RANK AND TALENT.
VOL. III.
PRINTED BY A. J. VALPY, RED LION COURT, FLEET STREET.
RANK AND TALENT;
A NOVEL.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF “TRUCKLEBOROUGH-HALL.”
When once he’s made a Lord,
Who’ll be so saucy as to think he can
Be impotent in wisdom?
COOK.
Why, Sir, ’tis neither satire nor moral, but the mere passage
of an history; yet there are a sort of discontented creatures,
that bear a stingless envy to great ones, and these will wrest
the doings of any man to their base malicious appliment.
MARSTON.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1829.
RANK AND TALENT.
CHAPTER I.
“----th’ high vulgar of the town,
Which England’s common courtesy,
To make bad fellowship go down,
Politely calls good company.”
COOPER.
We left Dr. Crack at the end of the last volume in a fair way of falling
deeply in love with Miss Henderson, and there, for the present, we will
leave him still, conscious that no one envies him. Our attention is now
required in another quarter. The gentle, unobtrusive Clara Rivolta,
whom nature indeed had never destined to be a heroine or even to be
talked about, continued to undergo with much forbearance and quietness
the persecuting attentions of the fragrant Henry Augustus Tippetson, who
divided his time and attentions between the Countess of Trimmerstone and
the grand-daughter of old John Martindale. What points of resemblance
there were between these two ladies is not easy to say. Tippetson,
however, thought much of rank: it was so great an honor to be intimate
with a countess. Every body said that Tippetson was too intimate with the
Countess, and another every body said that he was going to be married to
Clara Rivolta.
Our readers must have observed that we are in general tolerably candid.
But sometimes we do find ourselves glowing with an indignation not
easily expressed, and feeling a contempt, for the conveyance of which no
ordinary terms or allowed language will suffice. This contempt and this
indignation do we now feel for that most execrable fribble, for that most
attenuated shred of a dandikin, Henry Augustus Tippetson. Singleton
Sloper is a lazy, ignorant lob, and Dr. Crack is a conceited puppy; but
in neither of these two do we discern any thing at all equivalent in
moral turpitude to that effeminate, that more than unmanly, that almost
inhuman selfishness that disgraces, or rather constitutes, the character
of Tippetson. This young gentleman had learned by rote the common
places of polished society, and he played them off with a vile, cunning
dexterity on the simple Clara Rivolta, till she was almost deceived as to
his character. Her mind had been injured, though unintentionally, by the
trumpery sentimentality of Miss Henderson’s foolish correspondence. The
circumstances, also, of Mr. Martindale’s oddness of character, of Signora
Rivolta’s retired habits, and of the Colonel’s general indifference
to every thing, allowed to Clara but little opportunity of seeing or
learning the world and its moral elements.
Markham now but seldom paid his visits. When he did, he was sure to find
Tippetson there before him, or soon after he entered the house; and such
was the cunning and craftiness of that young fox, that, whenever Markham
was present, he contrived to pay such attentions as might corroborate
to his eye the report of an engagement, and yet such as Clara could not
pointedly or freezingly repel. To Markham, therefore, it seemed almost
demonstrated that there subsisted an implicit engagement or understanding
between the two; and as Markham saw in Tippetson nothing but the perfumed
fop, and was not aware of his dirty cunning, he began to fancy that he
had given Clara credit for more discernment than she possessed, when she
could tolerate and be pleased with the attentions of such an unfurnished
blockhead.
The days passed away to Clara very heavily. There was but little comfort
to her in life, for there was little satisfaction in her situation.
Without exactly knowing it, she missed the intelligent conversation of
Markham, which was but imperfectly supplied by the common-place prate of
Tippetson. She did not feel that she loved Markham, or that she hated
Tippetson; but her feeling was that of dissatisfaction with herself.
It was not a feeling of moral pain, but of moral uneasiness. There was
nothing in amusement that amused her, and there was nothing in pleasure
that pleased her. Her mother was intelligent and parentally kind; but
there was in the construction of her mother’s mind that which rendered it
unfit for a dexterous and accommodating sympathy with hers. Her mother
had all the wisdom of a Mentor, but could not lay aside the majesty of a
Minerva. It is a painful and disagreeable state of being, when a soul of
natural and ardent sensibility has had its feelings wrongly excited and
improperly directed, and when, from the disappointment which naturally
results from this, it is beginning to settle down into the coldness of
apathy and indifference. This is a condition in which multitudes have
been placed; and shame be the portion of those who have placed them
therein. “In the transition of this bitter hour” the strength of the mind
is tried, and the destiny for life is decided.
