Death and Mr. Pickwick (12 page)

‘Paint your cousins instead. Jane would be delighted. She is
always
talking about your pictures.
Always
saying that one day you will be recognised as a great artist. Edward probably wouldn't mind being painted either.'

‘Edward
would
mind,' said Seymour. ‘He is full of sorrows again. All because some young lady has no interest in him. He is a proper young Werther.'

‘He has so much wisdom and judgement when it comes to literature and music and politics, yet he can be a complete idiot over a pretty face,' said Severn.

‘He can be a complete idiot over an
ugly
face too. Whenever I meet him, I
always
have to hear about the deformities he has seen recently.'

‘I dislike that myself. He must have told you how I got the scar beside my eye. Do not get flustered, Robert. I have seen you looking at it. Even when I don't stand still for you.'

‘The scar just adds to the character of your face. But no, he hasn't told me.'

‘Probably because it is not a new scar.'

‘In all likelihood he considers it insignificant. A missing nose would be another matter.'

‘Do you want to know how I got it?'

‘That would make me as bad as Edward.'

‘I shall tell you. It happened on my thirteenth birthday, in my parents' back garden. All my friends were there, and it was going to be a grand occasion. We'd had cakes from the baker opposite, and now we came to the finale. I had made a little cannon out of an old pistol which I nailed to a lump of wood. I was as mad as the maniacs in the Naval Home to do it, without a thought to safety, but I believed it would impress my friends. So I filled the cannon with gunpowder and wadding, lit it with a taper at arm's length – and boom! The cannon blew up – and sent a two-inch nail straight into the corner of my right eye.'

Seymour clutched his mouth. ‘I can
feel
the horror of it.'

‘Well there I was, with the twisted nail in the socket. My mother took me straight to the doctor, and he performed an extraction. But the scar is a reminder.'

‘You might have lost an eye.'

‘I might have lost
both
eyes, because splinters and bits of metal sprayed everywhere. But fate said no. When I told Edward, I could see the excitement in his face, imagining me with the nail right in the socket's bone.'

‘It makes me even more grateful he did not want to join us. If his despair lifted, he would simply start laughing at any old soldiers with missing limbs that we passed. I can only take so much of Edward. I shall almost be glad to get back to Vaughan's at the end of the week.'

‘That's quite extraordinary for you to say.'

‘I said
almost
.'

It was then that they heard a cry from behind. They turned, and saw that an old woman had fallen over in the street, a hundred yards from the gates of the Naval Home. She lay howling on her back.

A mother on the corner of the street saw, but was then chastising a tearful son for laziness, and the lesson too important for interruption. A coalheaver heard, but continued onwards, for deliveries must be made, and the momentum of a shoulder's load not to be resisted. An off-duty soldier both saw
and
heard, but the sun had brought on a powerful thirst, and the public house beckoned. All these, and more, believed that others would be the old woman's assistance.

‘We must help her,' said Robert, about to dash forward.

‘No, don't,' said Severn, holding Seymour's sleeve. ‘I have never seen a woman like that. She is as helpless as a beetle. Look at the splaying of those limbs.' He opened his sketchbook.

‘You are surely not going to make a drawing of her in that state?'

‘Why not?'

‘I cannot stand by.'

‘
Do not
help her, Robert. I say
do not
until I am done. It will be a quick sketch.'

‘This is monstrous!'

‘How important is sketching to you?'

‘Of course it is important.'

‘I decided years ago how important sketching is to me. While you have eyes, use them.'

‘She is crying out to us. She must be appalled that we just stand here.'

‘Not only are you
not
going to her assistance, Robert, you are going to make your own sketch of her.'

‘I cannot.'

‘Take out your charcoal. Do it.'

‘This is immoral.'

‘Decide what you will be. Artist or amateur with a hobby. The sooner you have made your sketch, the sooner you can help her. Every moment you delay is a moment she is on her back. Decide.'

Seymour looked at the woman on the ground. He looked at Severn.

