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A subject of such deep and vital interest, to a mind so dramatically constituted as mine, demands a separate chapter. My brother Charles came home for the holidays, from Charterhouse, just in time to celebrate the fourth anniversary of Cavendish’s birthday, and this we proposed to do on a scale of unprecedented magnificence. For we entertained the astounding idea of writing and performing a Tragedy, in which the company, though consisting only of three persons, were to enact seven characters, the principal rôle being undertaken by the authoress, as well as the stage management, decorations, costumes, properties and business.

The plot was of a most thrilling and sensational character, for the better understanding of which I subjoin a Bill of the Play—not as it was, but as it ought to have been.

BY EXPRESS COMMAND AND UNDER THE ESPECIAL PATRONAGE

OF THE

COMMISSIONER OF THE DOCKYARD

WILL BE

Performed for the first time on the 12th May 18—

THE ROMANTIC AND TRAGICAL DRAMA

OF

“THE KING AND THE USURPER”

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

CAVENDISH,	King of Little Britain, a Crusader, a Hero and a Lover.,	Cavendish Boyle.
OSMAN,	An Ex-Slave, a Rebel, and a Usurper,	Charles Boyle.
THEODORE,	The Brother-in-Arms and Confidant of the King,	Mary Boyle.
SELIM	Confidant of Osman,	Mary Boyle.
HIGH PRIEST,		Charles Boyle.
IRENE,	A Converted Slave, betrothed to the King,	Mary Boyle.
ZAYDAH,	Her Countrywoman and Confidante	Charles Boyle.

Locality.—The Capital of Little Britain.

Period.—Any time during the Crusades and in the very Dark Ages.

The name of Little Britain was given out of compliment to the tender years of its monarch, and had no special geographical significance. The curtain drew up on a scene in the palace, where Zaydah announces to her mistress that Osman, the would-be usurper of the throne, desires an audience in the absence of the King, he being deeply smitten with the charms of his lovely fellow-countrywoman. The idea is revolting to the mind of the beautiful Irene. She will not listen for one moment to one word from the lips of this monster of ingratitude, who, not content with endeavouring to supplant his master on the throne, would now attempt to do so in the affections of his beloved. But the rebel is not to be so easily dismissed, and with what a burst of virtuous indignation is he received by the Prima Donna, in whose lofty breast love for one man and hatred for another are now waging war! The words forbidding Osman to lift her hand to his lips—lest it should not be “worth her King’s acceptance” when soiled by his barbarous touch—were given in manner worthy of Mrs Siddons, and fairly brought down the house; while the swift transitions of dress and character would have done honour to Mr Irving’s Lyons Mail, had that eminent actor lived at the time. You had scarcely lost sight of the turban, trousers, and scimitar of the rebel, when your eyes were riveted by the charming confidante, Zaydah, like her lovely mistress, a convert to the Christian faith—for the play it may be seen had a decidedly religious as well as moral tendency.

I APPEAR AS A SOLDIER

A tender love-scene had no sooner passed between His Sacred Majesty and his betrothed wife, than he was to be seen in earnest conversation with his friend and brother-in-arms, the noble Theodore. In the character of this gallant soldier, Mary was universally allowed to show a masculine vigour and a warlike deportment scarcely to be expected from an actress, however talented. I can well remember how the pride of wearing a hat of unequivocally modern aspect, and flourishing a naked sword, much bigger than myself, made the moment of my appearance as Theodore one of the proudest of my life! In a drama of this nature, virtue was of course triumphant, vice and ingratitude defeated. A terrible scene ensued, in which Osman appeared on the stage flying before an unseen enemy, a victim to remorse, disappointed love and ambition, and commenced, before the audience, to commit that suicide which was supposed to be completed behind the scenes, whither he had repaired to change his dress. Here was our sister Caroline, who, not sharing to the full our dramatic enthusiasm, had refused to appear on the stage, but nevertheless “had kindly consented” (after the fashion of Mr Sims Reeves) to take the part of the “Insurrection,” in which character she was much admired in her spasmodic performance on the kettledrum.

The last scene was the Celebration of the Nuptials of King Cavendish and the lovely Irene, their hands being joined by a religious functionary of a most venerable aspect, a snow-white beard descending to his girdle, but of somewhat equivocal denomination. If any fault should be found with an inexperienced though talented author, in respect of calling the minister who performed the marriage ceremony a high priest, and dressing him in Judaical rather than Christian vestments, she would offer as an excuse the observation which a lady, famous for her lisp, once made when speaking of the late Lord Lytton: “We mutht make allowantheth for the ecthentrithiteh of geniuth.”