Clara Rivolta was at this time in such state of mind, that had Tippetson
made an offer of his hand, and had her parents approved it, she would
have accepted the offer. And on the other hand, had Markham proposed to
her, and had her parents expressed the slightest opposition, she would
without any painful effort have refused him. To her mother’s mental
discernment and strength of character was she indebted for the prevention
of the first of these evils. Tippetson saw, as we have said above, that
Signora Rivolta knew him, and he was therefore well aware that he could
not have any hope of obtaining Clara’s hand till he had gained her
affections, and had become essential to her happiness. How soon that was
likely to take place is not easy to say. For greater coxcombs than he
have been loved by women in other respects sensible and rational.
The mind of Tippetson, if such expression be consistent, was of such a
nature as to be totally unable to exist without some stimulus, and yet
absolutely without power to frame amusement or employment for itself. He
had an ambition, but not a laborious ambition; it was composed of and
impelled by trick and artifice. He could only ascend by creeping; and he
found it easier to distinguish himself by singularity than by strength,
to attract attention by eccentricity than to gain notice by excellence.
He had been for a long while Clara’s companion. By the sufferance of
the odd old gentleman, Mr. John Martindale, he had been in the habit of
considering and finding himself at home at their house. He had never so
far committed himself as to give Clara an opportunity of refusing him,
nor had his behaviour to her been such as she could at all take notice
of. There was nothing in his manner which demanded an explanation;
and had he been asked what were his intentions, he could have replied
that no one had any right to ask such a question from any part of his
conduct. In the same manner as he deported himself towards Clara Rivolta
did he, considering the different circumstances of the parties, behave
towards the Countess of Trimmerstone. There was, however, this difference
in the two cases; viz. that while his attentions were indifferent
to the former, they were manifestly agreeable to the latter. In his
company Clara was grave and silent, but Lady Trimmerstone cheerful and
loquacious. Her ladyship’s ignorance attributed to the young gentleman
a high degree of fashionable and scientific knowledge. Few were the
Countess’s friends and intimates among persons of real consequence in
society. Her parties were as numerously attended as need be, and the
report of them looked as well in the Morning Post as the record of any
other congregation of the superfine. But though many were her visitors,
few were her friends. The cards which announced calls did not bear the
names of those with whom she was personally intimate; and if by any
accident she met any of the number, their chilling, freezing formality
kept her at a mighty distance from them; and so far as acquaintance
went, her intimacy with them was no more than if she had been presented
at the court of the Emperor of China: she had an audience, but not any
understanding of the party. We have, in the course of this narrative,
mentioned it as a misfortune that Clara Rivolta had a female friend. We
may here state that it was a misfortune that the Countess of Trimmerstone
had not a female friend; for the Dowager Lady Martindale had taken
herself quite out of the world, and had gone to reside at a distance
from town, that she might give her undivided attention to her family.
Of her eldest son she had long ceased to have any hopes; and of her
daughter-in-law such was her opinion, that she was happy in any excuse to
avoid her society.
The Earl of Trimmerstone, who had cared but little for Miss Sampson, now
cared less for Lady Trimmerstone. His own acquaintance with that part of
polite society with which his lady might with propriety have been made
intimate, was very small and contracted; and he took little pains to form
any friendships or intimacies for her with them. Every body pitied her,
but nobody patronised her. Some, indeed, have gone so far as to say, that
whenever they called, they were sure to see Mr. Tippetson there. Some
grave ladies thought of hinting to the Countess the impropriety of such
familiarity and unreasonable intimacy with this young gentleman. But they
thought again that it was no business of theirs; and so they let her
alone.
It would be an ingenious work for an ingenious man to write an essay
on every body. Many can write well on nothing; but who can write well
on every body? Every body is a paradox and a contradiction. Every body
said that Tippetson was always with the Countess of Trimmerstone; and
every body said that Tippetson was always with Clara Rivolta. This could
not be true. Clara was not aware of the young gentleman’s intimacy
with the Countess; nor had she ever heard the censorious remarks which
the calumnious and wicked world had circulated concerning him. But
the Countess was aware of his intimacy with the family of old John
Martindale, and of the intention with which that intimacy was kept up.