He took out his charcoal and raised his sketchbook.

‘Good,' said Severn.

Several minutes passed as they sketched, and the woman continued to howl.

Severn looked over at Seymour's drawing. ‘You are showing her with a suffering in her face that is not exactly there. A too-blatant appeal for help. Now I am finished. Stay there and complete your drawing. And I shall rescue her.'

Severn ran forward, and helped the woman to her feet. He muttered a few words. The woman shouted abuse at Seymour.

‘What did you tell her?' he asked when Severn returned.

‘I said you wanted us to stop and sketch her in her predicament.'

‘I don't believe it! You are a complete villain, Joseph. You wouldn't have helped her if she had been dying.'

Severn laughed, profoundly amused. ‘You are absolutely correct, Robert, I would not!'

They continued walking, towards the country, with Seymour in a sullen silence, which he broke by saying: ‘You have not only changed
physically
since I saw you last.'

‘You are correct on that too, Robert. I can even tell you
when
I changed. And, strange to say, it happened as a result of a fall of my own – and I was in a far worse state than that old woman. It was when I went to the theatre with my friend Charlie Leslie. Shall I tell you?

‘If it will help me to understand you, then yes.'

‘Charlie and I arrived at the Haymarket to see Mrs Siddons.'

‘Mrs Siddons – I have my own anecdote about her.'

‘Just listen, Robert. It was Shakespeare's
Henry VIII
– not one of his great works, not even wholly his, I believe, but the collaborator gets forgotten. The attraction was Mrs Siddons as Queen Katharine. Charlie and I were there at least an hour early, because we knew the play would be popular. Trouble was, others had exactly the same idea – so there was a great massing of people outside, and more joining every moment, and all attempting to get into the pit. So there we were – it was like going down a funnel, because the entrance is so narrow. And in this hustle and bustle Charlie and I became separated and suddenly – suddenly, Robert – I was pushed to the floor, and it was the most terrifying experience of my life. I was on the ground, in a moving forest of legs, and I was kicked about the head, and the crowd was walking over me, and the boots were actually on my chest – the boots were even on my head! I was facing certain death. What happened next I do not really remember. I have a vague memory of hands pulling me clear, and somehow I was lifted up, over the heads of the crowd. The next thing I recall, I was on the floor of the orchestra pit and there was a man leaning over me saying he was a doctor, and he was with two medical students. I can remember another man saying: “You have been dead for three-quarters of an hour, boy, or as good as.” One of the medical students said: “I have never seen such a lucky fellow!” While the other said: “Not a broken bone as far as I can see. Your skull should have been cracked like a walnut!” Charlie was there too, saying I had been saved by God.'

‘I think so as well. It's horrific. You were a dead man, Joseph.'

‘Well, I propped myself up, and I looked at my hands. The knuckles were bruised and skinned. My clothes were soiled all over, with bootprints down my chest and thighs. Then there was a wet patch around my breeches' pocket. I thrust in my hand and my fingers stung, and I pulled out the remains of two oranges which I had purchased before the performance. I flicked the pulp on the floor, wiped my hand on my jacket, and then Charlie helped me to my feet. But that wasn't the end of the experience. The truly important thing happened afterwards.

‘Order was restored, the play began, and I sat several rows back from the stage. I was aching all over, too exhausted and unconcerned to follow proceedings on stage – for what was a drama compared to the real life that had happened to me? Until – Mrs Siddons entered. You have never seen earnestness and gravity in a woman until you have seen Mrs Siddons as Queen Katharine. Her page was carrying a cushion before her, which he placed in front of the king, and she knelt. It all sounds very simple when I say it – but it was not! She is a tall woman, and she has so much grace for her height. And when she kneels, it is like a gentle folding up of her body – like the closing of a flower's petals at night. And when you see her eyes! Eyes so intelligent, so sharp. And the voice – when she spoke, the lines were as clear and as powerful a performance as any I have ever heard. I cannot describe her adequately, you had to be there – and weak as I was, she was my strength.

