the chair to her lodgings, and bowing low as she ran up the steps of her house.
The next arrival from London was a person of less consequence. He was quite an old gentleman, who was brought, it appeared, by easy stages in a post-chaise. The roughness of the road, especially towards the end, had shaken him to such an extent that he was unable even to get out of the chaise, and was carried into the house, where they found him a lodging and put him to bed. His man told the people that this was Sir Harry Malyns, a baronet and country gentleman, whose life was wholly devoted to the pleasures of town. Those who had seen the withered old anatomy carried out of his carriage laughed at the thought of this ancient person still devoted to the pleasures of the town. "Nay," said the varlet, grinning, "but wait till you see him dressed. Wait till he has passed through my hands. You think he is at his last gasp. Indeed, I thought so myself when I gave him his sack posset and put him to bed, but he will recover. Sir Harry is not so old but he can still bear some fatigues." And, indeed, you may imagine the surprise of those who had seen him the day before, when, about eleven o'clock in the forenoon, Sir Harry came out of the house and walked along the street. In place of a decrepit old man they saw the most gallant and the most bravely dressed beau that you can imagine. He appeared from the back and from either side—where his face was not visible—a young gentleman in the height of fashion. To be sure there was a certain unsteadiness of gait, and if his foot struck against an uneven piece of pavement you might perceive his knees knocking together and his legs beginning to tremble. But he rallied bravely, and went on. He carried his hat under his arm, a coloured cane dangled from his right wrist, his left hand carried a gold snuffbox with a lady painted on the outside. He walked with an affected step, such as we call mincing, and when he came to the pump room he entered it upon his toes, with his knees bent and his arms extended. For an example of the manners which mean nothing but affectation and pretence, there was no one at the spa who could compare with old Sir Harry.
The pump room was tolerably full of people who came in the forenoon to talk. Sir Harry, pretending not to observe the curiosity with which he was regarded, introduced himself to a gentleman by means of his snuffbox. "Sir," he said, "have we any company at the spa?" He looked round the room as if disdainfully. "Fine women, of course, we have. Norfolk is famous for fine women and fat turkeys; but as for company?"
"Sir, we have many of the country gentry of Norfolk and Lincolnshire; we have divines from the cathedral cities, and scholars from Cambridge."
"But of company—such as a gentleman may call company?"
"Why, sir," said the other, himself a plain gentleman of Norfolk, "if you are not satisfied with what you see, you had better find some other place for your exalted society."
"Pray, sir, forgive me. I am but recently arrived from London. No doubt the assembly is entirely composed of good families. I am myself but a country gentleman and a simple baronet. I used the word company in a sense confined to town."
"Well, sir, since you are no better than the rest of us, I may tell you that we have among us a certain lady of rank—the Lady Anastasia Langston——"
"Pray, sir, pray—excuse me. Not a 'certain' Lady Anastasia. If you have the Lady Anastasia, you have, let me tell you, the very pearl of highest fashion. If she is here, you are indeed fortunate. One woman of her beauty, grace, wealth, rank, and goodness is enough to make the fortune of the spa. Bath worships her; Tunbridge prays for her return; there will be lamentation when it is known that she has deserted these places for the newly discovered waters of Lynn."
"Indeed, sir, we ought to feel greatly honoured."
"You ought, sir. Your ladies of Norfolk will learn more from her, as concerns the great world and the world of fashion, in a week than they could learn at the assembly of Norwich in a year. The Lady Anastasia carries about with her the air which stamps the woman of the highest fashion. She walks like a goddess, she talks like an angel, and she smiles like a nymph—if there are such nymphs, woodland or ocean nymphs—who wear hoops, put on patches, build up headdresses, and brandish fans."
There was another whose arrival from London caused no ringing of bells and salutations by the horns. This was a certain Colonel Lanyon, who wore the king's scarlet, having served and received promotion in the king's armies. He was about forty years of age; a big, blustering fellow who rolled his shoulders as he walked along and took the wall of everybody. He began, as he continued, by spending his time in the card room, at the cockpit, at the badger drawing, bull baiting, horse racing, cudgel playing—wherever sport was going on or betting to be made. He drank the hardest, he played the deepest, he swore the loudest, he was always ready to take offence. Yet he was tolerated and even liked, because he was good company. He sang songs, he told anecdotes, he had seen service in the West Indies and in many other places, he had passed through many adventures; he assumed, and successfully, the manner of a good sportsman—free with his money, who played deep, paid his debts of honour at once, and expected to be paid in like manner. Now the gentlemen of Norfolk esteem a good sportsman above all things, and readily pass over any little faults in a man who pleases them in this respect. As for the ladies, the colonel made no attempt to win their good graces, and was never seen either in the long room or the gardens or the assembly.
