purpose, you may be sure. In the first place, it shows what are the
reasons that nobody has made application to me concerning the new
professions, namely, because I have passed my word to make them known
in this Magazine, which persons may have for the purchasing, stealing,
borrowing, or hiring, and, therefore, they will never think of applying
personally to me. And, secondly, his story proves also my assertion,
viz, that all professions are most cruelly crowded at present, and that
men will make the most absurd outlay and sacrifices for the smallest
chance of success at some future period. Well, then, I will be a
benefactor to my race, if I cannot be to one single member of it, whom
I love better than most men. What I have discovered I will make known;
there shall be no shilly-shallying work here, no circumlocution, no
bottle-conjuring business. But oh! I wish for all our sakes that I had
had an opportunity to impart the secret to one or two persons only; for,
after all, but one or two can live in the manner I would suggest. And
when the discovery is made known, I am sure ten thousand will try. The
rascals! I can see their brass-plates gleaming over scores of doors.
Competition will ruin my professions, as it has all others.
It must be premised that the two professions are intended for gentlemen,
and gentlemen only--men of birth and education. No others could support
the parts which they will be called upon to play.
And, likewise, it must be honestly confessed that these professions
have, to a certain degree, been exercised before. Do not cry out at this
and say it is no discovery! I say it IS a discovery. It is a discovery
if I show you--a gentleman--a profession which you may exercise without
derogation, or loss of standing, with certain profit, nay, possibly with
honor, and of which, until the reading of this present page, you never
thought but as of a calling beneath your rank and quite below your
reach. Sir, I do not mean to say that I create a profession. I cannot
create gold; but if, when discovered, I find the means of putting it in
your pocket, do I or do I not deserve credit?
I see you sneer contemptuously when I mention to you the word
AUCTIONEER. “Is this all,” you say, “that this fellow brags and
prates about? An auctioneer forsooth! he might as well have 'invented'
chimney-sweeping!”
No such thing. A little boy of seven, be he ever so low of birth, can do
this as well as you. Do you suppose that little stolen Master
Montague made a better sweeper than the lowest-bred chummy that yearly
commemorates his release? No, sir. And he might have been ever so much
a genius or gentleman, and not have been able to make his trade
respectable.
But all such trades as can be rendered decent the aristocracy has
adopted one by one. At first they followed the profession of arms,
flouting all others as unworthy, and thinking it ungentlemanlike to
know how to read or write. They did not go into the church in very early
days, till the money to be got from the church was strong enough to
tempt them. It is but of later years that they have condescended to
go to the bar, and since the same time only that we see some of them
following trades. I know an English lord's son, who is, or was, a
wine-merchant (he may have been a bankrupt for what I know). As for
bankers, several partners in banking-houses have four balls to their
coronets, and I have no doubt that another sort of banking, viz, that
practised by gentlemen who lend small sums of money upon deposited
securities, will be one day followed by the noble order, so that they
may have four balls on their coronets and carriages, and three in front
of their shops.
Yes, the nobles come peoplewards as the people, on the other hand, rise
and mingle with the nobles. With the plebs, of course, Fitz-Boodle, in
whose veins flows the blood of a thousand kings, can have nothing to do;
but, watching the progress of the world, 'tis impossible to deny that
the good old days of our race are passed away. We want money still as
much as ever we did; but we cannot go down from our castles with horse
and sword and waylay fat merchants--no, no, confounded new policemen
and the assize-courts prevent that. Younger brothers cannot be pages
to noble houses, as of old they were, serving gentle dames without
disgrace, handing my lord's rose-water to wash, or holding his stirrup
as he mounted for the chase. A page, forsooth! A pretty figure would
George Fitz-Boodle or any other man of fashion cut, in a jacket covered
with sugar-loafed buttons, and handing in penny-post notes on a silver
tray. The plebs have robbed us of THAT trade among others: nor, I
confess, do I much grudge them their trouvaille. Neither can we collect
together a few scores of free lances, like honest Hugh Calverly in the
Black Prince's time, or brave Harry Butler of Wallenstein's dragoons,
and serve this or that prince, Peter the Cruel or Henry of Trastamare,
Gustavus or the Emperor, at our leisure; or, in default of service,
fight and rob on our own gallant account, as the good gentlemen of old
did. Alas! no. In South America or Texas, perhaps, a man might have a
chance that way; but in the ancient world no man can fight except in the
king's service (and a mighty bad service that is too), and the lowest
European sovereign, were it Baldomero Espartero himself, would think
nothing of seizing the best-born condottiere that ever drew sword, and
shooting him down like the vulgarest deserter.
What, then, is to be done? We must discover fresh fields of
enterprise--of peaceable and commercial enterprise in a peaceful and
commercial age. I say, then, that the auctioneer's pulpit has never yet
been ascended by a scion of the aristocracy, and am prepared to prove
that they might scale it, and do so with dignity and profit.
