Pelham Complete - Бульвер-Литтон Эдвард Джордж 12 стр.

You will do as you please, said Vincent, but you will be like the child playing with edged tools.

I am not a child, said I, so the simile is not good. He must be the devil himself, or a Scotchman at least, to take me in.

Vincent shook his head. Come and dine with me at the Rocher, said he; we are a party of sixchoice spirits all.

Volontiers; but we can stroll in the Tuileries first, if you have no other engagement.

None, said Vincent, putting his arm in mine.

As we passed up the Rue de la Paix, we met Sir Henry Millington, mounted on a bay horse, as stiff as himself, and cantering down the street as if he and his steed had been cut out of pasteboard together.

I wish, said Vincent, (to borrow Luttrels quotation,) that that master of arts would cleanse his bosom of that perilous stuff. I should like to know in what recess of that immense mass now cantering round the corner is the real body of Sir Henry Millington. I could fancy the poor snug little thing shrinking within, like a guilty conscience. Ah, well says Juvenal,

Mors sola fatetur Quantula sint hominum corpuscula.

He has a superb head, though, I replied. I like to allow that other people are handsome now and thenit looks generous.

Yes, said Vincent, for a barbers block: but here comes Mrs. Cme, and her beautiful daughterthose are people you ought to know, if you wish to see human nature a little relieved from the frivolities which make it in society so like a man milliner. Mrs. Chas considerable genius, combined with great common sense.

A rare union, said I.

By no means, replied Vincent. It is a cant antithesis in opinion to oppose them to one another; but, so far as mere theoretical common sense is concerned, I would much sooner apply to a great poet or a great orator for advice on matter of business, than any dull plodder who has passed his whole life in a counting-house. Common sense is only a modification of talentgenius is an exaltation of it: the difference is, therefore, in the degree, not nature. But to return to Mrs. C; she writes beautiful poetryalmost impromptu; draws excellent caricatures; possesses a laugh for whatever is ridiculous, but never loses a smile for whatever is good. Placed in very peculiar situations, she has passed through each with a grace and credit which make her best eulogium. If she possesses one quality higher than intellect, it is her kindness of heart: no wonder indeed, that she is so really cleverthose trees which are the soundest at the core produce the finest fruits, and the most beautiful blossoms.

Lord Vincent grows poetical, thought Ihow very different he really is to that which he affects to be in the world; but so it is with every onewe are all like the ancient actors: let our faces be ever so beautiful, we must still wear a mask.

After an hours walk, Vincent suddenly recollected that he had a commission of a very important nature in the Rue J. J. Rousseau. This wasto buy a monkey. It is for Wormwood, said he, who has written me a long letter, describing its qualities and qualifications. I suppose he wants it for some practical jokesome embodied bitternessGod forbid I should thwart him in so charitable a design!

Amen, said I; and we proceeded together to the monkey-fancier. After much deliberation we at last decided upon the most hideous animal I ever beheldit was of ano, I will not attempt to describe itit would be quite impossible! Vincent was so delighted with our choice that he insisted upon carrying it away immediately.

Is it quite quiet? I asked.

Comme un oiseau, said the man.

We called a fiacrepaid for monsieur Jocko, and drove to Vincents apartments; there we found, however, that his valet had gone out and taken the key.

Hang it, said Vincent, it does not signify! Well carry le petit monsieur with us to the Rocher.

Accordingly we all three once more entered the fiacre, and drove to the celebrated restaurateurs of the Rue Mont Orgueil. O, blissful recollections of that dinner! how at this moment you crowd upon my delighted remembrance! Lonely and sorrowful as I now sit, digesting with many a throe the iron thews of a British beef-steakmore anglicoimmeasurably toughI see the grateful apparitions of Escallopes de Saumon and Laitances de Carps rise in a gentle vapour before my eyes! breathing a sweet and pleasant odour, and contrasting the dream-like delicacies of their hue and aspect, with the dire and dure realities which now weigh so heavily on the region below my heart! And thou, most beautiful of allthou evening star of entremetsthou that delightest in truffles, and gloriest in a dark cloud of saucesexquisite foie-gras!Have I forgotten thee? Do I not, on the contrary, see theesmell theetaste theeand almost die with rapture of thy possession? What, though the goose, of which thou art a part, has, indeed, been roasted alive by a slow fire, in order to increase thy divine proportionsyet has not our Almanachthe Almanach des Gourmandstruly declared that the goose rejoiced amid all her torturesbecause of the glory that awaited her? Did she not, in prophetic vision, behold her enlarged and ennobled foie dilate into pates and steam into sauteesthe companion of trufflesthe glory of dishesthe delightthe treasurethe transport of gourmands! O, exalted among birdsapotheosised goose, did not thy heart exult even when thy liver parched and swelled within thee, from that most agonizing death; and didst thou not, like the Indian at the stake, triumph in the very torments which alone could render thee illustrious?