‘When the curtain descended, I fell back into my seat, and Charlie said to me I should see a physician. I said that I was bruised like a peach, but that was all.

‘But then, still sitting in the theatre, I had an urge to start sketching. It was irresistible. There were people leaving, trying to get past me, and it hurt to shift my legs to let them through, but I kept my seat. Miraculously my pencil was not broken – and though it was agony to bend my fingers, I began to draw Mrs Siddons, and I could not stop. Her performance had to be recorded in a picture. It could not just pass away and leave no mark. I knew the theatre was emptying, but I continued. I even continued in the inn we went to. And that night – Robert, I
knew
, with the most profound conviction, that I would become an artist. No matter the price to be paid –
I would become an artist
. Robert, believe me, I was changed that night. I now know – I am telling you the truth – I could be cool in the face of death, I truly know I could. If an assailant's sword were about to be plunged into my heart, I could look calmly at its point.'

‘Then you are a brave man.'

‘No. If I had time to contemplate my death – if I were in a condemned cell – then, I would be terrified. I would be out of my mind with fear. But if my demise were sudden and imminent –
then
I could be calm.'

There was a long interval of silence, and they continued walking into the countryside, and Robert Seymour seemed to be contemplating all that his friend had said.

Severn at last broke the silence: ‘You mentioned that you had an anecdote of Mrs Siddons yourself.'

‘It is nothing compared to yours. I am embarrassed to tell it now.'

‘I insist you do.'

‘It is not even really about Mrs Siddons. But when I am in the drawing office at Vaughan's, every morning there is a tall, ugly beggarwoman on crutches who passes by in the street. You always hear her, scraping the ground and calling for alms, and if you look out the window, there she is. Everyone in the area knows her – she is called Anne Siggs. But she has two unusual qualities. First, she is spotlessly clean, which is mystifying. Second, she tells everyone her sister is Mrs Siddons, and that the actress refuses to acknowledge her own flesh and blood.'

‘Mad as a naval maniac.'

‘You think so?'

‘Or a complete fraud. She gets a few coins by mentioning a famous person, and gaining some sympathy. Or, if not that, she was besotted with the stage in her youth, and wants a bit of theatrical renown to take her mind off her fleas.'

‘She has
no
active citizens, I can assure you. I have seen her up close. I have sketched her. Well, that is my anecdote.'

‘So I sketched the real Mrs Siddons after facing death and you have leant out a window and sketched a beggarwoman who ludicrously claims to be her sister! Really, Robert! If you are going to tell stories of personal experience, then make them better. Stick to pictures. Now, see that milestone over there.
That's
where I wanted to take you. I have an association with that spot.' They walked to the milestone and sat down on the grass beside the road.

‘I came here,' said Joseph, ‘when I was a boy, the day we got news of Trafalgar. The stagecoachmen came through, and the guards were blowing patriotic tunes on their bugles. I remember the streamers tied to the vehicles, flying in the wind, and the drivers shouting out: “Victory is ours! Victory! Victory! Great victory!” I will never forget that day. I wanted that glory myself. It actually impelled me to run away from home – it was as though I had to do something brave. I got as far as this very milestone. I sat down here for a rest, and I must have dropped off to sleep. The next I knew, I was violently shaken awake, and lifted off my feet by my father, and then thrown down again into the dust. He sat upon the milestone and demonstrated his authority upon my breeches, “If this doesn't work,” he said as he beat me, “I'll have you locked up!” And tears streamed down my face – but it
did
work. If I ever thought of running away again, the thought of my father throwing me down and delivering a beating quelled it in an instant. Real discipline entered my soul then – and this milestone is certainly a milestone in getting rid of folly, and setting me on the road to art. There, now you know.'

‘I cannot offer you a story in return,' said Seymour, ‘but I do have something to show you. You said I should stick to pictures.' He unbuckled his bag and produced a miniature painting. It was Mrs Vaughan. The fine grain of the ivory imparted a bloom to her skin, as well as a satin sheen to her shoulders.