# Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 8/More recollections of a retired butler

MORE RECOLLECTIONS OF A RETIRED BUTLER.
​ Having heard my former communication very highly spoken of by many impartial judges, I have consented, at the earnest request of my young friend the barrister’s clerk, to contribute my recollections of a dinner for eight, consisting of soup, &c., &c., &c., and when the principal guests were a company of actors playing in the neighbourhood. My master, Sir T—Z—was a great patron of the stage, and always took benefit ​tickets of the actors when they came into our neighbourhood, and was also in the habit of asking some of the best to dinner, and insisting on our servants treating them with the same respect and attention as the highest family in the neighbourhood. For my own part, my master’s dining-table was my Board of Green Cloth, and any one sitting thereat had passed the rubicon for me, and was respected and waited on accordingly.
At the request of my young friend the B. C., I will begin at medias res (I don’t know what it means), and not dwell upon the bill of fare or the cellar-book.
“You were an old friend of poor Buskin, who died lately, were you not?” said Sir Thomas, addressing Mr. Spangles.
“Yes, Sir Thomas; I knew him from the time he made his first appearance. He had the making of a good actor, but was painfully sensitive—he cared too much for his audience. I remember one night he was playing Hamlet for his benefit. I was the Ghost—being a benefit night I played anything. Buskin had his own conception of the Royal Dane, and one of his points was this. When the Ghost had beckoned him to ‘more removed ground,’ Hamlet began a sort of telegraphic communication with ‘his father’s spirit,’ now leaning on his sword, now waving his hand to the paternal shade, and then wiping the sweat drops from his brow. All this occupied some minutes, and the effect was far from bad, I assure you; but on this night, when poor Buskin was more anxious than usual to distinguish himself, a blackguard Irishman in the gallery bawled out, ‘Make haste, Mr. Buskin, or you’ll lose him.’ Exit Hamlet, of course, uttering anything but the text of the divine William.”
We all laughed (me behind my screen) at this story, and Mr. Buffboot remembered an incident connected with Buskin’s early career, which he told as follows:
“Buskin really made a very favourable impression when he came out, and was (to use a theatrical phrase) very ‘coally’ upon himself. The leading lady of the company was a remarkably handsome person, remarkably so.” Mr. Buffboot sighed, I remember, and then said, “Well! no matter! She loved ‘not wisely, but too well,’ and married a lawyer’s clerk. When the company to which she and Buskin were attached concluded their season at B——, they had to proceed to the next town on their circuit, some twenty miles distant. The majority of the people went by coach or waggon—there was no railroad at that time—but Buskin and Miss Bugles were allowed by the manager to have a post-chaise, and to travel in state. I remember Adelina—I mean Miss Bugles, said (for it was she told me the story, and I ‘with greedy ear did devour up her discourse') that they were surprised at the interest their departure occasioned in the gathered crowd, and the cheers which greeted them as they drove out of the inn-yard at the back of the theatre. As they passed through the town people ran to their doors and smiled them a good-bye, whilst troops of merry boys succeeded each other until the post-chaise had left the town far behind them. They were surprised somewhat at their own popularity, for, to tell the truth, neither Buskin’s nor Bugles’ benefits had been over-productive; but now, every one upon the road paused to gaze at the passing carriage, smile, and wave them a farewell.” Mr. Buffboot here flourished his napkin in a very graceful way, I recollect. “Onward sped the happy pair until they came to a small village about five miles from the town they had left, and to the great surprise of both, the same ovation awaited them. Boys still escorted them. Everyone still smiled upon them, and cheered with lusty shouts, until Buskin could not help remarking, ‘I had no idea that we could have been so recognised. These people must have come frequently to the theatre, regardless of the distance.’ ‘And we really must have made a strong impression upon their rude minds,’ replied Miss Bugles; ‘the fact promises well for the next season.’ On, on! still on! as the novelists say, and still the same pleasant greeting everywhere, and never did a happier couple pull up at the Red Lion to change horses than Harry Buskin and Adeline Bugles. They had brought a crowd with them to the inn door, and the waiter smiled so pleasantly when he invited them to alight, that it would have been churlish to have refused him. With the grace of a Charles Kemble, Buskin handed Bugles into the Red Lion, and having partaken of a little refreshment, re-conducted her to the post-chaise. ‘Horror on horror’s head accumulate!’ What did they see! With a glance their Aladdin’s palace vanished.” (I think he said Aladdin’s palace.) “The secret of their great popularity was disclosed! The ‘property man’ of the theatre had tied behind their post-chaise, with its four legs sticking out, the wicker-work elephant used in the comic pantomime of Blue Beard!”
I am sorry to say that I was guilty of a great rudeness at this point of the story, but being in the act of satisfying myself that the port was in proper condition, a gulp went the wrong way and I nearly coughed myself into an apoplexy.
“I remember the circumstance very well,” said Mr. Spangles.—“The story got into a local paper, and poor Buskin was so ashamed of it that he threw up his engagement, although I have known some of those newspaper paragraphs produce very satisfactory results.”
“I should like to hear of an instance,” said Sir Thomas, “if it would not be troubling you.”
“Not in the least. I shall not mention the name of the actor to whom I refer, for he subsequently obtained a very high position in his profession, and the story is really a true one. I heard him tell it, and will give it you as nearly as I can in his own words.”
