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. II.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1829.
RANK AND TALENT.
CHAPTER I.
"Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this!"
SHAKSPEARE.
The season commenced in London much as usual. New faces were prepared,
and old ones repaired, for exhibition. All the world was weary of
the country; the ocean was monotonous; and the game all killed.
Equipages came in one after another. Saloons were lighted up; and every
successive night the noise of wheels and brilliancy of town-mansions
increased. Cards were handed about; and in the distribution our
queer friend, old John Martindale, was not forgotten. Many a saucy,
lace-bedizened lacquey sneered at the humble-looking residence of a
man whom nobility of the first rank condescended to notice. The report
was quickly spread abroad, that old Mr. Martindale had discovered a
daughter of the days of his imprudence. Many romantic tales were told
of the discovery; and many a wonder-exciting paragraph was inserted in
the newspapers, but nobody knew their authors. Brigland may be a famous
place for gossip, but London is infamous. Country-made lies and wonders
are nothing to be compared with those manufactured, swallowed, printed,
and circulated in London.
Old Mr. Martindale was overwhelmed with astonishment at the numbers
who paid their respects and congratulations personally. He had not
read the paragraphs in the newspapers. He had not heard that all the
world was talking of Signora Rivolta as the finest woman living, and
of Clara as the brightest jewel of a beauty. He did not know that
Colonel Rivolta was supposed to have been in the confidence of Napoleon
Bonaparte, and to be intimately acquainted with the secret history
of most of the courts of Europe. All these reports brought together
a multitude of curious and inquiring geniuses to pay their respects
to Mr. Martindale, who was ungrateful enough to call them a set of
simpletons for their pains. In the course of one week, Mr. Martindale
and his family received invitations to upwards of twenty parties of
one kind or another. The old gentleman himself could not tolerate
any species of visit except a snug quiet dinner-party. He resolved,
however, in order to gratify his daughter by the exhibition of what
might be to her a curiosity, to take her to some evening-party. With
this view he looked over the cards of invitation, in order to select
one which might be the least intolerable. The inviters would not have
been much flattered had they heard the old gentleman's comments on
their respective characters, and on the characters of their parties. He
took up the cards one after another, and looked them all over, giving a
cynical sneer as he surveyed them, and talking rather to himself than
to his daughter, who did not know the parties, he muttered:
"Lady B. is a great simpleton. I wonder how she contrives to fill her
rooms. Shan't let my daughter be seen in such company. Countess of
C.! Never saw such a vulgar woman. Talks one to death; asks the same
question ten times. Lady D.--I don't like Lady D. Very impertinent
woman: only invites my family to make a show of them. She'll stare poor
little Clara quite out of countenance. Stay, stop, Sampson, Sampson!
Oh, let me see! the soap-boiler; ay, he is a quiet sensible man; gives
a good dinner now and then: great fool though to be knighted; but that
was his wife's doing."
This grumbling, muttering soliloquy was carried to a much greater
length than we have thought it necessary to relate; and it at length
terminated in the resolution that, passing by the parties of those of
higher rank, he would take his family to be amused at the expense of
Sir Gilbert Sampson, and his over-decorated daughter. Philip Martindale
was, of course, ordered to attend them. It would have better suited his
inclinations had his unaccountable cousin fixed upon some one of higher
rank; but as it might yet be convenient for the honorable gentleman to
use the earnings of Sir Gilbert Sampson for the liquidation of claims
on the Martindale estate, he yielded with a tolerably good grace. In
good truth he could not help himself; his rank must be supported by
some means or other, and at present he had not any other than the
liberality, such as it was, of old John Martindale. That ingenious old
gentleman was cunning enough to know that the best mode of insuring
gratitude is to engage it prospectively: for he had lived long enough
in the world to see that men are more thankful for favors that are to
be, than for those that have been. He therefore kept his cousin in a
state of humble dependence by keeping him in a state of expectation. He
knew that he had him thoroughly in his power when the offer of Brigland
Abbey was accepted, and when the young gentleman relinquished his legal
studies, and took to living like a lord. When, however, a new interest
and a new set of favorites sprung up in the family of Colonel Rivolta,
the old gentleman cared less for his honorable cousin, and very readily
accepted his resignation of the great house. But the very acceptance of
the Abbey in the first instance, and the habits which it had created
destroyed all means and power of independence on the part of Philip,
and he was thus left at the mercy of his feeders for the time being. He
was, therefore, under an unavoidable necessity of complying with the
invitation.