Last of all came the prince of this company, whom I now know was the arch villain, Lord Fylingdale himself.
We were prepared for his arrival by a letter from Sam Semple. He wrote to the doctor informing him that my lord was about to undertake his journey to Lynn, that he hoped to complete it in three days, and that he would probably arrive on such a day. He further stated that the best rooms at the Crown Inn were to be engaged, and that he, himself, namely, Sam, would accompany his lordship in the capacity of private secretary and, as he put it, confidential companion. To write such a letter to the doctor was to proclaim it as from the house-top. In fact, the good doctor made haste to read it aloud in the pump room and to communicate the news to the mayor and aldermen.
Sir Harry, being asked if he knew his lordship, shook his head. "We of the gay world," he said, speaking as a young man, "do not commonly include Lord Fylingdale among the beaux and bucks. There is in him a certain haughtiness which forbids the familiarities common among ourselves."
"Is he, then, a saint?"
"Why, sir, I know nothing about saints. There are none, I believe, among my friends. I have, however, seen Lord Fylingdale on the race-course at Newmarket, and I have seen him at the tables when the game of hazard was played. And I have never yet seen saint or angel at either place."
"Then how is Lord Fylingdale distinguished?"
"Partly by his rank, but that is not everything. Partly by his wealth, but that is not everything. Partly by his superiority, which is undoubted. For he has none of the foibles of other men; if he sits down to a bottle he does not call for t'other; if he plays cards he wins or he loses with equal composure, caring little which it may turn out; his name has never been mentioned with that of any woman. Yet the world is eager after scandal, and would rejoice to whisper something concerning him."
"He will condescend to despise us, then," said the vicar of St. Margaret's, "seeing that our world is wholly addicted to sport, and takes fortune with heat and passion."
"Not so, reverend sir. He will, perhaps, attend our entertainments, but his mind is set above such vanities. As for me, sir, I own that I live for them. But my Lord Fylingdale lives for other things."
"He is ambitious, perhaps. Has he thoughts of place and of the ministry?"
Sir Harry took snuff. "Pardon me, sir. The world talks. I love the world, but I do not always talk with the world. It may be that there are reasons of state which bring him to this neighbourhood. I say nothing." But he pointed over his shoulder and nodded his head with meaning.
It will be remembered that Houghton, the seat of Sir Robert Walpole, then the minister all powerful, is but a few miles from Lynn. The crowd heard and whispered, and the rumour ran that under pretence of seeking health, Lord Fylingdale was coming to Lynn in order … here the voice dropped, and the rest fell into the nearest ear.
The Rev. Mr. Purdon was more eloquent. "What?" he cried, "Lord Fylingdale coming here? Lord Fylingdale? Why, what can his lordship want at Lynn?"
"We have heard that he is sent here to drink the waters."
Mr. Purdon shook his head wisely. "It may be. I do not say that…. There is perhaps gout in the family…. But with a personage—a personage, I say, there are many reasons which prompt to action. However——"
"Pray, sir, if you know him, inform us further as to his lordship."
"Madam, I was his tutor. I accompanied him on the grand tour. I therefore knew him intimately when he was a young man of eighteen. I have been privileged with his condescension since that time. He is at once a scholar, a critic, and a connoisseur; he hath a pretty taste in verse and can discourse of medals and of cameos. He is also a man of fashion who can adorn an assembly just as he adorns, when it pleases him, the House of Lords. Yet not a fribble like certain persons"—he looked at Sir Harry—"nor a beau, nor a profligate Mohock. Pride he has, I allow. What do you expect of a man with such birth and such ancestry? His pride becomes him. Lesser men can be familiar. He is said to be cold towards the fair sex—I can contradict that calumny. Not coldness but fastidiousness is his fault. 'My Lord,' I have said to him often, 'to expect the genius of Sappho, the beauty of Helen, and the charms of Cleopatra, is to ask too much. Not once in an age is such a woman created. Be content, therefore,' I ventured to add. 'Genius will smile upon you; loveliness will languish for you; dignity will willingly humble herself at your feet.' But I have spoken in vain. He is fastidious. Ladies, if I were young; if I were a noble lord; if I were rich; it is to Norfolk, believe me, that I should fly, contented with the conquests awaiting me here. This is truly a land of freedom where to be in chains and slavery is the happy lot."
