“To deal in wordy compliment
Is much against the plainness of my nature.”
ROWE.
Considering the language with which the preceding chapter is closed, it
would not be decorous to fly off in a tangent to discuss the movements of
other characters in our narrative; though we may very well suppose that
some of our readers would be glad to know how the Right Hon. the Earl
of Trimmerstone bears his retirement, and how he looks in his reformed
condition. Nothing more, however, does it suit us now to state on this
head, than that orders had been given, and were rapidly proceeding in
their execution, for the repair and reformation of Trimmerstone Hall, and
that his lordship found some amusement in superintending these repairs.
In the mean time, however, Mr. Martindale, who was aware that it would
be doing more harm than good to supply his noble relative’s extravagance
with unlimited means of indulgence, thought that he should do his
lordship more essential service by procuring him some appointment, which
might have at least the semblance of occupation for him. With this view
he waited upon the nobleman whom we have before mentioned as having
patronised Horatio Markham. Here we are strongly tempted to observe how
inaccurate is our ordinary language. We call men high in office, men
in power. This is wrong. They find that the higher they rise, the more
circumscribed is their power. The greater is their patronage, the less
able are they to do as they will. A country parson has power to appoint
his own curate; a country squire may choose whom he will for butler,
coachman, or footman; but they who have the distribution of better things
than curacies and coach-boxes, have to consult and to be guided by many
more wills, minds, and opinions than their own.
Mr. Martindale found this to be the case with the nobleman to whom he
made application in the present instance. Nothing could be more cordial
or polite than the reception which Mr. Martindale experienced, and
nothing could be more gratifying than the kind attention wherewith his
lordship made inquiry after the health of the various members of his
family. But when the business was mentioned for which the call was made,
nothing could exceed the regret which his lordship felt and expressed
that at present he had it not in his power to accommodate so respectable
and valued a friend as Mr. Martindale. There was certainly sincerity in
these expressions, though probably they were used with little variation
of phraseology to many others. It would have been much more agreeable to
his lordship had it been in his power to grant many more requests, and to
oblige many more friends; but, as he himself said to Mr. Martindale, he
actually had for every place at his disposal at least fifty applications,
and many of them accompanied with recommendations and arguments of a most
pressing nature.
As Mr. Martindale was a reasonable man, and one to whom his lordship
could speak freely, there soon sprung up between them some conversation
on the topic of patronage.
“I assure you, Mr. Martindale,” said his lordship, “it is by no means
correct to say that I _enjoy_ the distribution of patronage. It is an
affair of constant perplexity; and I sometimes am tempted to wish that
some of the public grumblers were placed for a while in my situation.
They would then see that it is not the easiest matter in the world to
please every body.”
“I dare say not, I dare say not, my lord,” replied Mr. Martindale; “we
cannot administer our own affairs to please every body, and it is not
easier to give satisfaction by the administration of public affairs. I
will not fly out into discontent and opposition, because I cannot have
every thing I wish for my scape-grace kinsman.”
The distributer of patronage smiled, and replied, “It is not every one
that is so considerate, Mr. Martindale. There was a situation vacant some
time ago, and I disposed of it to a young man of no family or connexion,
and with whom I was made acquainted by mere accident, and whom I took
up purely on the ground of his good sense and honorable application to
business, and I find that I was abundantly right in the judgment which I
formed. But I was afterwards exposed to so much expostulation and reproof
from quarters where you might least expect it, that I am almost afraid of
following my own judgment in the most trifling matters that relate to the
public service.”
“I know,” replied Mr. Martindale, “the person to whom your lordship
alludes: he is certainly a man of most excellent mental and moral
qualities.”
“And for a man of real ability,” added his lordship, “the most
unpretending and unassuming I ever knew. He carries his reserve to an
excess; for I never see him here among my visitors.”
