Death and Mr. Pickwick (57 page)

‘Even if that were so,' said Seymour, ‘the extravagance of the praise you give me is an embarrassment. I wish you would not flatter me below my pictures. If my drawings are worthwhile, they should be their own proof of merit.'

‘The public expect us to acknowledge you,' said à Beckett. ‘We are but the agents of their sentiments. But the question is – who shall we sting next, Mr Seymour? Or rather – who shall we
gash
? You are the
gashing
Seymour. Your pencil is a knife. Or rather – who shall we send into a fit of despondency? Who shall suffer a despondent mania brought on by seeing their face turned into an effigy by your drawing?'

‘I think few would deserve that fate,' said Seymour.

‘There are
hundred
s who deserve it!' said à Beckett. ‘The professors of medicine should name a new disease –
Seymour-mania
, an ailment in which one suffers severe despondency because of depiction in one of your drawings. So who shall we give this mania to today, Mr Seymour? Who suffers next?' A cunning look came to à Beckett's features. ‘I have an idea. What about a Covent Garden actor who gestures too much? There are plenty of those to choose from!' He snorted and his laughter filled the office.

‘What if, Mr Seymour,' said Mayhew, casting a look of displeasure towards à Beckett, ‘you were to draw the queen as a German Frau playing the hurdy-gurdy, and you make her coronet look like one of those caps hurdy-gurdyers wear? Then – I think you will like this – you draw the king as a little monkey, and she is leading him with a piece of string.'

‘I think that is an excellent idea, Mr Mayhew,' said Seymour. ‘I could show the king looking up into her face, quivering with fear, thinking he is going to be beaten with a stick if he doesn't perform. I can probably also do something with the hurdy-gurdy. The scroll at the end could become a face.'

‘What about the face of Wellington?' said Mayhew.

‘Wellington it shall be!' said Seymour.

‘I think, Mr Seymour,' said à Beckett in a low and serious voice, ‘I still prefer the theatrical profession to be our target this week.'

‘Drop this, Gilbert,' said Mayhew.

Seymour watched the exchange of strained expressions between the two. ‘What is going on here? What are you holding back from me?'

‘Mr Seymour, have you ever seen the stage manager at Covent Garden, when he goes on stage?' said à Beckett, after looking sharp daggers towards Mayhew, and raising a finger as well, to stop interruption.

‘Mr Bartley? Yes, he is not the sort to stay in the wings.'

‘How true. How very true. His abiding habit is to shelve deserving performers, or put them in minor roles, and appear in the production himself. Would you have any trouble capturing his image?'

Seymour noted the annoyance in Mayhew. ‘I could do it from memory. I saw him in
My Neighbour's Wife
. But I want to know what you two are holding back.'

‘Tell him, Gilbert,' said Mayhew.

‘I shall make a bargain with you, Mr Seymour – draw me a picture of Bartley, and I shall confess all. My mind is foaming like a brewer's tub with what
Figaro
could say about him.'

In a matter of minutes there was an image of the pudgy manager, complete with side whiskers growing from beneath a top hat. Simultaneous to the sketching, à Beckett had sat and worked on a statement to accompany the picture.

‘Wonderful, you have done it again!' said à Beckett as soon as he saw the drawing. ‘Now what about this for the words: “Mr Bartley is amazingly proud of his talent, and makes it the object of so much dignity that really the vulgar eye of the public has never yet been allowed to feast upon it.” Then what if I go on to say: “If Bartley possesses any talent, it is a precious gem, concealed in some hidden casket, but as yet there have been no symptoms of any intentions on his part of making it manifest.”'

Seeing the immobility of Seymour's features, and the distaste on Mayhew's, à Beckett gave a small nervous laugh. ‘Well, let me be straight. Mr Seymour, I have put money into the theatre in Tottenham Street. So some of your pictorial barbs aimed at competing theatres wouldn't do any harm, would they?'

‘You should know I am entirely opposed to this, Mr Seymour,' said Mayhew. ‘We are in business to expose politicians and others for what they are – self-interested men who affect principles. To go down this route ourselves is wrong. It is complete hypocrisy.'

