Fanny's First Novel

by Frank Frankfort Moore

He remained dignified and silent while Garrick and James carried on their fooling. Only a short time before he had occasion to reprove the lack of dignity on the part of his important patroness, Mrs. Thrale, the wife of the wealthy brewer, in having put herself behind Signor Piozzi while he was singing a sentimental canzone and mimicked his southern fervour of expression. Mrs. Thrale had taken his reproof in good part at the time; but no one—least of all Mrs. Thrale herself—could have foreseen that her contrition should extend so far as to cause her to marry the singer on the death of Mr. Thrale.

“To be brief, sir,” said Mr. Kendal, addressing, not Dr. Burney, whom he had come to consult, but Mr. Garrick, who had shown himself to be much more sympathetic. “To be brief, I had gone to the Wells as my custom has been for the past twenty years. I went honestly to drink the waters, not making it an excuse, as so many do, for indulging in the gaieties, or, I may add, the intrigues, of the Assembly Rooms. I was civil, as I hoped, to everyone, but, I give you my word, no more so to Mrs. Nash than any other lady.”

“I do not doubt that you believe this, sir,” said Garrick, with an indulgent wave of the hand; “but when a lady has eyes only for one gentleman, she is apt to place a construction upon the simplest of his civilities beyond that assigned to it by ordinary people; but pray proceed, sir. I will only add that it was quite well known at the Wells that the lady regarded you with the tenderest of emotions. Had she not boldly said to Lady———— no; I dare not mention her name; but her ladyship is invariably what the Italians term simpatica in regard to the tender affairs of her sisters—and it was to her that Mrs. Nash confided her secret—referring to you as bearing a striking resemblance to the Apollo Belvedere, hoping that her doing so would not cause anyone to accuse her of Pagan leanings.”

“Is it possible! The poor lady! poor lady! But I was not to blame. I can justly acquit myself of all blame in this unhappy affair,” said Mr. Kendal.

“You are quite right, sir; is it a man's fault that he should bear a striking likeness to the Apollo—I doubt not that the resemblance has caused you some annoyance at various times of your life, Mr. Kendal,” said Garrick.

“Never, sir, never—at least——” he took a step to one side that allowed of his having a full-length view of his reflection in the narrow mirror that filled up the space between the windows; and the result of his scrutiny of the picture was certainly not displeasing to him. He boldly put forward a leg, and then quite unconscious, as anyone could see, struck an attitude, though not quite that of the Apollo Belvedere. Then he smirked.

“A leg like yours, Mr. Kendal, to say nothing of the poise of your head, is a great responsibility,” said Garrick seriously. “The poor lady!—poor ladies!—I confess that I have heard of others. And she acknowledged to you that—that—oh, that most delicate of secrets!”

“Never to me, sir—never in my hearing, I give you my word,” cried the man emphatically. “Nay, I did not so much as suspect it. The first intimation that I had of the matter was when, on Monday morning last—only three days ago—Captain Kelly—the boisterous Irishman—clapt me on the shoulder and almost shouted out his congratulations in my ear. When I forced him to mention the name of the lady, he ridiculed my denial—his forefinger in my ribs—painful as well as undignified. Who is Captain Kelly, that he should subject me to his familiarities? But if he was undignified, I flatter myself that I was not so. 'Sir, you presume,' I said, and walked on, leaving this vulgar fellow roaring with laughter.”

“Psha! Kelly is a nobody,” said Garrick. “You should not have allowed yourself to be discomposed by such as he.”

“Nor did I,” cried the other. “But what was I to think when I had advanced no more than a dozen paces, and found my hand grasped warmly by Sir John Dingle?—you know him, Mr. Garrick—I have seen him in your company—more congratulations—the same attitude, sir. And then up marches Mr. Sheridan—leaving his handsome wife—ah, I fear that I joined with all Bath in being in love with the lovely Miss Linley—and Mr. Sheridan was wellnigh affronted at my denial. But that was not all. Up comes Mrs. Cholmondeley in her chair and tapped for the men to set her down when she saw me—up went the roof and up went her head, with a shrill cry of 'Kendal, you rogue! to tell everyone at the Wells save only myself that Benedick is to be a married man!' And before she had finished her ridicule of my denial, up struts Mrs. Thrale, her footman behind her with her spaniel, and down she sinks in a curtsey, fitted only for a special night in the Rooms, and her 'Happy man!' came with a flick of her fan; and she, too, named Mrs. Nash! And that was not the last—I saw them hurrying up to me from all sides—ladies with smiles, and gentlemen with smirks—fingers twitching for my ribs—down they flowed upon me! I ask you, Lieutenant Burney, as a naval gentleman, and I am glad to have the opportunity of hearing your opinion—I ask you, if I was not justified in turning about and hastening away—what you nautical gentlemen term 'cutting my cable '?”