This was the kind of talk with which we were prepared to await the coming of this paladin.
He arrived. Late in the day about seven o'clock, there came into the town, side by side, his lordship's running footmen. They were known by the white holland waistcoat and drawers belonging to their calling, the white thread stockings, white caps, and blue satin fringed with velvet. In their hands they carried a porter's staff tipped with a silver ball, in which I suppose was carried a lemon. The rogues trotted in, without haste, for the roads were bad behind them, and placed themselves at the door of the Crown Inn, one on each side. The landlord stood in the open door, his wife behind him; and speedily half the town gathered together to witness the arrival of the great man.
His carriage came lumbering heavily along the narrow streets. Within, beside his lordship, sat, as grand as you please, our poet Sam Semple. It was admirable to remark the air with which he sprang out of the carriage, offered his arm for the descent of his patron, followed him into the inn, demanded the best rooms, ordered a noble supper, and looked about him with the manner of a stranger and a gentleman, as if the host of the "Crown" had never boxed his ears for an idle good-for-nothing who could not even make out a bill aright. The bells were set ringing for Lord Fylingdale as they had been for the Lady Anastasia; in the morning the horns saluted the illustrious visitor; and about eleven o'clock, when his lordship was dressed, the mayor and aldermen, preceded by the bearer of the mace and accompanied by the clergy of the town and the doctor, offered a visit of welcome and congratulation.
They retired overwhelmed by the condescension of their guests. "One does not expect," said the doctor, "the gracious sweetness of a lady; but we received every possible mark of politeness and of consideration. As for the mayor, his lordship treated him as if he were the lord mayor of London itself. And for my own part, when I remained on the departure of the rest, I can only say that I was overwhelmed with the confidence bestowed upon me. There has been talk in this pump room," he looked around him, "of other reasons—reasons of state—and of pretended sickness. The company may take it from me—fromme, I say—that whatever may be the reasons of state, it is not for us to offer any opinion as to those reasons, the symptoms which have been imparted to me in confidence are such that a visit to the spa is imperative; and treatment, with drinking of the waters, is absolutely necessary."
"This Lord Fylingdale, Jack," said Captain Crowle, who was one of the deputation, "is a mighty fine gentleman, well favoured and well mannered. I have not yet learned more about him. They say at the pump room many things. He received us with condescension and was good enough to promise attendance at our assembly, though, he said, these occasions do not afford him so much pleasure as other pursuits. 'Tis a fine thing, Jack, to be a nobleman and to have so much dignity; since I have spoken with the Lady Anastasia I find myself trying to look condescending. But the quarter-deck is one place and the House of Lords is another. The captain of a ship, Jack, if he were affable, would very quickly get knocked o' the head by his crew."
Meantime Sam Semple showed good sense in going round to visit his old friends. Among others he called upon Captain Crowle, to whom he behaved, with singular discernment, in such a way as would please the old man. For on board ship we like a cheerful sailor, one who takes punishment without snivelling, and bears no malice thereafter. A ship is like a boys' school, where a flogging wipes out the offence, and master and boy become good friends after it, whatever the heinousness of the crime.
"Sir," said Sam, standing before the captain, modestly, "you will understand, first of all, that I am reminded, in coming here, of the last time that I saw you."
"Ay, my lad, I have not forgotten." The captain did not rise from his armchair, nor did he offer Sam his hand. He waited to learn in what spirit the young man approached him.
"Believe me, sir," said Sam, "I am not unmindful of a certain lesson, rough perhaps, but deserved. The presumption of youth, ignorance of the world, ignorance of the prize to which I aspired, may be my excuse—if any were needed. I was then both young and ignorant." It must be admitted that Sam possessed the gift of words. "Indeed, I was too young to understand the humble nature of my origin and my position, and too ignorant to understand my own presumption. Therefore, sir, before I say anything more, I beg your forgiveness. That presumption, sir, can never, I assure you, be repeated. I know, at least, my own place, and the distance between a certain young lady and myself."
"Why, my lad," said the captain, "since you talk in that modest way, I bear no malice—none. Wherefore, here is my hand in token of forgiveness. And so, on that head we will speak no more."
He extended his hand, which Sam took, still in humble attitude.
