Читать книгу Eighteen Months' Imprisonment - Donald late captain Shaw - Страница 7

Table of Contents

Who has not heard of Georgina? Ask Gounod, ask Monsieur Riviere, ask Mr. Vaughan, ask me, ask yourself, indulgent reader. I made this lady’s acquaintance some five years ago, about eleven P.M., outside Covent Garden Theatre, when she was apparently being supported by her seconds and spongeholders, after her third or fourth round (I forget which) with the “Leicester Square Pet” or the “Regent Street Chicken,” or both. I was not an eye-witness of this revival of the good old days of the ring, so my statement as to details must not be implicitly accepted. I, however, made one of an excited and surging mob, and gleaned that the cause was the fair Georgina, who had lately been “removed” from inside the theatre. In a thoughtless moment, and with an eye to business, and with the hope of turning an honest penny by taking this amiable creature into the provinces (for I dabbled in things theatrical in those days) I entered into conversation with one of her satellites, which ripened into an intimacy of the most deplorable and expensive nature, and ended in the climax that procured me a most abusive and threatening letter whilst in the House of Detention, and subsequently a visit from her on my second appearance at Bow-street, where she occupied a prominent position in the front row. Immediately, then, after this lady’s notoriety connected with the above contretemps, it struck me that she could not fail to “draw” in the provinces, if not on her merits as a vocalist, at least on account of her other amiable accomplishments. A series of visits to her residence ended in my securing the professional services of this inestimable treasure; and though the terms and conditions with which she hampered her agreement to accompany me on a six weeks’ tour were sufficient to have made a more experienced man hesitate, I at length consented to all she proposed, and our agreement was virtually completed. Georgina is, I should say, an implacable foe; she is also, I should fancy, a good friend until a row—an inevitable consequence—takes place. This latter characteristic showed itself on this occasion; she made it a sine quâ non, and refused to budge an inch unless I agreed to permit her to be accompanied by a huge French woman whom she called her companion, and a sickly youth whom she designated her secretary. I was not only to cart this worthy couple about first-class, but to pay for their board and lodgings. As the French person was as voracious as a cormorant, and as the secretary was apparently suffering from some complaint that impelled him to eat inordinately three or four times a day, and as provincial hotels are proverbially expensive when the ordinary routine is in the least deviated from, and as nothing but the best and most récherché menu was considered good enough for this worthy trio, my bill and my feelings after a three days’ experience may be easier imagined than described; added to all this, Georgina’s delicate health precluded her from abstaining from food for any length of time, and thus when we journeyed from one town to another a hamper of prog had to be invariably made up for sustaining nature in the transit. Good heavens! such appetites would have eaten one out of house and home, even if any profits had been made; but when the takings were absolutely “nil,” and the working expenses about £100 a week, it will not surprise the reader to learn that I lost £400 in less than a fortnight, and returned to London a sadder and a wiser man. I cannot omit one absurd feature in this “starring” tour which occurred in a town very far north, and which happily brought my disastrous tour to an abrupt and unexpected conclusion. The hour that the concert was to commence was eight; the audience had been respectfully solicited to be in their places by that hour—a request, I am bound to admit, the entire audience present considerately complied with—everything, in short, was done by visiting, puffing, advertising, and personally canvassing, that ingenuity and activity on my part could suggest; and at a quarter before eight I awaited behind the curtain (seeing, but unseen), with throbbing heart, the arrival of the vast crowds that I confidently expected. The fair and amiable one was seated on a fauteuil, radiant with smiles, and attired in a matchless robe of white water silk and ruffles—a kind of mixture between the “Marie Antoinette” and the “Gorgonzola” styles, or what the cross would be, if such styles do or ever have existed—(should any lady read this description she will, I trust, pardon any imperfections of detail.)

The female cormorant was administering some light stimulant, for Georgina is subject to fits of nervousness, incredible as this may appear. The emaciated one was in front assisting in looking after the money-taker; and I feel thankful to Providence on his account, if not on my own, that this was far from an arduous task, for the poor fellow was evidently delicate and physically incapable of lifting a heavy cash-box, and so, with all my faults, blood-guiltiness cannot be laid to my charge. Time meanwhile was rapidly passing, and a huge clock pointed to three minutes to eight, then two minutes, then one, and then eight o’clock struck, and, oh horror of horrors! the sole occupant of the enormous building was the critic of the local paper. Decency forbade our opening the concert to this solitary unhappy man; it appeared to me to be cowardly to attack him alone, and to pit him single-handed against the invincible Georgina, who had demolished a conductor and his manager a week previously, and who now showed symptoms of “annoyance” that nothing but my soothing powers prevented bursting into a flame. My plan of action was immediately taken; to hesitate a moment was to be lost. I at once sent for the “secretary,” and first thought of telling him to make a short speech from the stage to our solitary audience; but reflection decided me in approaching him myself. I apologised for the unusual occurrence (it had in reality happened wherever we had been, though not to the extent of less than seven or eight); I offered to return him his money, for I was well aware his was a complimentary ticket, and verily believe that the united purses of the entire company could not have scraped together five shillings. He muttered something I tried not to hear, and next day repaid my intended courtesy by a flaming smashing article that would effectually have ruined us had we moved elsewhere. But events were occurring at the same time which put it out of my power to continue this disastrous tour. About eleven o’clock the landlord of the hotel presented himself at my room, said the lady and her friends had left, and politely but firmly intimated that he could not permit me to remove my luggage till a little bill of £8 was settled. The rest is soon told. I hurried back to London, remitted the £8, and abandoned the tour. I had not, however, heard the last of my musical bête noire; she and the “secretary” both dunned me for their railway fares, which I of course ignored, and I heard no more of her till she dug me out at the House of Detention, when she threatened me with legal proceedings for detaining, as she alleged, her photographs—the real fact being that, after our last stampede, her photographs that were displayed were seized by some indignant creditor in expectation of a ransom. For my part I hope I have really heard the last of this irrepressible creature.