Now, as Mr. Martindale was an impetuous and hasty man, and was withal
mightily partial to this said Horatio Markham, he forgot for a time
his noble kinsman, and after taking leave of his lordship, he went
immediately to Markham’s chambers to give him a hint that it might be
advisable to pay a little more attention to his patron. It also occurred
to the old gentleman that he himself had not seen Markham for several
days; so he designed to give him also an intimation concerning that
neglect.
Greatly to the surprise of the old gentleman, Markham was not in town;
and more than that, his clerk could not say for a certainty when he
would be in town. Upon receiving this information, Mr. Martindale took
the liberty of inquiring very particularly and curiously to find out
where he was, and what was the occasion of his absence. Now, when a rich
old man asks questions, a poor young man is ready enough to answer
them according to the best of his ability, unless he have some especial
reason for concealment. There being with Markham’s clerk no such reason,
he endeavoured to give Mr. Martindale the benefit of all his knowledge
together with the result of his conjectures. From all that could be
gathered from this informant, it appeared that Markham was with his
parents, and that his father was unwell.
Now Mr. Martindale did not blame the young man for visiting a sick
parent, but he thought it very strange that he should make a secret of
his departure from town. It was therefore the old gentleman’s first
intention to send a note to his young friend reminding him of the neglect
with which he had unintentionally treated his kind and considerate
patron; but as the town where Markham’s father resided was not much out
of the line of road leading to Trimmerstone, and as the old gentleman was
especially fond of a personal intermeddlement with brick and mortar, he
conceived the design of paying a visit to Trimmerstone Hall, and calling
upon Markham in his way there.
The old gentleman found his way into the little parlour at the back of
the shop in the same manner as when he first introduced himself, as
stated in the commencement of our narrative. His appearance, on the
present occasion, did not excite less surprise, than when he first made
himself known to them. When he entered the apartment, the elder Markham
was sitting by the fire-side in an easy chair, and had the appearance
of one slowly recovering from a long illness. His countenance was much
changed, and he looked considerably older than when Mr. Martindale first
saw him. The old gentleman was a very observant, quick-sighted man, and
had a perfect recollection of Mr. Markham’s appearance when he had seen
him in health. He was sorry to see him so much altered, and he expressed
his concern accordingly. Mr. Markham attempted to rise. Mr. Martindale
quickly caught hold of his hand, and almost too roughly for an invalid
forced him back into his chair.
“Sit down, my good friend, sit down. I hate ceremony. Sorry to see you so
ill. Your son never let me know any thing of your indisposition.” Then
addressing himself to Horatio Markham, he went on, “So, Mr. Barrister,
you left town in so great a hurry, you could not condescend to give me
notice of your departure.”
The younger Markham was about to speak, but Mr. Martindale waited not
for a reply. He proceeded to make more minute inquiries concerning the
illness of Mr. Markham the elder; but was not patient enough to wait
for distinct and separate answers. When a person in high spirits and
of natural hastiness of manner enters into any thing of a conversation
with others who are not in high spirits, he does not immediately notice
the contrast, for the loud crowing of his own voice is for a time a
reflection of his own cheerful thoughts; but even vivacity needs sympathy
to support it, and cannot long exist without. And when the first rush
of hasty greeting is over, then it is seen and felt that the vivacity
is not mutual, and then the cheerfulness abates. So fared it with Mr.
Martindale, who was for his years a man of astonishing vivacity and
activity. He soon perceived that there was a depression of spirits in the
family, and he rebuked himself for the almost levity of manner with which
he had addressed them. He then went on to talk common-place, and took
an opportunity of hinting to Horatio that it would be proper for him to
pay a little more homage to his patron. The mention of this brought some
observations from Mrs. Markham, acknowledging Mr. Martindale’s kindness
in taking notice of her son.
“Madam,” replied the old gentleman, “I think it an honor to have your
son’s acquaintance; and I wish he would not be quite so diffident of
himself. He is in the way to preferment; but he must not forget that
though such men as his noble patron may be ready enough to reward merit,
they have no time to hunt about for it.”