A great, large, noisy, tumultuous, promiscuous, crowding, crushing,
perfumed, feathered, flowered, painted, gabbling, sneering,
idle, gossiping, rest-breaking, horse-killing, pannel-breaking,
supper-scrambling evening-party is much better imagined than described,
for the description is not worth the time of writing or reading it. It
was very presumptuous of Sir Gilbert Sampson thus to ape his betters.
Pity it is that no sumptuary laws are passed in this legislating age
to prevent all persons of inferior rank from imitating so closely the
manners of the higher orders. It should be ordained that all those who
can remember by what means and at what time their wealth was acquired
should be considered as people of yesterday, and be prohibited from
having any party beyond a certain number. We do not, however, assert
that the soap-boiler's evening-party was extraordinarily large, or
at all equalling some parties which are collected at the mansions of
higher people; but it was as large as it possibly could be, and Miss
Sampson had contrived to send out the invitations, so that the number
of carriages was great in proportion to the party.
Miss Sampsom among the splendid was the most splendid; and had there
been no looking-glasses in the rooms for the good people to enjoy the
sight of their own dear selves, her splendor would have fixed the gaze
of every eye in the apartments. Miss Sampson addressed Colonel Rivolta
in Italian; but the Colonel, either from politeness or because he
could not understand her, requested permission to use the language of
the country in which he was residing; for it was his opinion that it
was most suitable that the Italians should speak English in England,
and that the English should speak Italian in Italy. Miss Sampson was
going to say that the Italian language was as familiar to her as the
English, but she thought that was going too far. Signora Rivolta was
much astonished at the magnificence of the house, and at the number and
decorations of the guests. Fancying that she must be in an assemblage
of English nobility of the highest rank, and wishing to be familiar
with their names, she interrogated Miss Sampson, who was disposed to
be very communicative, as to the names, rank, title and honors of
several individuals to whom she directed Miss Sampson's attention.
Some of these Miss Sampson did not know, and therefore could not tell
their names; and unfortunately some of them she did know, and therefore
would not tell their names; lest being urged to be more descriptive and
particular, she should betray to the Signora that her visitors were not
all of them persons of rank. It is very true, and we are ashamed almost
to acknowledge the truth, that there are to be found most serious
manifestations and displays of the pride of rank even among those who
have no rank to be proud of. And Miss Sampson was more pleased with
her _papa's_ knighthood, the only thing that made him ridiculous, than
with his commercial success and his own natural good sense and good
understanding. But still Miss Sampson was a good-humored, kind-hearted
creature: this Signora Rivolta soon discerned; but she did also as
soon discern that the young lady was a simpleton. Had the Signora
required farther corroboration of her suspicions, that corroboration
was abundantly given when the Hon. Philip, after lounging about from
one drawing-room to another, and vainly looking for some one to whom
he might vouchsafe the patronage and condescension of his honorable
notice, presented himself to Miss Sampson. With a most pompous
obsequiousness, if our readers know what that means, did the young lady
receive the notice of and enter into conversation with the honorable
gentleman. She repeated his name in every sentence she uttered, and
talked very long and very loudly of Lord and Lady Martindale.
Signora Rivolta, to whom a crowded party was a novelty and a matter
of curiosity, employed herself in observing the individuals that
composed it; and it puzzled her much to divine the purpose for which
they were assembled. And as Miss Sampson was talking very earnestly and
attentively to Mr. Philip Martindale, the Signora left her, and went
in search of old Mr. Martindale, whom she found very much out of humor
at being out of breath in walking about in a few crowded rooms among
a set of people of whom he knew nothing. Poor little Clara was quite
as tired, and was very much disgusted at the rude manner in which some
great boys had stared at her. The carriage, however, had been ordered
at a certain hour, and it was absolutely necessary that the party
should remain till that hour, and support their troubles as well as
they could.
While Mr. Philip Martindale and Miss Sampson were sitting on the
same sofa, and Miss Sampson was waving her plumes and showing her
teeth, and laughing aloud at Mr. Philip's wit, there were standing near
the same sofa two young gentlemen, in very fashionable attire, who
seemed to be on very good terms with themselves and with each other.
They also took the liberty of talking wittily and laughing loudly.
