Beau Brummell

Blanchard Jerrold

Act I, Scene I

Characters: Beau Brummell, a fastidious aristocrat with luxurious tastes and a depleted fortune; Isidore, his valet; Mr. Fotherby, his aspiring young protégé.

Scene: A handsome apartment in Brummell's house, Calais, France. Isidore discovered, in chair, looking over his master's toilette table.

Isidore. Twenty shirts a week, twenty-four pocket-handkerchiefs, to say nothing of thirty cravats and twelve waistcoats—indeed, for people that cannot pay their servants! Well, he owes me just six thousand three hundred and thirty-seven francs, ten sous. [Picks up paper.] Ah, I see, I'm in the list. It costs something to have the honor of serving Mr. Brummell—to be chamberlain to His Majesty, the King of Calais! But he is a wonderful man! People almost thank him for condescending to be in their debt; still, much as I esteem the honor, I can't afford it any longer, nor can the laundress, nor can the hairdresser. Eight hundred francs a year for washing! Three clean shirts a day, three cravats! Boots blacked, soles and all, and with such varnish! But then he has such exquisite taste! why, he blackballed a friend of his who wanted to enter his club, because the candidate's boots were polished with bad blacking. I wonder whether the king will do anything for him? It is Mr. Brummell's dressing hour, and here he comes.

[Enter Brummell, letter in hand. Isidore busies himself piling cravats upon the side of dressing table, and wheels chair to the mirror. Brummell throws himself in the chair before the glass, examines the cravats and throws two or three of them away.

Brummell. Isidore, take those dusters away; the chambermaid has forgotten them. [Re-reads the letter.] Strange girl this; the only thing I know against her is that she takes soup twice. It's the old story. Her father wants her to marry a fellow who can keep her, and she wants to have a young fellow who can't. Well, the young fellow who can't is the more interesting of the two. I must ask the father to dinner I suppose—it's a deuced bore; but it will put him under a heavy obligation. I must make excuses to Ballarat and Gill. Isidore, when I'm dressed take my compliments to Mr. Davis, and tell him I shall be happy to see him at dinner to-day.

Isid. Very well, sir. [Aside.] To Davis, a retired fellow from the city! This is a tumble!—I am sorry to trouble you, sir, but——

Brum. I can't talk to you to-day, Isidore. Give me a cravat.

Isid. [handing one]. I am a poor man, and six thousand francs——

Brum. I understand, Isidore. We'll see—we'll see; don't disturb me. Zounds! man, haven't you been long enough with me to know that these are not moments when I can speak or listen? [Bell rings.] If that be Mr. Fotherby, show him in. [Exit Isidore.] I intend to form that young fellow—there's stuff in him. I've noticed that he uses my blacking. [Enter Fotherby followed by Isidore.] How d'e do, Fotherby?

Fotherby. This admittance is an honor, indeed, sir!

Brum. My dear fellow, why, what do you call those things upon your feet?

Fother. Things on my feet! Shoes, to be sure!

Brum. Shoes! I thought they were slippers!

Fother. You prefer boots then, sir, doubtless?

Brum. Well, let me see. Humph! Isidore, which do I prefer, boots or shoes?

Isid. The Hessian was always your favorite, sir, in London.

Brum. Right, Isidore—so it was. By-the-bye, I have asked Davis here to-day. It was a great sacrifice; but as you and the young lady want to have the old gentleman melted, I resigned myself. I hope he'll keep his knife out of his mouth.

Fother. We shall be eternally grateful to you, sir. He wanted Helen to become old Armand's wife next week.

Brum. I think he's right; and but for one circumstance, I should be on Armand's side of the question.

Fother. And this circumstance?

Brum. The brute has a toothpick in his waistcoat pocket, or in the thing that serves him for a waistcoat—an instrument that, he says, has been in his family the last fifty years. Conceive, my dear Fotherby, an hereditary toothpick! No, Mr. Davis does not deserve that fate. And now let me give you a bit of advice. Never wear perfumes, but fine linen, plenty of it, and country washing. Look at you now, my good fellow, you are dressed in execrable taste—all black and white, like a magpie. Still, never be remarkable. The severest mortification a gentleman can incur, is to attract observation in the street by his dress. Everything should fit without a fault. You can't tell what this has cost me—but then it is a coat—while that thing you wear—I really don't know what we can call it.

Fother. Still, sir, under your guidance I shall improve. By the way, my mother asked me to invite you to take tea with us in our humble way.

Brum. Really, my good young friend, you surprise me. Don't you know that you take medicine—you take a walk—you take a liberty—but you drink tea! My dear Fotherby, never be bearer of such a dreadful message again. Isidore! has my Paris wig arrived? Any card or letter?

Isid. No cards, sir. The wig arrived by the diligence.

Brun. Is the wig fit to put on?

Isid. I have been examining it, and, as the times go, I think it will do. There is one of the side locks not quite to my taste.

Brum. Ah! a mat, no doubt—a door-mat! [Exit Isidore. To Fotherby.] You see what a gentleman may be reduced to! It's the most fortunate thing in the world that I never fell in love!