Mrs. Markham had, as we have observed, a degree of pride, and being the
mother of a son who was a young man of rather superior understanding,
she supposed that he was far above all the rest of the world, and must
make his way by dint of his own natural talents: therefore, as if she
imagined that her son required and needed no other patronage than the
power of his own mind, she replied,
“I feel very highly gratified, sir, by the kindness which my son has
experienced from you, but I wish that his success in the world may be
rather owing to his own merit than to patronage.”
“Madam,” replied Mr. Martindale, “your notions are very good for the
country; but London is a very large place, and those who have talents
must advertise them by some means or other. I am an old man, I have seen
something of the world, and I can tell you what I have seen; I have seen
talents lost, ruined, buried alive, rendered useless, ay, worse than
useless, a very torment to their possessors, because they have had a
pragmatical conceit that they must be independent of patronage. Excuse
me, my good lady, I am an oddity I know. Now let me ask you one question.
If you wished to go to the top of St. Paul’s Cathedral, which way would
you go?”
Mrs. Markham smiled at the oddness of the illustration, and replied, “Of
course, sir, I should go the usual way up the stairs.”
“To be sure you would,” replied Mr. Martindale; “but if, under the
notion of independence, you should attempt to climb up without the usual
assistance of common-place steps, you would find yourself miserably
disappointed. I tell you what, Mrs. Markham, I hate sycophancy and
fawning as much as you can do; and I should be no real friend to your
son, did I recommend him to adopt such means of advancing himself
in the world. But there is a fault on the other side; there is an
affectation of independence. Now this affectation neither the mob nor
the aristocracy can endure. As for your son, he can only rise by means
of his talents; he has nothing else to go to market with; he has no
votes or borough-interest wherewith to bribe ministers, and no pompous
foolery of speechification wherewith to purchase the approbation of the
mob. I respect him for his plain straightforward good sense, and if my
cub of a cousin, who has made his nobility ridiculous by his slip-shod
dignity and equivocal respectability, had possessed those qualities which
your son possesses, he might be called Right Honorable with a serious
countenance.”
This was the first time that Mr. Martindale had given way to such serious
reprobation of his noble relative. Our readers will, for Markham’s sake,
be glad to hear that the young gentleman had left the room before this
speech was uttered. There was so much seriousness in the language and
manner of expression, that though Mrs. Markham would to a person of her
own rank in life have ventured to make some reply of alleviation, but to
a person so much her superior as Mr. Martindale she was silent. The talk
then took another direction; but Mr. Markham the elder did not join in
the conversation, except so far as to express his acknowledgment to Mr.
Martindale for the kindness which he had shown to the young man.
The singular old gentleman then took his leave, almost as abruptly as he
had entered the house. It is, perhaps, one of the most difficult lessons
which persons in a certain rank have to learn, to know how to manage
condescension well. When a person of this rank converses with an inferior
with a temporary assumption of equality, there generally exists in the
mind of the inferior a feeling of awkward restraint, and a consciousness
that this aspect or tone of equality is merely put on, and rises not
from any feeling on the part of the individual so condescending of the
natural equality of the species: and in the apparent equality, greatness
is always jealous of encroachments. It was, however, a favorite amusement
with Mr. Martindale, under pretence of not regarding the artificial
distinctions of society, to hold free and unrestrained intercourse with
persons of every rank and of no rank; but he could never divest himself
of the tone and air of dogmatism. He always spoke as if he thought
himself Sir Oracle: yet nevertheless he was very good-humored withal,
and had, amidst all his oddities, a great benevolence of feeling and
disposition.
As we have noticed the inaptitude with which greatness sometimes
condescends, it may not be improper, on the other hand, to observe that
in those of inferior rank there is not unfrequently on such occasions
either a mean servility or a jealous suspicion, that the great one so
condescending thinks more of his superiority than he really does.
These mutual inaptitudes are great means of preserving, even in a
civilised country, the strong distinction of caste. But in the interview
which Mr. Martindale had with the parents of Horatio Markham there
was very little of this awkwardness, and the old gentleman afterwards
observed that Mrs. Markham was one of the most sensible women he had ever
seen.