CHAPTER V.
EPISTOLARY ELOQUENCE.
But how can I answer, since first I must read thee?
PRIOR.
Desirous of authenticating our more important facts, by as many originaldocuments as possible, we have, after much research, enabled ourselvesto present the reader with the following accurate transcripts of thenotes intrusted to the care of Trotting Nelly. The first ran thus:
"Mr. Winterblossom [of Silverhed] has the commands of Lady Penelope Penfeather, Sir Bingo and Lady Binks, Mr. and Miss Mowbray [of St. Ronan's], and the rest of the company at the Hotel and Tontine Inn of St. Ronan's Well, to express their hope that the gentleman lodged at the Cleikum Inn, Old Town of St. Ronan's, will favour them with his company at the Ordinary, as early and as often as may suit his convenience. The COMPANY think it necessary to send this intimation, because, according to the RULES of the place, the Ordinary can only be attended by such gentlemen and ladies as lodge at St. Ronan's Well; but they are happy to make a distinction in favour of a gentleman so distinguished for success in the fine arts as Mr. ---- ----, residing at Cleikum. If Mr. ---- ---- should be inclined, upon becoming further acquainted with the COMPANY and RULES of the Place, to remove his residence to the Well, Mr. Winterblossom, though he would not be understood to commit himself by a positive assurance to that effect, is inclined to hope that an arrangement might be made, notwithstanding the extreme crowd of the season, to accommodate Mr. ---- ---- at the lodging-house, called Lilliput-Hall. It will much conduce to facilitate this negotiation, if Mr. ---- ---- would have the goodness to send an exact note of his stature, as Captain Rannletree seems disposed to resign the folding-bed at Lilliput-Hall, on account of his finding it rather deficient in length. Mr. Winterblossom begs farther to assure Mr. ---- ---- of the esteem in which he holds his genius, and of his high personal consideration.
"For ---- ----, Esquire, Cleikum Inn, Old Town of St. Ronan's.
"_The Public Rooms,_ _Hotel and Tontine, St. Ronan's Well,_ _&c. &c. &c._"
The above card was written (we love to be precise in matters concerningorthography) in a neat, round, clerk-like hand, which, like Mr.Winterblossom's character, in many particulars was most accurate andcommonplace, though betraying an affectation both of flourish and offacility.
The next billet was a contrast to the diplomatic gravity and accuracy ofMr. Winterblossom's official communication, and ran thus, the youngdivine's academic jests and classical flowers of eloquence being mingledwith some wild flowers from the teeming fancy of Lady Penelope.
"A choir of Dryads and Naiads, assembled at the healing spring of St. Ronan's, have learned with surprise that a youth, gifted by Apollo, when the Deity was prodigal, with two of his most esteemed endowments, wanders at will among their domains, frequenting grove and river, without once dreaming of paying homage to its tutelary deities. He is, therefore, summoned to their presence, and prompt obedience will insure him forgiveness; but in case of contumacy, let him beware how he again essays either the lyre or the pallet.
"_Postscript._ The adorable Penelope, long enrolled among the Goddesses for her beauty and virtues, gives Nectar and Ambrosia, which mortals call tea and cake, at the Public Rooms, near the Sacred Spring, on Thursday evening, at eight o'clock, when the Muses never fail to attend. The stranger's presence is requested to participate in the delights of the evening.
"_Second Postscript._ A shepherd, ambitiously aiming at more accommodation than his narrow cot affords, leaves it in a day or two.
'Assuredly the thing is to be hired.'
_As You Like It._
"_Postscript third._ Our Iris, whom mortals know as Trotting Nelly in her tartan cloak, will bring us the stranger's answer to our celestial summons."
This letter was written in a delicate Italian hand, garnished with finehair-strokes and dashes, which were sometimes so dexterously thrown offas to represent lyres, pallets, vases, and other appropriatedecorations, suited to the tenor of the contents.
