CHAPTER XX.
Reddere person ae scit convenientia cuique.--Horace: Ars Poetica.
I was loitering over my breakfast the next morning, and thinking of thelast night's scene, when Lord Vincent was announced.
"How fares the gallant Pelham?" said he, as he entered the room.
"Why, to say the truth," I replied, "I am rather under the influenceof blue devils this morning, and your visit is like a sun-beam inNovember."
"A bright thought," said Vincent, "and I shall make you a very prettylittle poet soon; publish you in a neat octavo, and dedicate you to LadyD--e. Pray, by the by, have you ever read her plays? You know they wereonly privately printed?"
"No," said I, (for in good truth, had his lordship interrogated metouching any other literary production, I should have esteemed it a partof my present character to return the same answer.)
"No!" repeated Vincent; "permit me to tell you, that you must never seemignorant of any work not published. To be recherche, one must alwaysknow what other people don't--and then one has full liberty to sneerat the value of what other people do know. Renounce the thresholdof knowledge. There every new proselyte can meet you. Boast of youracquaintance with the sanctum, and not one in ten thousand can disputeit with you. Have you read Monsieur de C--'s pamphlet?"
"Really," said I, "I have been so busy."
"Ah, mon ami!" cried Vincent, "the greatest sign of an idle man is tocomplain of being busy. But you have had a loss: the pamphlet is good.C--, by the way, has an extraordinary, though not an expanded mind; itis like a citizen's garden near London: a pretty parterre here, and aChinese pagoda there; an oak tree in one corner, and a mushroom bedin the other. You may traverse the whole in a stride; it is the fourquarters of the globe in a mole-hill. Yet every thing is good in itskind; and is neither without elegance nor design in its arrangement."
"What do you think," said I, "of the Baron de--, the minister of--?"
"Of him!" replied Vincent--
"'His soul Still sits at squat, and peeps not from its hole.'"
"It is dark and bewildered--full of dim visions of the ancientregime;--it is a bat hovering about the chambers of an old ruin. Poor,antique little soul! but I will say nothing more about it,--
"'For who would be satirical Upon a thing so very small' as the soul ofthe Baron de ------?"
Finding Lord Vincent so disposed to the biting mood, I immediatelydirected his rabies towards Mr. Aberton, for whom I had a mostinexpressible contempt.
"Aberton," said Vincent, in answer to my question, if he knew thataimable attache--"Yes! a sort of man who, speaking of the Englishembassy, says we--who sticks his best cards on his chimney-piece, andwrites himself billets-doux from duchesses. A duodecimo of 'preciousconceits,' bound in calf-skin--I know the man well; does he not dressdecently, Pelham?"
"His clothes are well made," said I; "but no man can dress well withthose hands and feet!"
"Ah!" said Vincent, "I should think he went to the best tailor, andsaid, 'give me a collar like Lord So and So's'; one who would not dareto have a new waistcoat till it had been authoritatively patronized, andwho took his fashions, like his follies, from the best proficients. Suchfellows are always too ashamed of themselves not to be proud of theirclothes--like the Chinese mariners, they burn incense before theneedle!"
"And Mr. Howard de Howard," said I, laughing, "what do you think ofhim?"
"What! the thin secretary?" cried Vincent.
"He is the mathematical definition of a straight line--length withoutbreadth. His inseparable friend, Mr. Aberton, was running up the Rue St.Honore yesterday in order to catch him."
"Running!" cried I, "just like common people--when were you or I everseen running?"
"True," continued Vincent; "but when I saw him chasing that meagreapparition, I said to Bennington, 'I have found out the real PeterSchlemil!' 'Who?'(asked his grave lordship, with serious naivete) 'Mr.Aberton,'said I; 'don't you see him running after his shadow?' But thepride of the lean thing is so amusing! He is fifteenth cousin to theduke, and so his favourite exordium is, 'Whenever I succeed to thetitles of my ancestors.'It was but the other day, that he heard two orthree silly young men discussing church and state, and they began bytalking irreligion--(Mr. Howard de Howard is too unsubstantial not to bespiritually inclined)--however he only fidgeted in his chair. They thenproceeded to be exceedingly disloyal. Mr. Howard de Howard fidgetedagain;--they then passed to vituperations on the aristocracy--this theattenuated pomposity (magni nominis umbra) could brook no longer. Herose up, cast a severe look on the abashed youths, and thus addressedthem--'Gentlemen, I have sate by in silence, and heard my King derided,and my God blasphemed; but now in attacking the aristocracy, I can nolonger refrain from noticing so obviously intentional an insult. Youhave become personal.' But did you know, Pelham, that he is going to bemarried?"
"No," said I. "I can't say that I thought such an event likely. Who isthe intended?"
"A Miss--, a girl with some fortune. 'I can bring her none,' said he tothe father, 'but I can make her Mrs. Howard de Howard.'"
"Alas, poor girl!" said I, "I fear that her happiness will hang upon aslender thread. But suppose we change the conversation: first, becausethe subject is so meagre, that we might easily wear it out, andsecondly, because such jests may come home. I am not very corpulentmyself."
"Bah!" said Vincent, "but at least you have bones and muscles. If youwere to pound the poor secretary in a mortar, you might take him all upin a pinch of snuff."
"Pray, Vincent," said I, after a short pause, "did you ever meet with aMr. Thornton, at Paris?"
"Thornton, Thornton," said Vincent, musingly; "what, Tom Thornton?"
"I should think, very likely," I replied; "just the sort of man whowould be Tom Thornton--has a broad face, with a colour, and wears aspotted neckcloth; Tom--what could his name be but Tom?"
"Is he about five-and-thirty?" asked Vincent, "rather short, and withreddish coloured hair and whiskers?"
"Precisely," said I; "are not all Toms alike?"
"Ah," said Vincent, "I know him well: he is a clever, shrewd fellow, buta most unmitigated rascal. He is the son of a steward in Lancashire, andreceived an attorney's education; but being a humorous, noisy fellow, hebecame a great favourite with his father's employer, who was a sort ofMecaenas to cudgel players, boxers, and horse jockies. At his house,Thornton met many persons of rank, but of a taste similar to theirhost's: and they, mistaking his vulgar coarseness for honesty, and hisquaint proverbs for wit, admitted him into their society. It was withone of them that I have seen him. I believe of late, that his characterhas been of a very indifferent odour: and whatever has brought him amongthe English at Paris--those white-washed abominations--those 'innocentblacknesses,' as Charles Lamb calls chimney sweepers, it does not arguewell for his professional occupations. I should think, however, that hemanages to live here; for wherever there are English fools, there arefine pickings for an English rogue."
"Ay," said I, "but are there enough fools here, to feed the rogues?"
"Yes, because rogues are like spiders, and eat each other, when there isnothing else to catch; and Tom Thornton is safe, as long as the ordinarylaw of nature lasts, that the greater knave preys on the lesser, forthere cannot possibly be a greater knave than he is. If you have madehis acquaintance, my dear Pelham, I advise you most soberly to look toyourself, for if he doth not steal, beg, or borrow of you, Mr. Howard deHoward will grow fat, and even Mr. Aberton cease to be a fool. Andnow, most noble Pelham, farewell. Il est plus aise d'etre sage pour lesautres que de l'etre pour soi-meme."