Oh, for a forty-parson power to chant
Thy praise, Hypocrisy! Oh, for a hymn
Loud as the virtues thou dost loudly vaunt,
Not practise!
BYRON.
Hypocrisy, the thriving'st calling,
The only saint's-bell that rings all in:
A gift that is not only able
To domineer among the rabble,
But by the law's empowered to rout,
And awe the greatest that stand out.
HUDIBRAS.
"All-pervading essence, whose subtle spirit hath become a part component
of everything this universe contains--power that presidest over nations
and countries, kingdoms and cities, courts and palaces, and every human
tenement, even to the lowly cot--leaven of the globe, that workest in
the councils of its princes, in the reasonings of its senates, in the
atmosphere of the court, in the traffic of the city, in the smiles of
the enamoured youth, and in the blush of the responding maid--thou that
clothest with awe the serjeant's coif and the bishop's robe--thou that
assistest at our nurture, our education, and our marriage, our death,
our funeral, and habiliments of woe,--all hail!
"Chameleon spirit--at once contributing to the misery of our existence
and adding to its fancied bliss--at once detested and a charm, to be
eschewed and to be practised--that, with thy mystic veil, dimmest the
bright beauty of virtue, and concealest the dark deformity of vice--
imperishable, glorious, and immortal HUMBUG! Hail!
"Thee I invoke--and thus, with talismanic pen, commence my spells,--and
charge thee, in the name of courtiers' bows, of great men's promises, of
bribery oaths, of woman's smiles, and tears of residuary legatees--
"Appear!
"By thy favourite works,--thy darling sinking fund,--the blessings of
free-trade,--thy joint-stock companies,--the dread of Popery,--the
liberality of East India Directors, and the sincerity of West India
philanthropists--
"Descend!
"By the annual pageants--by the Lord Mayor's show, and reform in
parliament--by Burdett's democracy, and the first of April--by
explanations, and calls for papers--by Bartlemy fair, and the minister's
budget--
"Come!
"By lawyers' consultations, and Chancery delay--public meetings, and
public dinners,--loyal toasts, and `three times three'--lady
patronesses, and lords directors,--and by the decoy subscription of the
chair--
"Descend!
"By the _nolo episcopari_ of the Bishops--
"Come!
"By newspaper puffs, and newspaper reports,--by patent medicines, and
portable dressing-cases, wine-merchant's bottles, ne-plus-ultra
corkscrews,--H---t's corn, C---tt's maize, W---'s blacking, and W---'s
champagne--
"Appear!
"By thy professional followers, the fashionable tailors, hairdressers,
boot-makers, milliners, jewellers--all the auctioneers, and all the
bazaars--
"Come to my aid!
"By thy interested worshippers by shuffling W---e, by Z--- M---y, Lawyer
S---ns, W---m S---th, T---l B---n, Sir G---r McG---r, and Dom M---l--
"Appear!
"By thy talented votaries--
"Descend!
"Still heedless!--Then by the living B---m, and the shade of C---g,
come!
"Rebellious and wayward spirit! I tell thee, come thou must, whether
thou art at a council to wage a war in which thousands shall perish, or
upon the padding of a coat, by which, unpaid for, but one ninth part of
a man shall suffer--whether thou art forging the powerful artillery of
woman against unarmed man, and directing the fire from her eye, which,
like that of the Egyptian queen, shall lose an empire--or art just as
busy in the adjustment of the bustle [see note 1] of a lady's-maid--
appear thou must. There is one potent spell, one powerful name, which
shall force thee trembling to my presence.--Now--
"By all that is _contemptible_--
"By all his patriotism, his affection for the army and the navy--by his
flow of eloquence, and his strength of argument--by the correctness of
his statements, and the precision of his arithmetic--by his sum
_tottle_, and by Joey H---e, himself--
"Appear!"
[_Humbug descends, amidst a discharge of Promethean and copperplate
thunder_.]