After my first appearance in London I accepted a provincial engagement down in the North. I had been favourably received in the Metropolis, but had done nothing to justify me in supposing I should meet with more than respectful attention and fair appreciation. I was destined to be agreeably surprised. As soon as I appeared upon the stage the house rose and received me with such demonstrations of favour and applause that I was ​perfectly staggered. I bowed and bowed and placed my hand upon my heart to express my gratitude, but some minutes elapsed before I could begin my part. I need hardly say, that after such a reception all my points told, and every exit and entrance was marked by the most demonstrative approval. When the curtain fell, I had to appear and again bow my acknowledgments and gesticulate my gratitude.
The manager was delighted, and seemed anxious to accompany me to my lodgings, but as I was greatly fatigued by acting and the excitement of the evening, I begged that I might see him in the morning.
What a happy night I passed! It was evident that I had made a greater success in London than I had thought for, and that my fame had travelled to this distant land before me.
I had finished breakfast when my friend the manager was announced. He entered smiling confidently, and holding out his hand in rather a professional. manner, shook mine with a vigour that was far from agreeable. “Well, sir,” he said, “I hope you were satisfied with last night’s success.”
“Satisfied!” I exclaimed, “I never can forget the generous enthusiasm—the gratifying appreciation of that distinguished audience!”
“I am glad to hear this,” said the manager, “since it was partly my doings.”
“Your doings? I don’t understand you.”
“Yes! that was mine in our paper—you saw it, didn’t you?” asked the fellow with something of a smile.
“No, sir,” I said; “I saw nothing but the advertisement of the theatre.”
“Then I’ve the pleasure of reading you myself a paragraph which has exceeded my expectation.” He then read, smirking as he did so, a paragraph which became afterwards so fixed in my memory that I can now repeat it word for word. It ran thus:—
About three years ago, the little town of B—— was visited by a very alarming fire. It broke out at a tallow-chandler’s, and the inflammable nature of the stock-in-trade soon gave the devouring element the mastery over the fire-engines. At the moment that the flames were at their utmost fury, the figure of a child was seen at one of the third-floor windows. Shrieks and cries from the multitude rent the air, but none offered to rescue the innocent victim. A ladder was at length procured, but such was the power of the flames that all hesitated to ascend and risk what seemed to be certain death. Fearful pause! When all hope appeared to be lost, a young man rushed from the crowd, removed his coat, which he threw to a bystander, and, with the agility of a bricklayer’s labourer, ascended the ladder. In another minute he was descending with the rescued child, which he placed safely in the arms of its distracted mother. When she turned to thank the deliverer of her offspring he had disappeared. Who was he? Who was this gallant deliverer of infantine helplessness? None knew—until one, more knowing than the rest, looked at the lining of the coat the noble fellow had abandoned, and there read the name of —— ——, the now eminent actor! Inhabitants of ——! on Monday next he makes his first appearance amongst you. Rush to give him the ovation he deserves. Let not one seat remain unoccupied! Honour to the brave!
When the manager had finished reading, I seized him by the collar, and so far forgot myself as to shake him. Need I say that the paragraph contained no word of truth so far as I was concerned, and that my amour propre was seriously wounded by the discovery?
“I guess at the actor,” said Buffboot, “and the manager I can swear to. He was a great oddity. He had his theatre newly painted once upon a time, and was particularly careful to keep it in good order. He was playing Hamlet, and had come to the soliloquy, when he saw a boy in the gallery hanging his dirty arms over the front, and playing with the gold mouldings. His respect for his new gilding was greater than his reverence for the text of the bard, and so Hamlet spoke thus:
‘To be or not to be, that is the question.’
(Take your hands off that moulding there, you boy in the gallery.)
‘Whether ’tis better in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows’—
(Officer, turn that boy out immediately, he’s picking the gold off.)
‘Of outrageous fortune,’
and so on.”
“Oh, I knew him well,” said Spangles; “he once served me a pretty trick when I was very young. I had to play a part in a melodrama, and there were no buff boots in the wardrobe which would fit me. I appealed to the manager, as he had engaged to find me all my dresses. He promised I should have a pair at night, and I went away contented. He was as good as his word, and a pair of clean buff boots awaited me. The piece began and I was called.
Enter Rolando,—perceiving Justine, exclaims, ‘Ha! what do I see?’ [Starts.]
I followed my stage directions—I did start, and in doing so necessarily stamped violently with my right foot, when, to my horror, all the yellow ochre with which my boot had been daubed fell off in flakes, and left me with one black boot and a buff one! The audience saw my embarrassment and was kind enough to laugh very heartily.”
“He nearly ruined me in Virginius,” said Spangles. “When Virginia gives me her drawing of her lover, Icilius, I have to say,
‘Who’s face is this you have given to Achilles? Tut! I know it as well as I know my own face.’
I looked at the ‘property,’ and found it was a portrait of Tim Bobbin. Nor was that all, for when they uncovered the urn supposed to contain the ashes of Virginia, it was a tea-urn with the tap running.”
There were many more of these stories, but I must beg respectfully to conclude, as I’ve got the cramp in my fore-finger, which makes my spelling worse than ordinary.
* ↑ See page 179.
* ↑ All the names are supplied by my talented young friend the B. C.