CHAPTER VI.
A UNIVERSAL GENIUS.--PERICLES TURNED BARBER.--NAMES OF BEAUTIES IN171-.--THE TOASTS OF THE KIT-CAT CLUB.
As I was riding with Tarleton towards Chelsea, one day, he asked me ifI had ever seen the celebrated Mr. Salter. "No," said I, "but I heardSteele talk of him the other night at Wills's. He is an antiquarian anda barber, is he not?"
"Yes, a shaving virtuoso; really a comical and strange character, andhas oddities enough to compensate one for the debasement of talking witha man in his rank."
"Let us go to him forthwith," said I, spurring my horse into a canter.
"_Quod petis hic est_," cried Tarleton, "there is his house." And mycompanion pointed to a coffee-house.
"What!" said I, "does he draw wine as well as teeth?"
"To be sure: Don Saltero is a universal genius. Let us dismount."
Consigning our horses to the care of our grooms, we marched into thestrangest-looking place I ever had the good fortune to behold. Along narrow coffee-room was furnished with all manner of things that,belonging neither to heaven, earth, nor the water under the earth, theredoubted Saltero might well worship without incurring the crime ofidolatry. The first thing that greeted my eyes was a bull's head, witha most ferocious pair of vulture's wings on its neck. While I wassurveying this, I felt something touch my hat; I looked up anddiscovered an immense alligator swinging from the ceiling, and fixing amonstrous pair of glass eyes upon me. A thing which seemed to me likean immense shoe, upon a nearer approach expanded itself into an Indiancanoe; and a most hideous spectre with mummy skin, and glittering teeth,that made my blood run cold, was labelled, "Beautiful specimen of aCalmuc Tartar."
While lost in wonder, I stood in the middle of the apartment, up walks alittle man as lean as a miser, and says to me, rubbing his hands,--
"Wonderful, Sir, is it not?"
"Wonderful, indeed, Don!" said Tarleton; "you look like a Chinese Adamsurrounded by a Japanese creation."
"He, he, he, Sir, you have so pleasant a vein," said the little Don, ina sharp shrill voice. "But it has been all done, Sir, by one man; all ofit collected by me, simple as I stand."
"Simple, indeed," quoth Tarleton; "and how gets on the fiddle?"
"Bravely, Sir, bravely; shall I play you a tune?"
"No, no, my good Don; another time."
"Nay, Sir, nay," cried the antiquarian, "suffer me to welcome yourarrival properly."
And, forthwith disappearing, he returned in an instant with amarvellously ill-favoured old fiddle. Throwing a _penseroso_ air intohis thin cheeks, our Don then began a few preliminary thrummings, whichset my teeth on edge, and made Tarleton put both hands to his ears.Three sober-looking citizens, who had just sat themselves down to pipesand the journal, started to their feet like so many pieces of clockwork;but no sooner had Don Saltero, with a _degage_ air of gracefulmelancholy, actually launched into what he was pleased to term a tune,than a universal irritation of nerves seized the whole company. Atthe first overture, the three citizens swore and cursed, at thesecond division of the tune, they seized their hats, at the third theyvanished. As for me, I found all my limbs twitching as if they weredancing to St. Vitus's music; the very drawers disappeared; thealligator itself twirled round, as if revivified by so harsh anexperiment on the nervous system; and I verily believe the whole museum,bull, wings, Indian canoe, and Calmuc Tartar, would have been set intomotion by this new Orpheus, had not Tarleton, in a paroxysm of rage,seized him by the tail of the coat, and whirled him round, fiddle andall, with such velocity that the poor musician lost his equilibrium, andfalling against a row of Chinese monsters, brought the whole set tothe ground, where he lay covered by the wrecks that accompanied hisoverthrow, screaming and struggling, and grasping his fiddle, whichevery now and then, touched involuntarily by his fingers, uttered adismal squeak, as if sympathizing in the disaster it had caused, untilthe drawer ran in, and, raising the unhappy antiquarian, placed him on agreat chair.
"O Lord!" groaned Don Saltero, "O Lord! my monsters--my monsters--thepagoda--the mandarin, and the idol where are they?--broken--ruined--annihilated!"
"No, Sir; all safe, Sir," said the drawer, a smart, small, smug, pertman; "put 'em down in the bill, nevertheless, Sir. Is it AldermanAtkins, Sir, or Mr. Higgins?"
"Pooh," said Tarleton, "bring me some lemonade; send the pagoda to thebricklayer, the mandarin to the surgeon, and the idol to the Papist overthe way! There's a guinea to pay for their carriage. How are you, Don?"
"Oh, Mr. Tarleton, Mr. Tarleton! how could you be so cruel?"
"The nature of things demanded it, my good Don. Did I not call you aChinese Adam? and how could you bear that name without undergoing thefall?"
"Oh, Sir, this is no jesting matter,--broke the railing of my pagoda,bruised my arm, cracked my fiddle, and cut me off in the middle of thatbeautiful air!--no jesting matter."
"Come, Mr. Salter," said I, "'tis very true! but cheer up. 'The gods,'says Seneca, 'look with pleasure on a great man falling with thestatesmen, the temples, and the divinities of his country;' all ofwhich, mandarin, pagoda, and idol, accompanied _your_ fall. Let us havea bottle of your best wine, and the honour of your company to drink it."
"No, Count, no," said Tarleton, haughtily; "we can drink not with theDon; but we'll have the wine, and he shall drink it. Meanwhile, Don,tell us what possible combination of circumstances made thee fiddler,barber, anatomist, and virtuoso!"
Don Saltero loved fiddling better than anything in the world, but nextto fiddling he loved talking. So being satisfied that he should bereimbursed for his pagoda, and fortifying himself with a glass or two ofhis own wine, he yielded to Tarleton's desire, and told us his history.I believe it was very entertaining to the good barber, but Tarletonand I saw nothing extraordinary in it; and long before it was over, wewished him an excellent good day, and a new race of Chinese monsters.
That evening we were engaged at the Kit-Cat Club, for though I wasopposed to the politics of its members, they admitted me on account ofmy literary pretensions. Halifax was there, and I commended the poet tohis protection. We were very gay, and Halifax favoured us with three newtoasts by himself. O Venus! what beauties we made, and what characterswe murdered! Never was there so important a synod to the female world asthe gods of the Kit-Cat Club. Alas! I am writing for the children of anafter age, to whom the very names of those who made the blood of theirancestors leap within their veins will be unknown. What cheek willcolour at the name of Carlisle? What hand will tremble as it touchesthe paper inscribed by that of Brudenel? The graceful Godolphin, thesparkling enchantment of Harper, the divine voice of Claverine, thegentle and bashful Bridgewater, the damask cheek and ruby lips of theHebe Manchester,--what will these be to the race for whom alone thesepages are penned? This history is a union of strange contrasts! likethe tree of the Sun, described by Marco Polo, which was green whenapproached on one side, but white when perceived on the other: to me itis clothed in the verdure and spring of the existing time; to the readerit comes covered with the hoariness and wanness of the Past!