CHAPTER I.
THE HERO IN LONDON.--PLEASURE IS OFTEN THE SHORTEST, AS IT ISTHE EARLIEST ROAD TO WISDOM, AND WE MAY SAY OF THE WORLD WHATZEAL-OF-THE-LAND-BUSY SAYS OF THE PIG-BOOTH, "WE ESCAPE SO MUCH OF THEOTHER VANITIES BY OUR EARLY ENTERING."
IT had, when I first went to town, just become the fashion for young menof fortune to keep house, and to give their bachelor establishments theimportance hitherto reserved for the household of a Benedict.
Let the reader figure to himself a suite of apartments, magnificentlyfurnished, in the vicinity of the court. An anteroom is crowded withdivers persons, all messengers in the various negotiations of pleasure.There, a French valet,--that inestimable valet, Jean Desmarais,--sittingover a small fire, was watching the operations of a coffee-pot, andconversing, in a mutilated attempt at the language of our nation, thoughwith the enviable fluency of his own, with the various loiterers whowere beguiling the hours they were obliged to wait for an audience ofthe master himself, by laughing at the master's Gallic representative.There stood a tailor with his books of patterns just imported fromParis,--that modern Prometheus, who makes a man what he is! Next to hima tall, gaunt fellow, in a coat covered with tarnished lace, a night-capwig, and a large whip in his hands, comes to vouch for the pedigree andexcellence of the three horses he intends to dispose of, out of purelove and amity for the buyer. By the window stood a thin starvelingpoet, who, like the grammarian of Cos, might have put lead in hispockets to prevent being blown away, had he not, with a more paternalprecaution, put so much in his works that he had left none to spare.Excellent trick of the times, when ten guineas can purchase every virtueunder the sun, and when an author thinks to vindicate the sins of hisbook by proving the admirable qualities of the paragon to whom it isdedicated.* There with an air of supercilious contempt upon his smoothcheeks, a page, in purple and silver, sat upon the table, swinginghis legs to and fro, and big with all the reflected importance ofa _billet-doux_. There stood the pert haberdasher, with his box ofsilver-fringed gloves, and lace which Diana might have worn. At thattime there was indeed no enemy to female chastity like the formerarticle of man-millinery: the delicate whiteness of the glove, thestarry splendour of the fringe, were irresistible, and the fair Adorna,in poor Lee's tragedy of "Caesar Borgia," is far from the only lady whohas been killed by a pair of gloves.
* Thank Heaven, for the honour of literature, _nous avons change toutcela!_--ED.
Next to the haberdasher, dingy and dull of aspect, a book-hunter bentbeneath the load of old works gathered from stall and shed, and about tobe re-sold according to the price exacted from all literary gallants whoaffect to unite the fine gentleman with the profound scholar. A littlegirl, whose brazen face and voluble tongue betrayed the growth of herintellectual faculties, leaned against the wainscot, and repeated, inthe anteroom, the tart repartees which her mistress (the most celebratedactress of the day) uttered on the stage; while a stout, sturdy,bull-headed gentleman, in a gray surtout and a black wig, mingledwith the various voices of the motley group the gentle phrases ofHockley-in-the-Hole, from which place of polite merriment he camecharged with a message of invitation. While such were the inmates of theanteroom, what picture shall we draw of the _salon_ and its occupant?
A table was covered with books, a couple of fencing foils, a woman'smask, and a profusion of letters; a scarlet cloak, richly laced, hungover, trailing on the ground. Upon a slab of marble lay a hat, loopedwith diamonds, a sword, and a lady's lute. Extended upon a sofa, looselyrobed in a dressing-gown of black velvet, his shirt collar unbuttoned,his stockings ungartered, his own hair (undressed and released for abrief interval from the false locks universally worn) waving from hisforehead in short yet dishevelled curls, his whole appearance stampedwith the morning negligence which usually follows midnight dissipation,lay a young man of about nineteen years. His features were neitherhandsome nor ill-favoured, and his stature was small, slight, andsomewhat insignificant, but not, perhaps, ill-formed either for activeenterprise or for muscular effort. Such, reader, is the picture of theyoung prodigal who occupied the apartments I have described, and such(though somewhat flattered by partiality) is a portrait of MortonDevereux, six months after his arrival in town.
The door was suddenly thrown open with that unhesitating rudeness bywhich our friends think it necessary to signify the extent of theirfamiliarity; and a young man of about eight-and-twenty, richly dressed,and of a countenance in which a dissipated _nonchalance_ and anaristocratic _hauteur_ seemed to struggle for mastery, abruptly entered.