Thereat Mr. Philip felt himself rather annoyed, and hinted his dislike
by most awful frowns and withering looks. But his frowns were not
dreaded, and his looks were not interpreted as he had designed them. He
therefore took the liberty of muttering, almost aloud, a short sentence
in which the word "puppy" was clearly audible, accompanying that word
with a look of interpretation towards one of the young gentlemen, so
that there could be no mistake as to its intended application. This
led to some angry words between the parties, at which Miss Sampson
would have gone into hysterics, but she did not know how, and the
supper-hour was very near at hand, and she was particularly desirous
of seeing how well the arrangements had been made. It therefore suited
her better to retire from the scene of contest, which she did, but not
without casting a look of disapprobation on the young gentleman who
was in angry talk with Philip Martindale. In spite of this look, cards
were exchanged. The Hon. Philip Martindale scowled at his adversary's
card without reading it, and put it hastily into his pocket. The name
was printed in the old English character called black letter, and was
not very legible; and the place of abode was so diminutively done,
that it also was not very distinct. Mr. Martindale's name was on such
a large space, and in such a small letter, that the agitated young
gentleman did not distinctly apprehend it. The parties therefore were
mutually pledged to unknown antagonists. This is a matter in which also
the legislature should interfere. People talk about the voluminous
nature of our statute-books, forsooth. Nonsense! they are not half
large or numerous enough. There is room and necessity for hundreds and
thousands of new laws. And if duelling cannot be prevented, it might at
least be regulated, and a shooting-license regularly taken out every
year; and the licenses only granted to persons of a certain rank, and
property, and age. Say, for instance, that none under fifteen years
shall be allowed a license; that livery servants, apprentices, clerks
in counting-houses, coach and waggon offices, hairdressers, and tailors
who use the thimble in person, should be considered as unqualified
persons. This would render duelling more select and respectable. But
let that pass.
The supper was very splendid and costly. Mr. Philip was at a distance
from Miss Sampson, but not so far as not to see that her eyes were
anxiously looking round and about the room as if in search of some
individual. He thought it must be only himself, but he was wrong; for
when he had caught the lady's attention, and smiles had been exchanged,
the anxiously inquiring look of Miss Sampson was repeated, and Mr.
Philip's curiosity was excited but not gratified. He also looked about
to catch a sight of the young gentleman who, by an exchange of cards,
had dared him to mortal combat. This young gentleman he could not see.
He therefore conjectured that the absent challenger was the person for
whom Miss Sampson was so eagerly looking. His next suspicion was, that
the young lady, in the fulness of her humanity and kind consideration,
was desirous of interposing, with her high authority, to prevent
bloodshed. With this suspected humanity he was not well pleased; and
he determined to take an opportunity of expostulating with the young
lady on the absurdity of her intentions, if he should detect and
ascertain that such were her intentions. But while this thought was
in his mind, the carriage of old John Martindale was at the door, and
the old gentleman was arbitrary and would not wait, or suffer any of
his party to keep his horses in the cold. That was very considerate of
the old gentleman. Dr. Kitchener, of facetious memory, was very much
indebted to old John Martindale for many valuable hints on the subject
of carriages and horses.
Poor Philip Martindale was therefore under the necessity of leaving
the party before he could have an opportunity of speaking to Miss
Sampson. This young lady, however, was more considerate than he had
imagined her to be; for she had indeed been anxious to prevent a duel
taking place; but her anxiety was not on the ground of anticipated
bloodshed, nor was it merely to save the wounds of the body, but
to prevent those of the mind or spirit. She had not the slightest
doubt that Mr. Philip Martindale would be extremely happy to receive
a pistol-ball between any two of his ribs; but knowing the young
gentleman's fastidious notions and feelings as concerns the subject
of rank and dignity, she thought that he would not properly enjoy the
pleasure of being shot, should he know that the kind friend to whom he
was indebted for that luxury was a young gentleman of the city, whose
usual occupation was casting accounts and making entries in a little
dark counting-house in the vicinity of the East India House.
As Mr. Martindale's carriage seldom moved at a much more rapid
rate than a hackney-coach, the party within had an opportunity of
hearing themselves speak. And very much was Mr. Philip entertained at
hearing the original and curious remarks which Signora Rivolta made
on the party which they were just leaving. So humorous, and withal so
good-naturedly satirical, were her observations, that Philip was quite
delighted with them. The subject was renewed when they had alighted
from the carriage, and entered the house, insomuch that the young
gentleman retired to bed and to sleep, absolutely forgetful of the
dreadful quarrel which had taken place at Sir Gilbert Sampson's.