"I am deeply grateful, captain," he said. "You will, perhaps, before long find out how grateful I can be." Time, in fact, did show the depth of his gratitude. "Well, sir, I am now in high favour with my Lord Fylingdale, on whom you waited this morning."
"I hope his favour will end in a snug place, Sam. Forget not the main point. Well, your patron is a goodly and a proper man to look at. Sit down, Sam. Take a glass of home brewed—you must want it after the ale of London, which is, so far as I remember, but poor stuff. Well, now, about your noble lord. He is a married man, I suppose?"
"Unfortunately, no. He is difficult to please."
"Ah! and, I suppose, like most young noblemen, something of a profligate—eh, Sam? Or a gambler, likely! one who has ruined many innocents. Eh?" The captain looked mighty cunning.
"Sir, sir!" Sam spread out his hands in expostulation. "You distress me. Lord Fylingdale a profligate? Lord Fylingdale a gambler? Lord Fylingdale a libertine? Sir!—Captain Crowle!" He spoke very earnestly; the tears came into his eyes; he laid his hand upon the captain's knee. "Sir, I assure you, he is, on the contrary, the best of men. There is no more virtuous nobleman in the country. My tongue is tied as his lordship's secretary, else would I tell of good deeds. Truly, his right hand knoweth not what his left hand doeth. My lord is all goodness."
"Ay, ay? This is good hearing indeed."
"Lord Fylingdale a gambler? Why he may take part at a table; but a gambler? No man is less a gambler. What doth it matter to him if he wins or loses a little? He neither desires to win, nor does he fear to lose. You will, I dare say, see him in the card room, just to encourage the spirit of the company."
"A very noble gentleman, indeed." The captain drank a glass of his home brewed, "a very noble gentleman truly. Go on, Samuel."
"Also, he is one who, captain, if there is one thing in the world that my patron abhors, it is the man who ruins innocency and leaves his victim to starve. No, sir; his lordship is a man of the nicest honour and the highest principle."
"He has a secretary who is grateful, at least," observed the captain.
"His sword is ever ready to defend the helpless and to uphold the virtuous. Would to heaven there were more like the right honourable the Earl of Fylingdale!"
"Look ye, Master Sam," said the captain. "Your good opinion of your patron does you credit. I honour you for your generous words. I have never so far, and I am now past seventy, encountered any man who was either saint or angel, but in every man have I always found some flaw, whether of temper or of conduct. So that I do not pretend to believe all that you make out."
Sam Semple sighed and rose. "I ask not for your entire belief, sir. It will be sufficient if you learn, as I have learned, the great worth of this exalted and incomparable nobleman. As for flaws, we are all human; but I know of none. So I take my leave. I venture to hope, sir, that your good lady and your lovely ward—I use the word with due respect—are in good health."
So he departed, leaving the captain thoughtful.
And now they were all among us, the vile crew brought together for our undoing by this lord so noble and so exalted. And we were already entangled in a whole mesh of lies and conspiracies, the result of which you have now to learn.
And now began that famous month—it lasted very little more—when the once godly town of Lynn was delivered over to the devil and all his crew. We who are natives of the place speak of that time and the misfortunes which followed with reluctance; we would fain forget that it ever fell upon us. To begin with, the place was full of people. They came from all the country round; not only did the gentlefolk crowd into the town and the clergy from the cathedral towns and the colleges, but there were also their servants, hulking footmen, pert lady's maids, with the people who flock after them, creatures more women than men; the hairdressers, barbers, milliners, dressmakers, and the creatures who deal in things which a fashionable woman cannot do without, those who provide the powder, patches, cosmetics,eau de Chypre, and washes for the complexion, the teeth, the hands, and the face; the jewellers and those who deal in gold and silver ornaments; the sellers of lace, ribbons, gloves, fans, and embroidery of all kinds. Our shops, humble enough to look upon from the outside, became treasure houses when one entered; and I verily believe that the ladies of the spa took greater pleasure in turning over the things hidden away behind the shop windows, and not exposed to the vulgar gaze, than in any of the entertainments offered them.