The third epistle was a complete contrast to the other two. It waswritten in a coarse, irregular, schoolboy half-text, which, however,seemed to have cost the writer as much pains as if it had been aspecimen of the most exquisite caligraphy. And these were thecontents:--
"SUR--Jack Moobray has betted with me that the samon you killed on Saturday last weyd ni to eiteen pounds,--I say nyer sixteen.--So you being a spurtsman, 'tis refer'd.--So hope you will come or send me't; do not doubt you will be on honour. The bet is a dozen of claret, to be drank at the hotel by our own sett, on Monday next; and we beg you will make one; and Moobray hopes you will come down.--Being, sir, your most humbel servant,--Bingo Binks Baronet, and of Block-hall.
"_Postscript._ Have sent some loops of Indian gout, also some black hakkels of my groom's dressing; hope they will prove killing, as suiting river and season."
No answer was received to any of these invitations for more than threedays; which, while it secretly rather added to than diminished thecuriosity of the Wellers concerning the Unknown, occasioned much railingin public against him, as ill-mannered and rude.
Meantime, Francis Tyrrel, to his great surprise, began to find, like thephilosophers, that he was never less alone than when alone. In the mostsilent and sequestered walks, to which the present state of his mindinduced him to betake himself, he was sure to find some strollers fromthe Well, to whom he had become the object of so much solicitousinterest. Quite innocent of the knowledge that he himself possessed theattraction which occasioned his meeting them so frequently, he began todoubt whether the Lady Penelope and her maidens--Mr. Winterblossom andhis grey pony--the parson and his short black coat and raven-greypantaloons--were not either actually polygraphic copies of the sameindividuals, or possessed of a celerity of motion resemblingomnipresence and ubiquity; for nowhere could he go without meetingthem, and that oftener than once a-day, in the course of his walks.Sometimes the presence of the sweet Lycoris was intimated by the sweetprattle in an adjacent shade; sometimes, when Tyrrel thought himselfmost solitary, the parson's flute was heard snoring forth GramachreeMolly; and if he betook himself to the river, he was pretty sure to findhis sport watched by Sir Bingo or some of his friends.
The efforts which Tyrrel made to escape from this persecution, and theimpatience of it which his manner indicated, procured him, among theWellers, the name of the _Misanthrope_; and, once distinguished as anobject of curiosity, he was the person most attended to, who could atthe ordinary of the day give the most accurate account of where theMisanthrope had been, and how occupied in the course of the morning. Andso far was Tyrrel's shyness from diminishing the desire of the Wellersfor his society, that the latter feeling increased with the difficultyof gratification,--as the angler feels the most peculiar interest whenthrowing his fly for the most cunning and considerate trout in the pool.
In short, such was the interest which the excited imaginations of thecompany took in the Misanthrope, that, notwithstanding the unamiablequalities which the word expresses, there was only one of the societywho did not desire to see the specimen at their rooms, for the purposeof examining him closely and at leisure; and the ladies wereparticularly desirous to enquire whether he was actually a Misanthrope?Whether he had been always a Misanthrope? What had induced him to becomea Misanthrope? And whether there were no means of inducing him to ceaseto be a Misanthrope?
One individual only, as we have said, neither desired to see nor hearmore of the supposed Timon of Cleikum, and that was Mr. Mowbray of St.Ronan's. Through the medium of that venerable character John Pirner,professed weaver and practical black-fisher in the Aultoun of St.Ronan's, who usually attended Tyrrel, to show him the casts of theriver, carry his bag, and so forth, the Squire had ascertained that thejudgment of Sir Bingo regarding the disputed weight of the fish was morecorrect than his own. Th
is inferred an immediate loss of honour, besidesthe payment of a heavy bill. And the consequences might be yet moreserious; nothing short of the emancipation of Sir Bingo, who hadhitherto been Mowbray's convenient shadow and adherent, but who, iftriumphant, confiding in his superiority of judgment upon so important apoint, might either cut him altogether, or expect that, in future, theSquire, who had long seemed the planet of their set, should be contentto roll around himself, Sir Bingo, in the capacity of a satellite.
The Squire, therefore, devoutly hoped that Tyrrel's restive dispositionmight continue, to prevent the decision of the bet, while, at the sametime, he nourished a very reasonable degree of dislike to that stranger,who had been the indirect occasion of the unpleasant predicament inwhich he found himself, by not catching a salmon weighing a poundheavier. He, therefore, openly censured the meanness of those whoproposed taking further notice of Tyrrel, and referred to the unansweredletters, as a piece of impertinence which announced him to be nogentleman.