After dinner we grew exceedingly merry. Vincent punned and quoted; we laughed and applauded; and our Burgundy went round with an alacrity, to which every new joke gave an additional impetus. Monsieur Jocko was by no means the dullest in the party; he cracked his nuts with as much grace as we did our jests, and grinned and chatted as facetiously as the best of us. After coffee we were all so pleased with one another, that we resolved not to separate, and accordingly we adjourned to my rooms, Jocko and all, to find new revelries and grow brilliant over Curacoa punch.

We entered my salon with a roar, and set Bedos to work at the punch forthwith. Bedos, that Ganymede of a valet, had himself but just arrived, and was unlocking the door as we entered. We soon blew up a glorious fire, and our spirits brightened in proportion. Monsieur Jocko sate on Vincents kneeNe monstrum, as he classically termed it. One of our compotatores was playing with it. Jocko grew suddenly in earnesta grina scratch and a bite, were the work of a moment.

Ne quid nimisnow, said Vincent, gravely, instead of endeavouring to soothe the afflicted party, who grew into a towering passion. Nothing but Jockos absolute disgrace could indeed have saved his life from the vengeance of the sufferer.

Where shall we banish him? said Vincent.

Oh, I replied, put him out in that back passage; the outer door is shut; hell be quite safe; and to the passage he was therefore immediately consigned.

It was in this place, the reader will remember, that the hapless Dame du Chateau was at that very instant in durance vile. Bedos, who took the condemned monkey, opened the door, thrust Jocko in, and closed it again. Meanwhile we resumed our merriment.

Nunc est bibendum, said Vincent, as Bedos placed the punch on the table. Give us a toast, Dartmore.

Lord Dartmore was a young man, with tremendous spirits, which made up for wit. He was just about to reply, when a loud shriek was heard from Jockos place of banishment: a sort of scramble ensued, and the next moment the door was thrown violently open, and in rushed the terrified landlady, screaming like a sea-gull, and bearing Jocko aloft upon her shoulders, from which bad eminence he was grinning and chattering with the fury of fifty devils. She ran twice round the room, and then sunk on the floor in hysterics. We lost no time in hastening to her assistance; but the warlike Jocko, still sitting upon her, refused to permit one of us to approach. There he sat, turning from side to side, showing his sharp, white teeth, and uttering from time to time the most menacing and diabolical sounds.

What the deuce shall we do? cried Dartmore.

Do? said Vincent, who was convulsed with laughter, and yet endeavouring to speak gravely; why, watch like L. Opimius, ne quid respublica detrimenti caperet.

By Jove, Pelham, he will scratch out the ladys beaux yeux, cried the good-natured Dartmore, endeavouring to seize the monkey by the tail, for which he very narrowly escaped with an unmutilated visage. But the man who had before suffered by Jockos ferocity, and whose breast was still swelling with revenge, was glad of so favourable an opportunity and excuse for wreaking it. He seized the poker, made three strides to Jocko, who set up an ineffable cry of defiance, and with a single blow split the skull of the unhappy monkey in twain. It fell with one convulsion on the ground, and gave up the ghost.

We then raised the unfortunate landlady, placed her on the sofa, and Dartmore administered a plentiful potation of the Curacoa punch. By slow degrees she revived, gave three most doleful suspirations, and then, starting up, gazed wildly around her. Half of us were still laughingmy unfortunate self among the number; this the enraged landlady no sooner perceived than she imagined herself the victim of some preconcerted villainy. Her lips trembled with passionshe uttered the most dreadful imprecations; and had I not retired into a corner, and armed myself with the dead body of Jocko, which I wielded with exceeding valour, she might, with the simple weapons with which nature had provided her hands, have for ever demolished the loves and graces that abide in the face of Henry Pelham.