"'Tis well! Now perch upon the tip, and guide my pen, and contrive that
the wickedness and hypocrisy of the individual may be forgotten in the
absurdity of the scene."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The grooms made no scruple, after the catastrophe, to state all that had
passed between them and their master; it was spread through Cheltenham
with the usual rapidity of all scandal, in a place where people have
nothing to do but to talk about each other. The only confutation which
the report received, was the conduct of Mr Rainscourt. He was
positively inconsolable--he threw himself upon the remains, declaring
that nothing should separate him from his dear--dear Clara. The honest
old curate, who had attended Mrs Rainscourt in her last moments, had
great difficulty, with the assistance of the men servants, in removing
him to another chamber on the ensuing day. Some declared that he
repented of his unkind behaviour, and that he was struck with remorse;
the females observed, that men never knew the value of a wife until they
lost her; others thought his grief was all humbug, although they
acknowledged, at the same time, that they could not find out any
interested motives to induce him to act such a part.
But when Mr Rainscourt insisted that the heart of the deceased should
be embalmed, and directed it to be enshrined in an urn of massive gold,
then all Cheltenham began to think that he was sincere,--at least all
the ladies did; and the gentlemen, married or single, were either too
wise or too polite to offer any negative remark, when his conduct was
pronounced to be a pattern for all husbands. Moreover, Mr Potts, the
curate, vouched for his sincerity, in consequence of the handsome
gratuity which he had received for consigning Mrs Rainscourt to the
vault, and the liberal largess to the poor upon the same occasion. "How
could any man prove his sincerity more?" thought Mr Potts, who, blinded
by gratitude, forgot that although in affliction our hearts are softened
towards the miseries of others, on the other hand, we are quite as (if
not more) liberal when intoxicated with good fortune.
Be it as it may, the conduct of Mr Rainscourt was pronounced most
exemplary. All hints and surmises of former variance were voted
scandalous, and all Cheltenham talked of nothing but the dead Mrs
Rainscourt, the living Mr Rainscourt, the heart, and the magnificent
gold urn.
"Have you heard how poor Mr Rainscourt is?" was the usual question at
the pump, as the ladies congregated to pour down Number 3, or Number 4,
in accordance with the directions of the medical humbugs.
"More resigned--they say he was seen walking after dark?"
"Was he, indeed? to the churchyard, of course. Poor dear man!"
"Miss Emily's maid told my Abigail last night, that she looks quite
beautiful in her mourning. But I suppose she will not come on the
promenade again, before she leaves Cheltenham."
"She ought not," replied a young lady who did not much approve of so
handsome an heiress remaining at Cheltenham. "It will be very incorrect
if she does; some one ought to tell her so."
With the exception of Mr Potts, no one had dared to break in upon the
solitude of Mr Rainscourt, who had remained the whole day upon the
sofa, with the urn on the table before him, and the shutters closed to
exclude the light. The worthy curate called upon him every evening,
renewing his topics of consolation, and pointing out the duty of
Christian resignation. A deep sigh! a heavy Ah! or a long drawn Oh!
were all the variety of answers that could be obtained for some days.
But time does wonders; and Mr Rainscourt at last inclined an ear to the
news of the day, and listened with marked attention to the answers which
he elicited from the curate, by his indirect questions, as to what the
world said about him.
"Come, come, Mr Rainscourt, do not indulge your grief any more. Excess
becomes criminal. It is my duty to tell you so, and yours to attend to
me. It is not to be expected that you will immediately return to the
world and its amusements; but as there must be a beginning, why not come
and take your family dinner to-day with Mrs Potts and me? Now let me
persuade you--she will be delighted to see you--we dine at five. A hot
joint--nothing more."
Rainscourt, who was rather tired of solitude, refused in such a way as
to induce the worthy curate to reiterate his invitation, and at length,
with great apparent unwillingness, consented. The curate sat with him
until the dinner hour, when, leaning on the pastor's arm, Rainscourt
walked down the street, in all the trappings of his woe, and his eyes
never once raised from the ground.
"There's Mr Rainscourt! There's Mr Rainscourt!" whispered some of the
promenaders who were coming up the street.
"No! that's not him."