But though appearances were against him, and though he was in truthnaturally inclined to solitude, and averse to the affectation andbustle of such a society, that part of Tyrrel's behaviour whichindicated ill-breeding was easily accounted for, by his never havingreceived the letters which required an answer. Trotting Nelly, whetherunwilling to face her gossip, Meg Dods, without bringing back thedrawing, or whether oblivious through the influence of the double dramwith which she had been indulged at the Well, jumbled off with her cartto her beloved village of Scate-raw, from which she transmitted theletters by the first bare-legged gillie who travelled towards Aultoun ofSt. Ronan's; so that at last, but after a long delay, they reached theCleikum Inn and the hands of Mr. Tyrrel.
The arrival of these documents explained some part of the oddity ofbehaviour which had surprised him in his neighbours of the Well; and ashe saw they had got somehow an idea of his being a lion extraordinary,and was sensible that such is a character equally ridiculous, anddifficult to support, he hastened to write to Mr. Winterblossom a cardin the style of ordinary mortals. In this he stated the delay occasionedby miscarriage of the letter, and his regret on that account; expressedhis intention of dining with the company at the Well on the succeedingday, while he regretted that other circumstances, as well as the stateof his health and spirits, would permit him this honour veryinfrequently during his stay in the country, and begged no trouble mightbe taken about his accommodation at the Well, as he was perfectlysatisfied with his present residence. A separate note to Sir Bingo, saidhe was happy he could verify the weight of the fish, which he had notedin his diary; ("D--n the fellow, does he keep a diary?" said theBaronet,) and though the result could only be particularly agreeable toone party, he should wish both winner and loser mirth with theirwine;--he was sorry he was unable to promise himself the pleasure ofparticipating in either. Enclosed was a signed note of the weight of thefish. Armed with this, Sir Bingo claimed his wine--triumphed in hisjudgment--swore louder and more articulately than ever he was known toutter any previous sounds, that this Tyrrel was a devilish honestfellow, and he trusted to be better acquainted with him; while thecrestfallen Squire, privately cursing the stranger by all his gods, hadno mode of silencing his companion but by allowing his loss, and fixinga day for discussing the bet.
In the public rooms the company examined even microscopically theresponse of the stranger to Mr. Winterblossom, straining their ingenuityto discover, in the most ordinary expressions, a deeper and esotericmeaning, expressive of something mysterious, and not meant to meet theeye. Mr. Meiklewham, the writer, dwelt on the word _circumstances_,which he read with peculiar emphasis.
"Ah, poor lad!" he concluded, "I doubt he sits cheaper at Meg Dorts'schimney-corner than he could do with the present company."
Doctor Quackleben, in the manner of a clergyman selecting a word fromhis text, as that which is to be particularly insisted upon, repeated inan under tone, the words, "_State of health?_--umph--state ofhealth?--Nothing acute--no one has been sent for--must bechronic--tending to gout, perhaps.--Or his shyness to society--lightwild eye--irregular step--starting when met suddenly by a stranger, andturning abruptly and angrily away--Pray, Mr. Winterblossom, let me havean order to look over the file of newspapers--it's very troublesome thatrestriction about consulting them."
"You know it is a necessary one, Doctor," said the president; "becauseso few of the good company read any thing else, that the old newspaperswould have been worn to pieces long since."
"Well, well, let me have the order," said the Doctor; "I remembersomething of a gentleman run away from his friends--I must look at thedescription.--I believe I have a strait-jacket somewhere about theDispensary."
While this suggestion appalled the male part of the company, who did notmuch relish the approaching dinner in company with a gentleman whosesituation seemed so precarious, some of the younger Misses whispered toeach other--"Ah, poor fellow!--and if it be as the Doctor supposes, mylady, who knows what the cause of his illness may have been?--His_spirits_ he complains of--ah, poor man!"
And thus, by the ingenious commentaries of the company at the Well, onas plain a note as ever covered the eighth part of a sheet of foolscap,the writer was deprived of his property, his reason, and his heart, "allor either, or one or other of them," as is briefly and distinctlyexpressed in the law phrase.