Fother. But were you never in love?—never engaged?

Brum. Engaged?—why, yes, something of the kind; but I discovered that the lady positively ate cabbage, and so I broke it off.

Fother. And so, sir, you will persuade the old gentleman to postpone Helen's marriage with Armand—while I——

Brum. My dear young friend, I will tell the old gentleman to do so—you must see that I could not possibly think of persuading a person who grows onions in his garden——

Fother. We shall be eternally grateful——

Brum. For three weeks exactly—from which time you, at all events, will begin to wish that I had confined my attention to my own particular affairs. But the world is ungrateful. I once waved my hand to a saddler's son from White's window. Well, sir, I owed him five hundred pounds, and he had afterwards the assurance to ask me for it.

Fother. You astonish me!

Brum. Positive fact. So be cautious, young man, and in your way through life—if you wave your hand to such a fellow, let it be over a stamped receipt.

Fother. I shall follow your counsel most scrupulously.

Brum. There, sir, never let me see you again in those gloves! These, sir, [showing his] are the only gloves for a gentleman. Pray leave me—I can't bear the sight of them. Meantime, tell your betrothed that I shall do everything in my power to secure your unhappiness. I have already spoken to Lord Ballarat about you. I told him you were the laziest fellow and the best dresser in the town—in fact, cut out by nature to serve the government. Good-bye—I shall ask you to dine with me some of these days—but not yet awhile—you must work up to that. And now, Fotherby, to show you how deep an interest I take in your welfare, you shall give me your arm to the ramparts.

[Exeunt.

Act II, Scene III

Characters: Brummell; Isidore; Fotherby; Nurse; another Old Woman; Landlord; Waiter.

Scene: Brummell's lodgings in a miserable apartment house at Caen, France. Eight years have elapsed. With no means of livelihood and pursued by creditors, Brummell is now reduced to abject poverty, broken health, and a deranged mind. He is thrown among people of low rank and is subjected to many indignities; but to the last he clings to his fastidious tastes and is a gentleman among imaginary aristocrats.

Old Nurse. in high Norman cap, discovered seated in arm chair, mending stockings; another Woman near her.

Nurse. Yes, my dear, clean out of his mind—that's what he's gone.

Old Woman. Deary me!

Nurse. Aye, and there be folks as says he was once as neat and tidy as a new sixpence. Now he's as dirty as a George the First halfpenny!

Old W. Deary me!

Nurse. Aye, child, and he knew lords and dooks—and such like—now it's anybody as'll give him a dinner. It's time they did something with him—for put up with his going's on any longer, I cannot! A nuss's is a horrid life, ain't it, child?

Old W. 'Orrid—deary me! So this very afternoon that's comin', he's to go?

Nurse. Aye, child—the landlord's goin' to offer to take him for a walk, which'll please him—and then take him off to see if the nuns'll have charity upon him—if not, there's nothing but the street. He wouldn't go if he know'd it—still he hasn't a copper coin—he's as cunning as any fox. Have a little drop of somethin' comfortable, child!

Old W. Deary me!—at this time of day—but I do feel a sinking!

Nurse. It'll do you a world of good. [Getting bottle—a knock.] Lawk! what an awkward hour for people to call! [Knock again.]

Old W. Deary me! Perhaps it's Mr. Brummell.

Nurse. Not it! It's more than he dare do, to knock twice like that. It's his old man-servant, come to take off that there dirty screen. [Opens door.]

Enter Brummell—muddy—supported by Isidore

Brum. Isidore, give me my dressing gown!

Isid. Dressing gown! that's good—why I never put my own on nowadays!

Brum. [talking to himself]. That screen mustn't go—nor the duchess's armchair. [Turning to Nurse.] Mind that, nurse, whatever happens to me, this chair and the screen remain. Ha! ha! what would Ballarat say, if——

Nurse. There, never mind them folks. Pull your coat off, and put your dressing gown on, do!

Brum. Dear me! I hope the ices will be better—the punch I've seen to! The duchess shall sit here.

Nurse [to Old Woman]. That's how he goes on nearly every day. The high folks he knew have turned his head. Sometimes he makes one of the waiters announce a lot of folks, as never come, while he, like an old fool, bows to nobody, and hands nothing to that old chair.

Old W. What work it must give you.

Nurse [to Brummell]. There, take that muddy coat off, nobody's coming to-day.

Brum. Leave the room and see that everything is ready.

Nurse. Drat it. [Rings the bell.] I must have the waiter up. He'll soon manage him.

Brum. [rising, totters forward, and arranges his shabby dress]. Well, now I'm ready! Hark! I think I hear the first carriage. Sir Harry, no doubt.

Enter Waiter

Nurse. Just see to this old man—make him change his coat, for I can't.

Waiter. Well, this is the last of it. Master says he may sleep in the streets, but he doesn't stay here another night if he knows it. They won't have him at the asylum without money, and he hasn't a rap.