When at last she saw that nothing hostile was at present to be effected, she drew herself up, and giving Bedos a tremendous box on the ear, as he stood grinning beside her, marched out of the room.

We then again rallied around the table, more than ever disposed to be brilliant, and kept up till day break a continued fire of jests upon the heroine of the passage. Cum qua (as Vincent observed) clauditur adversis innoxia simia fatis!

CHAPTER XXIII

I woke the next morning with an aching head and feverish frame. Ah, those midnight carousals, how glorious they would be if there was no next morning! I took my sauterne and sodawater in my dressing-room; and, as indisposition always makes me meditative, I thought over all I had done since my arrival at Paris. I had become (that, God knows, I soon manage to do) rather a talked of and noted character. It is true that I was every where abusedone found fault with my neckclothanother with my mindthe lank Mr. Aberton declared that I put my hair in papers, and the stuffed Sir Henry Millington said I was a thread-paper myself. One blamed my ridinga second my dancinga third wondered how any woman could like me, and a fourth said that no woman ever could.

On one point, however, allfriends and foeswere alike agreed; viz. that I was a consummate puppy, and excessively well satisfied with myself. A la verite, they were not much mistaken there. Why is it, by the by, that to be pleased with ones-self is the surest way of offending every body else? If any one, male or female, an evident admirer of his or her own perfections, enter a room, how perturbed, restless, and unhappy every individual of the offenders sex instantly becomes: for them not only enjoyment but tranquillity is over, and if they could annihilate the unconscious victim of their spleen, I fully believe no Christian toleration would come in the way of that last extreme of animosity. For a coxcomb there is no mercyfor a coquet no pardon. They are, as it were, the dissenters of societyno crime is too bad to be imputed to them; they do not believe the religion of othersthey set up a deity of their own vanityall the orthodox vanities of others are offended. Then comes the bigotrythe stakethe auto-da-fe of scandal. What, alas! is so implacable as the rage of vanity? What so restless as its persecution? Take from a man his fortune, his house, his reputation, but flatter his vanity in each, and he will forgive you. Heap upon him benefits, fill him with blessings: but irritate his self-love, and you have made the very best man an ingrat. He will sting you if he can: you cannot blame him; you yourself have instilled the venom. This is one reason why you must not always reckon upon gratitude in conferring an obligation. It is a very high mind to which gratitude is not a painful sensation. If you wish to please, you will find it wiser to receivesolicit evenfavours, than accord them; for the vanity of the obliger is always flatteredthat of the obligee rarely.

Well, this is an unforeseen digression: let me return! I had mixed, of late, very little with the English. My mothers introductions had procured me the entree of the best French houses; and to them, therefore, my evenings were usually devoted. Alas! that was a happy time, when my carriage used to await me at the door of the Rocher de Cancale, and then whirl me to a succession of visits, varying in their degree and nature as the whim prompted: now to the brilliant soirees of Madame De, or to the appartemens au troisieme of some less celebrated daughter of dissipation and ecarte;now to the literary conversaziones of the Duchesse de Ds, or the Vicomte dA, and then to the feverish excitement of the gambling house. Passing from each with the appetite for amusement kept alive by variety; finding in none a disappointment, and in every one a welcome; full of the health which supports, and the youth which colours all excess or excitation, I drained, with an unsparing lip, whatever that enchanting metropolis could afford.

I have hitherto said but little of the Duchesse de Perpignan; I think it necessary now to give some account of that personage. Ever since the evening I had met her at the ambassadors, I had paid her the most unceasing attentions. I soon discovered that she had a curious sort of liaison with one of the attachesa short, ill-made gentleman, with high shoulders, and a pale face, who wore a blue coat and buff waistcoat, wrote bad verses, and thought himself handsome. All Paris said she was excessively enamoured of this youth. As for me, I had not known her four days before I discovered that she could not be excessively enamoured of any thing but an oyster pete and Lord Byrons Corsair. Her mind was the most marvellous melange of sentiment and its opposite. In her amours she was Lucretia herself; in her epicurism, Apicius would have yielded to her. She was pleased with sighs, but she adored suppers. She would leave every thing for her lover, except her dinner. The attache soon quarrelled with her, and I was installed into the platonic honours of his office.