In short, so much was said _pro_ and _con_, so many ideas started andtheories maintained, concerning the disposition and character of theMisanthrope, that, when the company assembled at the usual time, beforeproceeding to dinner, they doubted, as it seemed, whether the expectedaddition to their society was to enter the room on his hands or hisfeet; and when "Mr. Tyrrel" was announced by Toby, at the top of hisvoice, the gentleman who entered the room had so very little todistinguish him from others, that there was a momentary disappointment.The ladies, in particular, began to doubt whether the compound oftalent, misanthropy, madness, and mental sensibility, which they hadpictured to themselves, actually was the same with the genteel, and evenfashionable-looking man whom they saw before them; who, though in amorning-dress, which the distance of his residence, and the freedom ofthe place, made excusable, had, even in the minute points of hisexterior, none of the negligence, or wildness, which might be supposedto attach to the vestments of a misanthropic recluse, whether sane orinsane. As he paid his compliments round the circle, the scales seemedto fall from the eyes of those he spoke to; and they saw with surprise,that the exaggerations had existed entirely in their own preconceptions,and that whatever the fortunes, or rank in life, of Mr. Tyrrel might be,his manners, without being showy, were gentlemanlike and pleasing. Hereturned his thanks to Mr. Winterblossom in a manner which made thatgentleman recall his best breeding to answer the stranger's address inkind. He then escaped from the awkwardness of remaining the sole objectof attention, by gliding gradually among the company,--not like an owl,which seeks to hide itself in a thicket, or an awkward and retired man,shrinking from the society into which he is compelled, but with the airof one who could maintain with ease his part in a higher circle. Hisaddress to Lady Penelope was adapted to the romantic tone of Mr.Chatterly's epistle, to which it was necessary to allude. He was afraid,he said, he must complain to Juno of the neglect of Iris, for herirregularity in delivery of a certain ethereal command, which he had notdared to answer otherwise than by mute obedience--unless, indeed, as theimport of the letter seemed to infer, the invitation was designed forsome more gifted individual than he to whom chance had assigned it.
Lady Penelope by her lips, and many of the young ladies with their eyes,assured him there was no mistake in the matter; that he was really thegifted person whom the nymphs had summoned to their presence, and thatthey were well acquainted with his talents as a poet and a painter.Tyrrel disclaimed, with earnestness and gravity, the charge of poetry,and professed, that, far from attempting the art itself, he "read withreluctance all but the productions of the very first-rate poets, andsome of these--he was almost afraid to say--he should have liked betteri
n humble prose."
"You have now only to disown your skill as an artist," said LadyPenelope, "and we must consider Mr. Tyrrel as the falsest and mostdeceitful of his sex, who has a mind to deprive us of the opportunity ofbenefiting by the productions of his unparalleled endowments. I assureyou I shall put my young friends on their guard. Such dissimulationcannot be without its object."
"And I," said Mr. Winterblossom, "can produce a piece of real evidenceagainst the culprit."
So saying, he unrolled the sketch which he had filched from TrottingNelly, and which he had pared and pasted, (arts in which he waseminent,) so as to take out its creases, repair its breaches, and vampit as well as my old friend Mrs. Weir could have repaired the damages oftime on a folio Shakspeare.
"The vara _corpus delicti_," said the writer, grinning and rubbing hishands.
"If you are so good as to call such scratches drawings," said Tyrrel, "Imust stand so far confessed. I used to do them for my own amusement; butsince my landlady, Mrs. Dods, has of late discovered that I gain mylivelihood by them, why should I disown it?"
This avowal, made without the least appearance either of shame or_retenue_, seemed to have a striking effect on the whole society. Thepresident's trembling hand stole the sketch back to the portfolio,afraid doubtless it might be claimed in form, or else compensationexpected by the artist. Lady Penelope was disconcerted, like an awkwardhorse when it changes the leading foot in galloping. She had to recedefrom the respectful and easy footing on which he had contrived to placehimself, to one which might express patronage on her own part, anddependence on Tyrrel's; and this could not be done in a moment.
The Man of Law murmured, "Circumstances--circumstances--I thought so!"
Sir Bingo whispered to his friend the Squire, "Run out--blown up--offthe course--pity--d----d pretty fellow he has been!"
"A raff from the beginning!" whispered Mowbray.--"I never thought himany thing else."
"I'll hold ye a poney of that, my dear, and I'll ask him."