Every other house in Mercer Street and Chequer Row was converted into a shop for the sale of finery; at the door of each stood the shopman or the shopwoman, all civility and assurance, inviting an entrance. "Madam," said one, "I have this day received by the London waggon a consignment of silks which it would do you good only to see and to feel. Enter, madam; the mere sight is better for the vapours than all the waters of the pump room. Look at these silks before they are all sold. John, the newly arrived silks for their ladyships," and so on, all along the streets while the ladies walked slowly over the rough paving stones, followed by their footmen with their long sticks, and their insolent bearing. Indeed, I know not which more attracted the curiosity of the countrywomen—the fine ladies or the fine footmen. These gallant creatures, the footmen with their worsted epaulettes and their brave liveries, did not venture into the streets by the riverside—Pudding Lane, Common Stath Lane, or the like—the resort of the sailors, where the reception of those who did venture was warmer and less polite than they expected.
For the gentlemen there were the taverns; every house round the market-place became a tavern, where an ordinary was held at twelve.
And the gentlemen sat drinking all the afternoon. Nay, they began in the morning making breakfast of a pint of Canary with a pennyworth of bread, a slice of cheese, and after the meal a penny roll of tobacco. These were the gentlemen belonging to the country families. The attractions of the spa to them were the tavern, the cockpit, the field where they raced their horses, the badger baiting, and sport of all these kinds that can be obtained in the spring and summer, when there is no shooting of starlings in the reeds of marshland, and the decoy of ducks, for which this country is famous.
Rooms had to be found for the servants; a profligate and deboshed crew they were, of whose manners it may be said that they were insolent, and of their morals, that they had none. Two or three of them, however, getting a drubbing from our sailors, the rest went in some terror.
It was as if the birds of the air had carried the news of this great discovery north and south, east and west, so that not only was a great multitude attracted to the place in search of health and pleasure, but also another multitude of those who came to supply every kind of want, real or imaginary. A thousand wants were invented, especially for the ladies, so that whereas many of the damsels from quiet country houses had been content with homespun, linsey woolsey, or, at best, with sarcenet, a few ribbons for their straw hats, and thread for their gloves, now found themselves unable to appear abroad except with heads made up on wires and round rolls, their hair powdered and pinned to large puff caps, with gowns of silk, flounced sleeves, and a laced tippet. And when they went home they were no longer contented with the things of their own making, the cordials of ginger, cherries, and so forth, the distilled waters, the home-brewed ale, the small beer, the wines made with raspberries, currants and blackberries. They murmured after tea and coffee, the wine of Lisbon and Canary, the rosolio and the ratafia, the macaroons, the chocolate, the perfumes, and the many gauds of the dressing-table. And they scorned the honest red and brown of cheek and hands that cared nothing for the sun, as if they would be more beautiful in the eyes of their lovers by having cheeks of a pale white with a smudge of paint, and hands as white as if just out of bed and a long illness.
The way of the company was as follows:
They met at the pump room about ten; they called for the water; they exchanged the latest scandal; they talked about dress; they bemoaned their losses at cards; they then walked off to morning prayers, chiefly at St. Nicholas's, where, as you have heard, Mr. Benjamin Purdon read them with honeyed words and rolling voice. From the church they repaired to a confectioner's called Jonathan's—I know not why—where they all devoured a certain cake made expressly for them; from the confectioner's some went to the draper, the milliner, or the haberdasher; some to the long room, where there were generally public breakfasts of tea, chocolate, and coffee; a few, but these were mostly men, went to the bookseller's, where, for half-a-crown a month, they could read all day long and what they pleased. The bookseller came from Norwich, and when the season ended went back to Norwich. Dinner was served at twelve or one. At five o'clock or thereabouts the company began to arrive at the gardens and the long room, where, with music, cards, conversation, and walking among the coloured lamps, the evening was quickly spent. Twice a week there was an assembly for dancing, when refreshments were provided at the cost of the gentlemen.
For the gentlemen there were also the coffee houses, of which two at least sprang into existence. One laid down twopence on entering, and could call for a dish of tea, a cup of coffee, or one of chocolate. In one of them were found the clergy, the lawyers, and the justices of the peace; they settled the affairs of the nation and decided the characters of the ministers. In the other were those who affected to be beaux and wits. Among the latter set one found Sam Semple, now a person of great authority, as the secretary of Lord Fylingdale and the author of a book of verse. He pretended to be an arbiter. "Sir," he would say, "by your leave. The case is quite otherwise. The matter was lately discussed at Will's. A certain distinguished poet, who shall be nameless, whose opinion carries weight even in that august assemblage, was of opinion that…." And so forth, with an air of profound wisdom. As regards wit in conversation, it consists, I believe, in finding different ways, all unexpected, of saying: "You are a fool. You are an ass. You are a jackanapes. You are an ignorant clown. You are a low-born upstart." This kind of wit was cultivated with some success at first, but as it was not always relished by those to whom it was directed, it led to the pulling of noses and the discharge of coffee or tea in the face of the ingenious author of the unexpected epigram. So that its practice languished and presently died out altogether.