"Yes it is, walking with Mr Potts! Don't you see his beautiful large
dog following him? He never walks without it. An't it a beauty? It's
a Polygar dog from the East Indies. His name is Tippoo."
The house of the curate was but a short distance from the lodgings
occupied by Mr Rainscourt. They soon entered, and were hid from the
prying eyes of the idle and the curious.
"I have persuaded Mr Rainscourt to come and take a family dinner with
us, my dear."
"Quite delighted to see him," replied Mrs Potts, casting a sidelong
angry glance at her husband.
Mr Rainscourt made a slight bow, and threw himself on the sofa,
covering his face with his hand, as if the light was hideous.
Mrs Potts took the opportunity of escaping by the door, beckoning to
her husband as soon as she was outside.
"And I will go and decant the wine.--Quite in the family way, Mr
Rainscourt--no ceremony. You'll excuse me," continued the curate, as he
obeyed the summons of his wife, like a school-boy ordered up to be
_birched_.
"Well, my dear," interrogated Mr Potts, humbly, as soon as the door was
closed. But Mrs Potts made no reply, until she had led her husband to
such a distance from the parlour as she imagined would prevent Mr
Rainscourt from being roused by the high pitch to which she intended to
raise her voice.
"I do declare, Mr Potts, you are a complete _fool_. Saturday--all the
maids washing--and ask him to dinner! There's positively nothing to
eat. It really is too provoking."
"Well, my dear, what does it matter? The poor, man will, in all
probability, not eat a bit--he is so overcome."
"So over-fiddlesticked!" replied the lady. "Grief never hurts the
appetite, Mr Potts; on the contrary, people care more then about a good
dinner than at other times. It's the only enjoyment they can have
without being accused by the world of want of feeling."
"Well, you know better than I, my dear; but I really think that if you
were to die I could not eat a bit."
"And I tell you, Mr Potts, I could, if you were to die tomorrow.--So
stupid of you!--Sally, run and take off the tablecloth,--it's quite
dirty; put on one of the fine damask."
"They will be very large for the table, ma'am."
"Never mind--be quick, and step next door, and ask the old German to
come in and wait at table. He shall have a pint of strong beer."
Sally did as she was bid. Mr Potts, whose wine had been decanted long
before, and Mrs Potts, who had vented her spleen upon her husband,
returned into the parlour together.
"My dear Mr Potts is so particular about decanting his wine," observed
the lady, with a gracious smile, as she entered--"he is so long about
it, and scolds me so if ever I wish to do it for him."
Mr Potts was a little surprised at the last accusation: but as he had
long been drilled, he laughed assent. A tedious half-hour--during which
the lady had all the conversation to herself, for the curate answered
only in monosyllabic compliance, and Rainscourt made no answer
whatever--elapsed before dinner was announced by the German mercenary
who had been subsidised.
"Meinheer, de dinner was upon de table."
"Come, Mr Rainscourt," said the curate, in a persuasive tone.
Rainscourt got up, and without offering his arm to the lady, who had her
own bowed out in readiness, stalked out of the room by the side of Mr
Potts, followed by his wife, who, by her looks, seemed to imply that she
considered that the demise of one woman was no excuse for a breach of
politeness towards another.
The covers were removed--two small soles (much _too small_ for three
people), and a dish of potatoes. "Will you allow me to offer you a
little sole, Mr Rainscourt? I am afraid you will have a very poor
dinner."
Rainscourt bowed in the negative, and the soles disappeared in a very
short time between the respective organs of mastication of Mr and Mrs
Potts.
The dishes of the first course were removed; and the German appeared
with a covered dish, followed by Sally, who brought some vegetables, and
returned to the kitchen for more.
"I'm afraid you will have a very poor dinner," repeated the lady.--"Take
off the cover, Sneider.--Will you allow me to help you to a piece of
this?"
Rainscourt turned his head round to see if the object offered was such
as to tempt his appetite, and beheld a--_smoking bullock's heart_!
"My wife, my wife!" exclaimed he, as he darted from his chair; and
covering his face, as if to hide from his sight the object which
occasioned the concatenation of ideas, attempted to run out of the room.