‘As I have already told you, Henry,' said à Beckett, ‘theatrical managers are used to leading a devil of a life, and a little bit of our devilry won't kill Bartley. Besides, we have always included theatrical reviews.'

‘But now any theatrical review in
Figaro
has ulterior motives,' said Seymour.

‘That is
exactly
what I told him,' said Mayhew. ‘Mr Seymour, you cannot be easy doing drawings on this basis.'

‘I am not,' said Seymour. ‘If the public gets wind of this—'

‘Your picture of Bartley will merely be a bit of amusement,' said à Beckett. ‘In fact – he will probably be
honoured
to be drawn by you. You have said yourself that politicians collect your drawings. What was it you told me – that Wellington has one of yours in his privy? Come, Mr Seymour – you cannot deny that Bartley is a dreadful performer. To
not
expose him, simply because of my business affairs, is itself a betrayal of our principles. It would be letting down our readers. Come, Mr Seymour, there will be no compromise of our standards – I wish to attack Bartley because he is an appalling actor, and an appalling man. I would not attack him otherwise.'

Seymour looked towards Mayhew for guidance.

‘I have already expressed my misgivings,' said Mayhew. ‘But I shall not think the worse of you if you do these drawings, as Gilbert is intent upon this course. I wash my hands of it, however.'

Seymour walked towards the window and looked into the street. A hawker in a scarf was holding up a copy of
Figaro
, and even as the artist watched, a man approached to buy a copy. ‘All right,' he said quietly.

‘Splendid!' said à Beckett. ‘Do you know the theatre in Tottenham Street at all, Mr Seymour?'

‘I know it has changed its name more than any other theatre in London. As though it is always hoping a new name will revive its fortunes.' He turned round to face à Beckett. ‘It is not a theatre I would invest in.'

‘I am convinced it will make a good return. I will insist on certain changes, so that it does.'

‘While changing
Figaro
to push us in the direction of failure,' said Mayhew.

‘Hush, Henry. Do you know, if I had been in charge before, I think Grimaldi's son would still be alive.'

‘Was he at Tottenham Street?' said Seymour.

‘He gave his last performance there.'

The artist turned towards the street again. The hawker was approached by two more men, one of whom laughed even as he passed over a penny.

‘What was it with Grimaldi's son?' said Seymour. ‘Wanted to wear his clown's outfit on his deathbed? Wasn't that it?'

‘A terrible end. Drink was undoubtedly part of it. But there are rumours, you know, which circulate at the theatre. The man in the ticket office insisted on taking me aside and telling me that in his opinion young Grimaldi was poisoned; then he laughed and told me to avoid drinking in the green room if I made myself unpopular with the scene painters.'

‘So why do you think you could have saved Grimaldi?' asked Seymour.

‘Oh, a feeling about what might lie behind his woes. And a feeling that he might have profited from talking to me. But no matter. The ticket man is right about the scene painters, though. I am not popular with them. That is why I would be delighted if you would do me another artistic favour, Mr Seymour.'

Seymour turned back towards the room. ‘What do you want
now
?'

‘The theatre is going to put on a play of mine,
The Revolt of the Workhouse.
I have seen some drawings for the stage scenery – and I am not impressed. It would be useful to have some other drawings. I would hire a very experienced designer, but – I am afraid there are many costs.'

‘So you want me to do it for you.'

‘Do not feel obliged, Mr Seymour,' said Mayhew.

‘You will receive a full and generous payment when the production is a success, as I am sure it will be,' said à Beckett. ‘It is a question of the payment being deferred.'

‘I do not like being dragged further into this,' said Seymour. ‘But – oh very well. Do you have a script?'

Seymour sat down in the office and went through the scenes. He designed views of the workhouse, including a washroom, with a pump. He drew in female inmates, washing and throwing about soapsuds. Then came a London street scene with a beadle on patrol. ‘Now we'll have St Paul's by moonlight,' he said to à Beckett, who sat beside him, enraptured. ‘We'll put in some groups of destitutes, asleep.' A series of drawings, toy-theatre size, soon corresponded to the entire stage production.

‘Mr Seymour, I
insist
that you are there the opening night!' said à Beckett. ‘We will have a glass of the grape in the green room.'

*   *   *

In the first week of March, Seymour called again at the
Figaro
office. This time, only à Beckett was present.

The artist placed down an invoice for recent work. ‘I still haven't received payment for the previous two drawings,' he said.

‘A minor problem, Mr Seymour, regarding our inwards flow of cash. It will soon be put right. Shall we discuss the next issue?'

Seymour suggested that the theme should be Tory Members of Parliament seeking to retain their privileges. À Beckett nodded and then said: ‘That theme was on my mind already. I believe I have a capital idea for the form your drawing should take. What if you were to portray Wellington and other Tories as shabby women, with threadbare aprons, holding maces, and driving away other politicians?'

‘Go on.'

‘Suppose we were to call it
Revolt of the Tory Paupers
– whoa, Mr Seymour! Sit down, it is just an idea! Please sit down! I think it would work very well. They are in revolt because they are clinging to their privileges. I can comment that they are as revolting in their conduct as the meanest of workhouse inmates. It would work! It would be another success for you.'

‘This is going too far, à Beckett. You are blatantly using me to promote your own theatre. If a politician did anything like this we would
flay
him.'

‘It would make a spanking picture. And the sooner the play makes a profit, the sooner I will be able to pay you for your work.'

‘Do you mean for my work on the scenery? Or for my
Figaro
drawings? Answer me, à Beckett! You are using
Figaro
money to fund your theatre, aren't you?'

‘My financial affairs are my own concern.'

‘What if the theatre does not succeed? Do I get paid
anything
until then?'

‘It will succeed. And if it does not – who designed the scenery?'

‘Withdraw that remark.'

‘I spoke hastily. I apologise.' He composed himself and then said: ‘I shall
with
draw. But you shall
draw
. I want that caricature
exactly
as I have described it. It is in your own interest.' He waited again. ‘You will draw it, won't you?'

‘You are on thin ice, à Beckett.'

*   *   *

A month later, Seymour was again in the
Figaro
office, and again Mayhew was absent.

‘Henry was feeling under the weather, Mr Seymour,' said à Beckett, ‘so I said he should go home. But the two of us can have a useful discussion. There is another theatrical picture I want you to draw.'

‘My answer is no.'

‘Come, come, Mr Seymour – the art of caricature has a lot in common with the theatre. You arrange your characters as though they are on a stage, so all can be seen – surely a little further involvement with theatre will not hurt you?'

‘Where is my payment for the last six weeks of drawings? I am disguising it from my wife with my savings. When will I receive the money?'

‘My dear Mr Seymour—'

‘I would remind you that it is not just my own fees, but the advances I make to woodcutters – when will I be reimbursed?'

‘Now come, you have seen Mr Manders act, and now you will draw him in the role he plays in
The Revolt of the Workhouse.
'

‘You want me to draw the
very thing
which has taken away my payment!'

‘The very thing which will
earn
your payment.'

*   *   *

When Seymour returned home, he grudgingly drew the actor with hair in the King Charles style, wearing a top hat and leaning against an umbrella. Despite the artist's distaste, he perfectly captured the actor's strongly curved eyebrows, large eyes and detached look.

À Beckett wrote an accompaniment as soon as the messenger boy delivered Seymour's picture: ‘The above is an admirable sketch of a superb original, Mr Manders as Mahomet Muggins, in
The Revolt of the Workhouse
, for assuredly nothing can exceed the dressing, the attitude, the making-up and the acting in the part in which Seymour has drawn him. It presents one of the most admirable pieces of burlesque performing which we ever saw.'

*   *   *

The following week, when à Beckett arrived at the
Figaro
office, Mayhew was already there, holding a letter.

‘This is a note from Seymour,' said Mayhew. ‘He says that we will get no picture from him this week. That is all. There is no explanation.'