Part 20 (1/2)

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, ”Hus.h.!.+ 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-s.h.i.+lling 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?