"Done, for a poney, provided you ask him in ten minutes," said theSquire; "but you dare not, Bingie--he has a d----d cross game look,with all that civil chaff of his."
"Done," said Sir Bingo, but in a less confident tone than before, andwith a determination to proceed with some caution in the matter.--"Ihave got a rouleau above, and Winterblossom shall hold stakes."
"I have no rouleau," said the Squire; "but I'll fly a cheque onMeiklewham."
"See it be better than your last," said Sir Bingo, "for I won't beskylarked again. Jack, my boy, you are had."
"Not till the bet's won; and I shall see yon walking dandy break yourhead, Bingie, before that," answered Mowbray. "Best speak to the Captainbefore hand--it is a hellish scrape you are running into--I'll let youoff yet, Bingie, for a guinea forfeit.--See, I am just going to startthe tattler."
"Start, and be d----d!" said Sir Bingo. "You are gotten, I assure you o'that, Jack." And with a bow and a shuffle, he went up and introducedhimself to the stranger as Sir Bingo Binks.
"Had--honour--write--sir," were the only sounds which his throat, orrather his cravat, seemed to send forth.
"Confound the booby!" thought Mowbray; "he will get out of leadingstrings, if he goes on at this rate; and doubly confounded be thiscursed tramper, who, the Lord knows why, has come hither from the Lordknows where, to drive the pigs through my game."
In the meantime, while his friend stood with his stop-watch in his hand,with a visage lengthened under the influence of these reflections, SirBingo, with an instinctive tact, which self-preservation seemed todictate to a brain neither the most delicate nor subtle in the world,premised his enquiry by some general remark on fishing and field-sports.With all these, he found Tyrrel more than passably acquainted. Offishing and shooting, particularly, he spoke with something likeenthusiasm; so that Sir Bingo began to hold him in considerable respect,and to assure himself that he could not be, or at least could notoriginally have been bred, the itinerant artist which he now gavehimself out--and this, with the fast lapse of the time, induced him thusto address Tyrrel.--"I say, Mr. Tyrrel--why, you have been one of us--Isay"----
"If you mean a sportsman, Sir Bingo--I have been, and am a pretty keenone still," replied Tyrrel.
"Why, then, you did not always do them sort of things?"
"What sort of things do you mean, Sir Bingo?" said Tyrrel. "I have notthe pleasure of understanding you."
"Why, I mean them sketches," said Sir Bingo. "I'll give you a handsomeorder for them, if you will tell me. I will, on my honour."
"Does it concern you particularly, Sir Bingo, to know any thing of myaffairs?" said Tyrrel.
"No--certainly--not immediately," answered Sir Bingo, with somehesitation, for he liked not the dry tone in which Tyrrel's answers werereturned, half so well as a bumper of dry sherry; "only I said you werea d----d gnostic fellow, and I laid a bet you have not been alwaysprofessional--that's all."
Mr. Tyrrel replied, "A bet with Mr. Mowbray, I suppose?"
"Yes, with Jack," replied the Baronet--"you have hit it--I hope I havedone him?"
Tyrrel bent his brows, and looked first at Mr. Mowbray, then at theBaronet, and, after a moment's thought, addressed the latter.--"SirBingo Binks, you are a gentleman of elegant enquiry and acutejudgment.--You are perfectly right--I was _not_ bred to the professionof an artist, nor did I practise it formerly, whatever I may do now; andso that question is answered."
"And Jack is diddled," said the Baronet, smiting his thigh in triumph,and turning towards the Squire and the stake-holder, with a smile ofexultation.
"Stop a single moment, Sir Bingo," said Tyrrel; "take one word with you.I have a great respect for bets,--it is part of an Englishman'scharacter to bet on what he thinks fit, and to prosecute his enquiriesover hedge and ditch, as if he were steeple-hunting. But as I havesatisfied you on the subject of two bets, that is sufficient compliancewith the custom of the country; and therefore I request, Sir Bingo, youwill not make me or my affairs the subject of any more wagers."
"I'll be d----d if I do," was the internal resolution of Sir Bingo.Aloud he muttered some apologies, and was heartily glad that thedinner-bell, sounding at the moment, afforded him an apology forshuffling off in a different direction.