So fell the curtain on three first appearances, amidst the deafening and enthusiastic applause of an audience composed of very different ingredients; for the Admiral was there and his family, the clergyman and doctor with their wives, the Officer in Command of the garrison, and many other members of the highest importance and standing in the dockyard, as well as minor officials, warders, boat’s crew, and domestic servants, etc.

The whole community rang with the praises of the manner in which the great Dramatic Entertainment had been carried out. Indeed I never can forget the pride with which we listened to the verdict of the head-gardener, who was a man of culture (in every sense I emphasize the word), when he assured us that the latter part of the play was the finest thing he had ever seen in all his life. The tailor (a convict) who made the gentlemen’s costumes, also participated in the success, and I remember the delight with which my mother heard, on the day following the representation, how little Cavendish had thanked the costumier most graciously for making the royal robes so well. Let me pause to say they were indeed gorgeous, being constructed out of some old scarlet moreen curtains, bound with yellow cotton ferret, the kingly cap surmounted by a splendid brass ornament, which had fallen off one of the old chairs. “I wish I was really a king,” said the little four-year-old monarch to the convict, “and then I would set you free at once.”

WELCOME TO THE DUKE

Before taking leave of our life at Sheerness, I must mention that my father and mother were appointed to meet and welcome the Duke and Duchess of Clarence, when the Duchess first came to England as a bride. I am not sure where the meeting took place, but I have a vague idea that it must have been at Gravesend, and that my parents went there in the yacht, called the Chatham, which was always at the Commissioner’s disposal, and in which we often went to London, a voyage of exquisite delight to us children. At all events, I know that Queen Adelaide always said that my mother was her first English friend, while the Duke of Clarence had already shown great favour to my father, and had stood godfather to my poor little lost sister. The last incident that I can remember at Sheerness is being taken to the Ramparts, to see the flags of all the ships stationed in the harbour hoisted half-mast high, in consequence of the death of King George III. I have but a dim recollection of the circumstances of our departure, but I know it cost Cavendish and myself bitter tears to part from our humble friends, the boat’s crew, the warders, and the convicts, all of whom participated in our regret.

SOMERSET HOUSE

Thus it will be seen I have lived in the reigns of four sovereigns, and without myself having been attached to a Court, I have seen much at different times of a Court life, as both my father and mother, my eldest brother and sister, were all members of royal households. Moreover, our lines fell in royal residences. My mother in her capacity of bed-chamber woman to Queen Charlotte, had a small set of apartments apportioned to her in the intervals of waiting (and even after the Queen’s death) in St James’ Palace; and she subsequently became the occupant of an excellent suite of rooms in the Palace of Hampton Court. Again, my father who—on leaving the dockyard of Sheerness had an appointment at the Navy Board—came into possession of a very good house attached to that office, in Somerset House, which, likewise, comes under the category of royal residences, or at least did so at one time. In the days of which I am now speaking, there were no buildings on the opposite side of Wellington Street, or, at all events, not sufficient to obstruct the pretty view of the river as far as Westminster Abbey from our windows. Here, as at Sheerness, we children enjoyed great privileges. The terrace overhanging the Thames was a pleasant and favourite resort, and there was always a boat at the disposal of the governess and the schoolroom, and two boatmen of our own, successors in our regard to the Sheerness crew. One of them in particular, an intelligent little hunchback, won our esteem, although he, shortly after our arrival, obtained the name of “Danny Man,” from his unworthy prototype in the celebrated novel of the “Collegians,” a book which made so much noise at the time of its publication.

It was our great delight to go by water on Sunday afternoon to Westminster Abbey, and there is no doubt we occasionally cut a grand figure on the river; for when my father went out he had a splendid barge, rowed by boatmen clad entirely in scarlet, with black jockey caps, such as in those picturesque old days formed part of that beautiful river procession in honour of the Lord Mayor, on the 9th of November, over the disappearance of which pageant I have often mourned. We occasionally had picnics, and went down to Greenwich or elsewhere in our splendid barge; and I well remember one day when I had the honour (for so it appeared to me) of dancing a reel with one of our scarlet boatmen and a blue jacket, a regular salt, who was one of the family.

Whilst we are on river topics, I cannot refrain from recalling an incident which amused every one very much including the royal personage who figures in it. One day at Hampton Court when the City barge came down, we went to see her as she arrived in front of the water-gallery at the end of the terrace in the royal gardens. Here the Duchess of Clarence was to embark for luncheon, and, when the feast was ready, naturally walked first towards the companion, which was narrow and did not admit of two abreast. Suddenly, quick as a flash of lightning, came the Lady Mayoress, and, brushing past her royal guest, exclaimed: “Beg pardon, your Royal Highness, I take precedence here.”

And no doubt she had the pas, for the Lady Mayoress is queen of the river to within a certain distance of Temple Bar; but the good lady little knew of how much merriment she was the occasion.