Frequently would she make allusion to it in such style of expression, as
to lead the young puppy to imagine that she should, in the event of his
marriage, feel the loss of his company. Such indeed was the impudence of
this young coxcomb, that he has actually been heard to say that he had
not quite made up his mind whether he should take Clara to Scotland, or
the Countess to Italy.
All this time, where, it may be asked, was the Earl of Trimmerstone?
Where, indeed! Every where but where he ought to be. Not having the
fear of old John Martindale’s will before his eyes; either forgetting
what the old gentleman had threatened, or flattering himself that the
language of the will would be altered, he did not for any great length
of time abstain from the indulgence of gaming; and though he was by no
means a desperate gamester, setting his life on the cast of a die, yet
he could not live comfortably without the stimulus; and he did not like
to be called a methodist. He still kept horses at Newmarket, but not
in his own name. His patriotism was still so great, that for the pure
purpose of training up a breed of horses which may make the English
cavalry the glory of the world, he continued to dawdle away his time with
stable-boys, and lose his money to sharpers. He gamed elsewhere as well
as at Newmarket; and sometimes he was a winner. He kept up but little
intercourse with his opulent relative; for he was not able to give a very
good account of himself. He had taken his seat in the House of Lords,
but he had not much distinguished himself as an orator or a voter; for
he had once been so careless as to give a proxy against ministers: he
apologised for it afterwards, and promised to be more careful for the
future. He was grievously negligent of home, and thought that to be the
most melancholy hour of the twenty-four, in which having nothing else
to do, and no where else to go, he was almost necessitated to return to
his own home. We have not described this noble Earl as an ill-tempered
or churlish man: he was indeed rather good-humored than otherwise; but
his habits and pursuits had rendered him exceedingly anti-domestic. He
never spoke a word of a harsh nature to his Countess; and even when
he had lost at play, which happened more frequently than the reverse,
he did not swear, stamp, or rave; nor was he moody and melancholy;
but he would walk restlessly about the house with his hands in his
pockets, whistling or humming odds and ends of old songs. When he was
a winner, his raptures were not great, and he kept his joys to himself
in silent meditation. Thus much for vindication of his behaviour in the
married state may be said for him, that he did not deport himself very
differently in marriage and in courtship. He had never been a very ardent
or attentive lover; and no expectations were therefore raised by the
lover’s attentions to be frustrated by the husband’s neglect. He suffered
some disappointment indeed in the gratifications derived from exalted
rank. He found himself of no more consequence or importance now that he
was a noble Earl, than when he was simply and plainly Mr. Martindale;
and though this disappointment did not sour his temper, it rendered
him still more negligent and careless. Such was the stimulus that his
mind required, that he suffered himself not unfrequently to be led into
scenes and fooleries by which the dignity of his character was not a
little impaired. It may be very well for lads just come from school,
and abounding more in high spirits than discretion, to transgress
occasionally the limits of strict decorum and grave propriety of
demeanour; but it does not become right honorable hereditary legislators
approaching the middle of life to play boy’s pranks, and disturb the
peace of the neighbourhood. Such conduct does not add greatly to human
dignity; and though very amusing for the time being, is not always
productive of any permanent satisfaction.