The most astonishing change, however, was in the market-place. Here, instead of one market day in the week, there was a market day all the week long. The stalls were never removed; every day the country people crowded into the town—some riding, some walking, some in boats, some in barges, bringing poultry, ducks, eggs, butter, cream, milk, cheese, honey, lettuce for sallet, and everything that a farm, a dairy, and a stillroom can provide. Some sat on upturned baskets, their wares spread out before them; some stood at stalls with white hangings to keep off the sun; the fine ladies went about among them chaffering and bargaining, their maids following with baskets. It was a pretty sight, and to my mind the rustic damsels, for good looks, got the better of the fine ladies and their maids. Many of the beaux and young bloods were of the same opinion, apparently, for they, too, went round among the stalls, with compliments not doubtful, and talk more free than polite, chucking the girls under the chin and pinching their cheeks. To be sure these freedoms do a body no harm, and I believe our Norfolk girls can look after themselves as well as any.
And every day outside the stalls there assembled such a motley crowd as had never before been seen in Lynn. It was a perpetual fair, at which you could buy anything. Gipsies went about leading horses for sale, the cheap Jack stood on the footboard of his cart and bawled his wares; the rogue stood up, with voice and cheeks of brass, and offered his caps, knives, scissors, cups and saucers, frying pans, saucepans, kettles, every morning. His store could never be exhausted; he took a quarter of what he asked; and he went on day after day. Nor must we forget the travelling quack, the learned doctor in a huge wig and black velvet; as like to Dr. Worship himself as one pea is like another. He had his stage and his tumbling clown, who twisted himself upon the tight-rope, turned somersaults, walked on his head, grinned and made mouths and was as merry a rogue as his master was grave. After the Tom Fool had collected a crowd and made them merry, the doctor advanced, his face full of wisdom, and explained that he came among them newly arrived from Persia, that land famous for its learned physicians; that he was not an ordinary physician, seeking to make money by his science; that, on the other hand, what he offered was given, rather than sold, the charge made being barely sufficient to pay for the costly ingredients used in the making of these sovereign remedies. He had his pills and his draughts; his balsams and his electuary; he had his plaster against rheumatism; his famousPulvis Catharticusagainst fever; hisCarduus Benedictusagainst ague; and, in a word, his infallible remedies against all the ills to which flesh is liable. So he played his part, not every day, but often, for the crowd in the market-place changed continually, and every change brought him new patients.
Or there was the tooth drawer. You knew him by the string of teeth which hung round his neck like a string of pearls over the neck of a lady or a collar of SS. round the neck of the worshipful the mayor. He pulled teeth at half a crown each, and if that was too much, at a shilling. Not only did he bawl his calling among the crowd, but he went through the streets from house to house asking if his services were wanted.
The town crier added to the noise and the animation of the scene. Almost every day he had something to bawl. He was known by his dress and his bell. He wore a green coat with brass buttons; a broad laced hat, he had a broad badge with the arms of the town upon his arm; in one hand he carried a staff and in the other his big bell. And being by nature endowed with a loud voice, and a good opinion of himself, he magnified his office by ringing more loudly and longer than was necessary, by repeating his "O yes! O yes! O yes!" at the end as well as the beginning of his announcement, and by proclaiming this twice over.
Towards the hour of noon, when every tavern had its ordinary, and the sausages and black puddings were hissing in the cooks' stalls, there arose a fragrance—call it an incense of gratitude—which pleasantly engaged the senses. It was a hogo of frying fish, chops, steaks, sausages, bacon, ham and onions; it included the smell of gosling and duckling and chicken, roasted rabbit fricasseed; of roast pork, lamb, mutton, and beef; of baked pies—all kinds of pies—custards, cheese cakes, dumplings, hasty pudding. Then the feet of those who could afford it turned to the tavern; those who could not pay the ordinary at two shillings, or that at one shilling, dived into the cellar, where they could dine for sixpence, or stood about the stalls where they fried the sausages; those who brought their dinner with them sat on their baskets and devoured their food, or bought of the street criers who now went up and down ringing bells and crying: