George Grossmith - The Diary of a Nobody

In spite of my instructions, that blanc-mange was brought up again for supper. To make matters worse, there had been an attempt to disguise it, by placing it in a glass dish with jam round it. Carrie asked Lupin if he would have some, and he replied: ‘No second-hand goods for me, thank you.’ I told Carrie, when we were alone, if that blanc-mange were placed on the table again I should walk out of the house. 55 55 (November 18) I told Carrie, when we were alone, if that blanc-mange were placed on the table again I should walk out of the house : As Francis Wheen pointed out in the Guardian (26 August 1996) Pooter treats his maid appallingly, in a way reminiscent of Friedrich Engels’ claim in The Condition of the Working Class in England that ‘It is utterly indifferent to the English bourgeois whether his working men starve or not, if only he makes money.’ Families like the Pooters were supposed to provide full board for their servants and inevitably in some cases sustenance amounted to little more than the householders’ left-overs with the servants obliged to fill out their diet from their already paltry wages. Perhaps Sarah has been given nothing to eat other than the blanc-mange , and is subtly trying to point this out by continually placing it back on Pooter’s table uneaten.

NOVEMBER 19, SUNDAY. A delightfully quiet day. In the afternoon Lupin was off to spend the rest of the day with the Mutlars. He departed in the best of spirits, and Carrie said: ‘Well, one advantage of Lupin’s engagement with Daisy is that the boy seems happy all day long. That quite reconciles me to what I must confess seems an imprudent engagement.’

Carrie and I talked the matter over during the evening, and agreed that it did not always follow that an early engagement meant an unhappy marriage. Dear Carrie reminded me that we married early, and with the exception of a few trivial misunderstandings, we had never had a really serious word. I could not help thinking (as I told her) that half the pleasures of life were derived from the little struggles and small privations that one had to endure at the beginning of one’s married life. Such struggles were generally occasioned by want of means, and often helped to make loving couples stand together all the firmer.

Carrie said I had expressed myself wonderfully well, and that I was quite a philosopher.

We are all vain at times, and I must confess I felt flattered by Carrie’s little compliment. I don’t pretend to be able to express myself in fine language, but I feel I have the power of expressing my thoughts with simplicity and lucidness. About nine o’clock, to our surprise, Lupin entered, with a wild, reckless look, and in a hollow voice, which I must say seemed rather theatrical, said: ‘Have you any brandy?’ I said: ‘No; but here is some whisky.’ Lupin drank off nearly a wineglassful without water, to my horror.

We all three sat reading in silence till ten, when Carrie and I rose to go to bed. Carrie said to Lupin: ‘I hope Daisy is well?’

Lupin, with a forced careless air that he must have picked up from the ‘Holloway Comedians’, replied: ‘Oh, Daisy? You mean Miss Mutlar. I don’t know whether she is well or not, but please never to mention her name again in my presence .’

We have a dose of Irving imitations. Make the acquaintance of Mr Padge. Don’t care for him. Mr Burwin-Fosselton becomes a nuisance .

NOVEMBER 20. Have seen nothing of Lupin the whole day. Bought a cheap address-book. I spent the evening copying in the names and addresses of my friends and acquaintances. Left out the Mutlars of course.

NOVEMBER 21. Lupin turned up for a few minutes in the evening. He asked for a drop of brandy with a sort of careless look, which to my mind was theatrical and quite ineffective. I said: ‘My boy, I have none, and I don’t think I should give it you if I had.’ Lupin said: ‘I’ll go where I can get some,’ and walked out of the house. Carrie took the boy’s part, and the rest of the evening was spent in a disagreeable discussion, in which the words ‘Daisy’ and ‘Mutlar’ must have occurred a thousand times.

NOVEMBER 22. Gowing and Cummings dropped in during the evening. Lupin also came in, bringing his friend, Mr Burwin-Fosselton – one of the ‘Holloway Comedians’ – who was at our party the other night, and who cracked our little round table. Happy to say Daisy Mutlar was never referred to. The conversation was almost entirely monopolized by the young fellow Fosselton, who not only looked rather like Mr Irving but seemed to imagine that he was the celebrated actor. I must say he gave some capital imitations of him. As he showed no signs of moving at supper time, I said: ‘If you like to stay Mr Fosselton, for our usual crust – pray do.’ He replied: ‘Oh! thanks; but please call me Burwin-Fosselton. It is a double name. There are lots of Fosseltons, but please call me Burwin-Fosselton.’

He began doing the Irving business all through supper. 56 56 (November 22) He began doing the Irving business all through supper: Burwin-Fosselton’s prolix impersonations of the celebrated actor Henry Irving (1838–1905) were based on the experiences of both brothers. George Grossmith regularly did skits of ‘Henry Irving and his Leetle Dog’, once before Queen Victoria. Weedon Grossmith also performed Irving impersonations as a party piece. In 1888, shortly before this section of the Diary was written, Irving asked Weedon, who was then doing comic roles on stage, if he’d like to play alongside him in a production of the farce Robert Macaire . The part required Weedon to imitate Irving, which he found difficult to do in front of the great man. When Weedon overcame his nerves and began the impersonation the cast collapsed in hysterics. Irving, somewhat dismayed, pushed Weedon so hard he nearly fell off stage. Eventually the actor saw the funny side of it and the play, with Weedon’s impersonation included, was performed successfully. In 1895 Henry Irving became the first actor to be knighted, the stage at which according to Joe Orton some seventy years later ‘the theatre started going downhill’. (Tony Joseph, George Grosssmith, Biography of a Savoyard (Bristol: Tony Joseph, 1982), pp. 159–60. He sank so low down in his chair that his chin was almost on a level with the table, and twice he kicked Carrie under the table, upset his wine, and flashed a knife uncomfortably near Gowing’s face. After supper he kept stretching out his legs on the fender, indulging in scraps of quotations from plays which were Greek to me, and more than once knocked over the fire-irons, making a hideous row – poor Carrie already having a bad headache.

When he went, he said, to our surprise: ‘I will come tomorrow

Mr Burwin-Fosselton at supper

and bring my Irving make-up.’ Gowing and Cummings said they would like to see it and would come too. I could not help thinking they might as well give a party at my house while they are about it. However, as Carrie sensibly said: ‘Do anything, dear, to make Lupin forget the Daisy Mutlar business.’

NOVEMBER 23. In the evening, Cummings came early. Gowing came a little later and brought, without asking permission, a fat and, I think, very vulgar-looking man named Padge, who appeared to be all moustache. Gowing never attempted any apology to either of us, but said Padge wanted to see the Irving business, to which Padge said: ‘That’s right,’ and that is about all he did say during the entire evening. Lupin came in and seemed in much better spirits. He had prepared a bit of a surprise. Mr Burwin-Fosselton had come in with him, but had gone upstairs to get ready. In half-an-hour Lupin retired from the parlour, and returning in a few minutes, announced ‘Mr Henry Irving.’