As one of these frolics to which we here allude is somewhat connected
with the development of our history, we will relate it. One evening,
towards the latter end of May, when the days are at such an inconvenient
length that it is hardly candle-light by dinner-time, the Earl of
Trimmerstone and Singleton Sloper had agreed to dine at a club-house
at nine in the evening, together with a set of honorable ones of the
same slip-shod dignity as themselves. Every thing was ordered to be
prepared on the most sumptuous possible scale; and though the weather
was not warm enough to render ice a luxury, the apartment was ordered
to be raised to such a temperature that iced wines might be properly
enjoyed. The Earl and his friend did not design to be at the expense of
this entertainment; but promised themselves that a young gentleman who
was to be of the party, would, for the sake of the honor of such high
society, suffer himself to be honorably deprived of enough, and more than
enough, to defray the cost of the banquet. The bait appeared to take; but
as neither the Earl nor his friend Sloper was absolutely dishonest or
addicted to play unfairly, as they both trusted rather to their own skill
and experience than to any dishonorable artifices, they were most cruelly
and miserably disappointed. For our own part, such is our fastidiousness
and delicacy, that we think it at least dishonorable, if not absolutely
dishonest, to sit down deliberately to play for large stakes where there
is a supposed great advantage in skill or experience; and therefore we do
not think that money is fairly won under such circumstances, even though
only what is called fair play has been used. We are, however, very glad,
when in such cases the knowing ones are taken in. So it happened in the
present case. Whatever the young gentleman, whom his lordship intended to
pluck, wanted in experience, he seemed to make up by natural quickness
and observant attention; and without any design of deep play, he was
led on “deeper and deeper still.” Now, Singleton hinted to his lordship
that it would be absolutely necessary to apply the “vinous stimulus,”
as Dr. Crack called it, more copiously to their too vigilant friend.
But whether it was from superior strength and vigor of constitution in
the young man, or from the anxiety and agitation of the others, it so
happened that the Right Hon. the Earl of Trimmerstone and his worthy
friend Mr. Singleton Sloper felt most powerfully the effects of the wine.
So much did they feel its effects, that they were compelled to leave off
play after being considerable losers. The young gentleman, who had not
the slightest supposition that any conspiracy had been formed against
him, though he, perhaps, might not be reluctant, with his apparent
simplicity, to form a conspiracy against another, felt in high spirits,
pleased with his winnings, and proud of the honor of an acquaintance
with a man of rank. At an early hour in the morning the party separated;
but the young gentleman, as his home lay partly in the same direction,
accompanied the Earl and his friend Mr. Sloper. By this time all three of
them were under the influence of strong drink, and they were disposed to
be exceedingly facetious. The Earl and his friend were on very intimate
terms with the watchmen of their own immediate neighbourhood; but, to
speak again after the manner of Dr. Crack, “the vinous stimulus had
obfuscated their geographical apprehension,” so that they roamed beyond
their usual precincts, amusing themselves as they went by copiously
complying with the exhortation inscribed on many doors--“knock and
ring.” This was not unobserved, nor did it pass unrebuked by the trusty
guardians of the night. Advice and reproof are seldom very agreeable; and
they are more frequently received with nominal than with real thanks.
In the present instance they were most uncourteously received, seeing
that an hereditary legislator ought certainly to know how to conduct
himself without any monitory assistance from a watchman. The consequence
of this indisposition to take good advice, terminated in the unpleasant
and mortifying catastrophe of sending a noble earl and two illustrious
commoners to the watch-house. But this was not effected by the arm of
one individual watchman, nor was it accomplished till a great conflict
had taken place between the parties; by the exertions of which conflict
the already inebriated gentlemen were reduced to a state of nearly
unconscious apathy and insensibility.
If this chapter were not already sufficiently long, we should certainly
be tempted to lengthen it by a dissertation on dignity and propriety:
in which dissertation we should attempt to demonstrate that nobility
and gentry, however ornamental to society under certain conditions,
may become, by means of weakness of head and emptiness of mind, a most
intolerable nuisance; and we should also show that the homage which is
paid to exalted station, undignified by exalted conduct, is the mere
sycophancy of selfishness, altogether undesirable to those to whom it is
offered, and disgraceful to those who offer it; and we should likewise
have set forth, for the edification of the Toms and Jerrys of high life,
the bitterness of mortification which is felt by that amiable class
when they perceive that those whom they consider as their inferiors
actually look down upon them with contempt. Still farther, it would be
our laudable endeavour to remind those who squander away their means
by low-minded pursuits, are tolerably sure to remain for life in that
low and vulgar level to which they have reduced themselves; and lastly,
though not least, we should say, with the utmost seriousness of manner,
that the low-minded, profligate, and vulgar extravagants in high life,
proud as they may be of their loyalty and toryism, do more rapidly and
surely hasten the disorganization of society and the downfall of its
Corinthian capital, than all the declamations of grumblers general, the
washy sophistries of puling debating societies, or the clamorous mob of
noisy radicals.
For this fine dissertation we have no room; and we pity our readers that
they cannot have the pleasure of reading the development of the above
scheme.