Nurse. Nor a stick; for there's little enough left to pay my poor wages.

Waiter [to Brummell]. Come, off with the coat!

Brum. My good fellow, leave it me to-night. I've a few friends coming. Hush! there's the first arrival. Pray, my good sir, see to my guests.

Waiter. Well, let's humor the old blade once more—he'll be in the streets to-morrow.

Nurse [to Old Woman]. Just notice this tomfoolery, child.

Old W. Deary me! it almost frightens me. See how pleased he is.

Waiter. Sir Harry Gill!

Brum. [advancing ceremoniously, and holding out his hand, and coming down, as though talking to somebody at his side]. My dear Harry, I'm delighted to see you. Were you at the opera last night?

Nurse [to Old Woman]. Did you ever hear the like of it?

Waiter. Here goes again! [Goes as before to door, and throws it open.] Lord Ballarat!

Brum. [advancing as before, and receiving imaginary visitor]. My good fellow, I'm sorry I missed you at the club the other night; but I went into the duchess's box, and——

Waiter. I must stop this. The duchess always comes last, and then he's satisfied. [Throwing open the door, and calling pompously.] Her Highness the Duchess of Canterbury.

Brum. [totters to door, bowing very profoundly, and handing the imaginary duchess to his armchair—leans over the chair, and bows frequently as he talks]. Your highness is too good! This is indeed an honor. Permit me the satisfaction of handing you to your seat. And is the duke well? And little Nutmeg—is his ear better? Poor little fellow! I hope you will allow me to give him a charming little collar I have for him.

Waiter. There, that'll do! [To Brummell.] Come, now, they're all gone—take your coat off.

Brum. [starting, and falling into chair]. Yes, gone—gone—true—they're gone! [Waiter helps him to take his coat off.] Give me my cap! [Nurse puts his old velvet cap on.]

Waiter. [going]. Call me up again, nurse, if he won't mind you. Do you hear what I say, Mr. Brummell?

Brum. Yes—yes—I'll be very good, nurse—I'll be very good.

Waiter. Well, it will be a lucky day when we get rid of this business!

[Exit.

Old W. But think of the poor creature turned into the streets! He'd die upon the nighest door-step!

Nurse. Can't be helped—out he goes to-night and no mistake! I'll nuss him no longer—and the landlord wants the room. The men are comin' to whitewash it at sunrise to-morrow.

Old W. Deary me! Well—good-day!

Nurse. Good-day, child. You'll find me at home to-morrow. Good-bye!

[Exit Old Woman.

Brum. [tottering to an old bureau, sits before it]. Dinner at four. Nurse, nurse! my glass and razors—come!

Nurse. Drat the old man! [Gives him glass, etc.]

Enter Landlord, followed by Waiter

Now he's completely done up!

Brum. [politely to Landlord]. Good morning, monsieur, delighted to see——

Landlord. Hang your compliments—I want no more of them.

Brum. My good sir, you surprise me!

Land. [to Waiter]. Get his rubbish together—for out he goes, and no mistake. [To Brummell.] Now, Mr. Brummell, can you pay me—or can't you—or won't you?

Brum. Dear, dear me! We'll talk about it.

Land. No, we won't. I'll have it—or out you bundle this minute.

Brum. [rising]. Sir, I am a gentleman—a poor one, it is true; and this hand, fleshless as it is—is strong enough to chastise a man who forgets it! [Brummell falls back in chair exhausted.]

Land. [to Waiter]. Now for it—out with him! [Landlord and Waiter rush forward, and are about to seize Brummell.]

Enter Fotherby

Fother. [pushing back Landlord and Waiter]. Put your hands on the old man at your peril.

Land. Do you know that you are in my house, sir?—stand back!

Fother. Do you know that you are in my rooms, sir? [Throws paper to him.] I think you will find that regular. Leave the room.

Nurse [aside]. Wonders'll never cease. But the old fool'll spile all again—you'll see.

Land. [aside to Waiter]. He's paid missus the rent—there's luck!

[Exit.

Waiter. A pretty bit of business I've done for myself. Not a sou for the waiter, I'll bet.

[Exit.

Fother. [advancing to Brummell]. My dear Mr. Brummell.

Brum. Really, you have the advantage of me.

Fother. You surely remember me, Mr. Brummell. [To Nurse.] The good sisters will take care of him for the rest of his days. I must take him to them. Is he always so, my good woman?

Nurse. Poor dear, good, kind old gentleman, not allays. He takes on so at times.

Brum. Don't know you in the least. [Imagines he sees Ballarat.] Ballarat! dear old boy! Tut! tut! Ballarat! Well, this is kind. But I can't be seen in this state.

Fother. No. Here you are among friends, my good sir. [Leading him out.] This way, Mr. Brummell, I come from Lord Ballarat.

Brum. Well—be it so. Ballarat—mind—when you return to England let them know that, even in this squalor—to his last hour in the world—Brummell—poor Brummell was a gentleman still. I am ready—I am ready.

[Exit Fotherby, leading Brummell, the Nurse following.