But his escape was not so easy. In his hurried movement he had
entangled himself with the long table-cloth that trailed on the carpet,
and, to the dismay of the party, everything that was on the table was
swept off in his retreat; and as he had blindfolded himself, he ran with
such force against the German, who was in the act of receiving a dish
from Sally, that, precipitating him against her, they both rolled
prostrate on the floor.
"Ah, mein Got, mein Got!" roared the German, as his face was smothered
with the hot stewed peas, a dish of which he was carrying as he fell on
his back.
"Oh, my eye, my eye!" bellowed Sally, as she rolled upon the floor.
"My wife, my wife!" reiterated Rainscourt, as he trampled over them, and
secured his retreat.
"And oh, my dinner, my dinner!" ejaculated the curate, as he surveyed
the general wreck.
"And oh, you fool, you fool, Mr Potts!" echoed the lady, with her arms
akimbo--"to ask such a man to dine with you!"
"Well, I had no idea that he could have taken it so much to _heart_,"
replied the curate meekly.
But we must follow Rainscourt, who--whether really agitated by the
circumstance, or, aware that it would be bruited abroad, thought that a
display of agitation would be advisable--proceeded with hurried steps to
the promenades, where he glided through the thoughtless crowd with the
silent rapidity of a ghost. Having sufficiently awakened the curiosity
of the spectators, he sank down on one of the most retired benches, with
his eyes for some time thrown up in contemplation of the fleecy clouds,
beyond which kind spirits are supposed to look down, and weep over the
follies and inconsistencies of an erring world. Casting his eyes to
earth, he beheld--horror upon horrors--the detested bullock's heart,
which his great Polygar dog had seized during the confusion of the
dinner scene, and had followed him out with it in his mouth. Finding it
too hot to carry immediately after its seizure, he had, for a time, laid
it down, and had just arrived with it. There he was, not a foot from
the bench, his jaws distended with the prize, tossing up his head as if
in mockery of his master, and wagging his long, feathered tail.
Rainscourt again made a precipitate retreat to his own lodgings,
accompanied by the faithful animal, who, delighted at the unusual
rapidity of his master's movements, bounded before him with his
treasure, of which he was much too polite to think of making a repast
until a more seasonable opportunity. Rainscourt knocked at the door--as
soon as it was opened, the dog bounced up before him, entering the
chamber of woe, and crouching under the table upon which the golden urn
was placed with the heart between his paws, saluted his master with a
rap or two of his tail on the carpet, and commenced his dinner.
The servant was summoned, and Rainscourt, without looking at either the
urn, the dog, or the man, cried--in an angry tone, "Take that heart, and
throw it away immediately."
"Sir!" replied the domestic with astonishment, who did not observe the
dog and his occupation.
"Throw it away immediately, sir--do you hear?"
"Yes, sir," replied the man, taking the urn from the table, and quitting
the room with it, muttering to himself, as he descended the stairs "I
thought it wouldn't last long." Having obeyed his supposed
instructions, he returned--"If you please, sir, where am I to put the
piece of plate?"
"The piece of plate!" Rainscourt turned round, and beheld the vacant
urn. It was too much--that evening he ordered the horses, and left
Cheltenham for ever.
Various were the reports of the subsequent week. Some said that the
fierce dog had broken open the urn, and devoured the embalmed heart.
Some told one story--some another; and before the week was over, all the
stories had become incomprehensible.
In one point they all agreed--that Mr Rainscourt's grief was all
humbug.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"'Tis well!--Thou hast `done thy spiriting gently,' or, for thy tardy
coming, I would have sentenced thee to the task of infusing thy spirit
into the consistent Eldon, or into Arthur Duke of Wellington--where,
like a viper at a file, thou shouldest have tortured thyself in vain."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. Bustle. I am not certain whether I spell this modern invention
correctly; if not, I must plead ignorance. I have asked several ladies
of my acquaintance, who declare that they never heard of such a thing,
which, perhaps, the reader will agree with me, is all humbug.