"What! ho, my noble royster," cried he, flinging himself upon achair, "still suffering from St. John's Burgundy! Fie, fie, upon yourapprenticeship!--why, before I had served half your time, I could takemy three bottles as easily as the sea took the good ship 'Revolution,'swallow them down with a gulp, and never show the least sign of them thenext morning!"
"I really believe you, most magnanimous Tarleton. Providence gives toeach of its creatures different favours,--to one wit, to the other acapacity for drinking. A thousand pities that they are never united!"
"So bitter, Count!--ah, what will ever cure you of sarcasm?"
"A wise man by conversation, or fools by satiety."
"Well, I dare say that is witty enough, but I never admire finethings of a morning. I like letting my faculties live till night in adeshabille; let us talk easily and sillily of the affairs of the day._Imprimis_, will you stroll to the New Exchange? There is a black eyethere that measures out ribbons, and my green ones long to flirt withit."
"With all my heart--and in return you shall accompany me to MasterPowell's puppet-show."
"You speak as wisely as Solomon himself in the puppet-show. I own thatI love that sight: 'tis a pleasure to the littleness of human natureto see great things abased by mimicry; kings moved by bobbins, and thepomps of the earth personated by Punch."
"But how do you like sharing the mirth of the groundlings, the filthyplebeians, and letting them see how petty are those distinctions whichyou value so highly, by showing them how heartily you can laugh at suchdistinctions yourself? Allow, my superb Coriolanus, that one purchasespride by the loss of consistency."
"Ah, Devereux, you poison my enjoyment by the mere word 'plebeian'! Oh,what a beastly thing is a common person!--a shape of the trodden claywithout any alloy; a compound of dirty clothes, bacon breaths, villanoussmells, beggarly cowardice, and cattish ferocity. Pah, Devereux! rubcivet on the very thought!"
"Yet they will laugh to-day at the same things you will, andconsequently there would be a most flattering congeniality between you.Emotion, whether of ridicule, anger, or sorrow; whether raised at apuppet-show, a funeral, or a battle,--is your grandest of levellers. Theman who would be always superior should be always apathetic."
"Oracular, as usual, Count,--but, hark, the clock gives tongue. One, bythe Lord!--will you not dress?"
And I rose and dressed. We passed through the anteroom; my attendantassistants in the art of wasting money drew up in a row.
"Pardon me, gentlemen," said I ("gentlemen, indeed!" cried Tarleton),"for keeping you so long. Mr. Snivelship, your waistcoats are exquisite:favour me by conversing with my valet on the width of the lace for myliveries; he has my instructions. Mr. Jockelton, your horses shall betried to-morrow at one. Ay, Mr. Rymer, I beg you a thousand pardons;I beseech you to forgive the ignorance of my rascals in suffering agentleman of your merit to remain for a moment unattended to. I haveread your ode; it is splendid,--the ease of Horace with the fire ofPindar; your Pegasus never touches the earth, and yet in his wildestexcesses you curb him with equal grace and facility: I object, sir, onlyto your dedication; it is too flattering."
"By no means, my Lord Count, it fits you to a hair."
"Pardon me," interrupted I, "and allow me to transfer the honour to LordHalifax; he loves men of merit; he loves also their dedications. I willmention it to him to-morrow: everything you say of me will suit himexactly. You will oblige me with a copy of your poem directly it isprinted, and suffe
r me to pay your bookseller for it now, and throughyour friendly mediation; adieu!"
"Oh, Count, this is too generous."
"A letter for me, my pretty page? Ah! tell her ladyship I shall waitupon her commands at Powell's: time will move with a tortoise speed tillI kiss her hands. Mr. Fribbleden, your gloves would fit the giants atGuildhall: my valet will furnish you with my exact size; you will seeto the legitimate breadth of the fringe. My little beauty, you are fromMrs. Bracegirdle: the play _shall_ succeed; I have taken seven boxes;Mr. St. John promised his influence. Say, therefore, my Hebe, thatthe thing is certain, and let me kiss thee: thou hast dew on thylip already. Mr. Thumpen, you are a fine fellow, and deserve to beencouraged; I will see that the next time your head is broken it shallbe broken fairly: but I will not patronize the bear; consider thatperemptory. What, Mr. Bookworm, again! I hope you have succeeded betterthis time: the old songs had an autumn fit upon them, and had lostthe best part of their _leaves_; and Plato had mortgaged one half his'Republic,' to pay, I suppose, the exorbitant sum you thought proper toset upon the other. As for Diogenes Laertius, and his philosophers--"
"Pish!" interrupted Tarleton; "are you going, by your theoreticaltreatises on philosophy, to make me learn the practical part of it, andprate upon learning while I am supporting myself with patience?"
"Pardon me! Mr. Bookworm; you will deposit your load, and visit meto-morrow at an earlier hour. And now, Tarleton, I am at your service."