For the auctioneer's pulpit is just the peculiar place where a man of
social refinement, of elegant wit, of polite perceptions, can bring
his wit, his eloquence, his taste, and his experience of life, most
delightfully into play. It is not like the bar, where the better and
higher qualities of a man of fashion find no room for exercise. In
defending John Jorrocks in an action of trespass, for cutting down a
stick in Sam Snooks's field, what powers of mind do you require?--powers
of mind, that is, which Mr. Serjeant Snorter, a butcher's son with a
great loud voice, a sizar at Cambridge, a wrangler, and so forth,
does not possess as well as yourself? Snorter has never been in decent
society in his life. He thinks the bar-mess the most fashionable
assemblage in Europe, and the jokes of “grand day” the ne plus ultra of
wit. Snorter lives near Russell Square, eats beef and Yorkshire-pudding,
is a judge of port-wine, is in all social respects your inferior.
Well, it is ten to one but in the case of Snooks v. Jorrocks, before
mentioned, he will be a better advocate than you; he knows the law of
the case entirely, and better probably than you. He can speak long,
loud, to the point, grammatically--more grammatically than you, no
doubt, will condescend to do. In the case of Snooks v. Jorrocks he is
all that can be desired. And so about dry disputes, respecting real
property, he knows the law; and, beyond this, has no more need to be
a gentleman than my body-servant has--who, by the way, from constant
intercourse with the best society, IS almost a gentleman. But this is
apart from the question.
Now, in the matter of auctioneering, this, I apprehend, is not the case,
and I assert that a high-bred gentleman, with good powers of mind and
speech, must, in such a profession, make a fortune. I do not mean in all
auctioneering matters. I do not mean that such a person should be called
upon to sell the good-will of a public-house, or discourse about the
value of the beer-barrels, or bars with pewter fittings, or the beauty
of a trade doing a stroke of so many hogsheads a week. I do not ask a
gentleman to go down and sell pigs, ploughs, and cart-horses, at Stoke
Pogis; or to enlarge at the Auction-Rooms, Wapping, upon the beauty of
the “Lively Sally” schooner. These articles of commerce or use can be
better appreciated by persons in a different rank of life to his.
But there are a thousand cases in which a gentleman only can do justice
to the sale of objects which the necessity or convenience of the genteel
world may require to change hands. All articles properly called of taste
should be put under his charge. Pictures,--he is a travelled man, has
seen and judged the best galleries of Europe, and can speak of them as
a common person cannot. For, mark you, you must have the confidence
of your society, you must be able to be familiar with them, to plant a
happy mot in a graceful manner, to appeal to my lord or the duchess in
such a modest, easy, pleasant way as that her grace should not be hurt
by your allusion to her--nay, amused (like the rest of the company) by
the manner in which it was done.
What is more disgusting than the familiarity of a snob? What more
loathsome than the swaggering quackery of some present holders of the
hammer? There was a late sale, for instance, which made some noise in
the world (I mean the late Lord Gimcrack's, at Dilberry Hill). Ah! what
an opportunity was lost there! I declare solemnly that I believe, but
for the absurd quackery and braggadocio of the advertisements, much
more money would have been bid; people were kept away by the vulgar
trumpeting of the auctioneer, and could not help thinking the things
were worthless that were so outrageously lauded.
They say that sort of Bartholomew-fair advocacy (in which people
are invited to an entertainment by the medium of a hoarse yelling
beef-eater, twenty-four drums, and a jack-pudding turning head over
heels) is absolutely necessary to excite the public attention. What an
error! I say that the refined individual so accosted is more likely to
close his ears, and, shuddering, run away from the booth. Poor Horace
Waddlepoodle! to think that thy gentle accumulation of bricabrac should
have passed away in such a manner! by means of a man who brings down
a butterfly with a blunderbuss, and talks of a pin's head through a
speaking-trumpet! Why, the auctioneer's very voice was enough to crack
the Sevres porcelain and blow the lace into annihilation. Let it be
remembered that I speak of the gentleman in his public character merely,
meaning to insinuate nothing more than I would by stating that Lord
Brougham speaks with a northern accent, or that the voice of Mr. Shell
is sometimes unpleasantly shrill.
Now the character I have formed to myself of a great auctioneer is this.
I fancy him a man of first-rate and irreproachable birth and fashion. I
fancy his person so agreeable that it must be a pleasure for ladies to
behold and tailors to dress it. As a private man he must move in the
very best society, which will flock round his pulpit when he mounts
it in his public calling. It will be a privilege for vulgar people to
attend the hall where he lectures; and they will consider it an honor to
be allowed to pay their money for articles the value of which is stamped
by his high recommendation. Nor can such a person be a mere fribble; nor
can any loose hanger-on of fashion imagine he may assume the character.
The gentleman auctioneer must be an artist above all, adoring his
profession; and adoring it, what must he not know? He must have a good
knowledge of the history and language of all nations; not the knowledge
of the mere critical scholar, but of the lively and elegant man of
the world. He will not commit the gross blunders of pronunciation that
untravelled Englishmen perpetrate; he will not degrade his subject by
coarse eulogy or sicken his audience with vulgar banter. He will know
where to apply praise and wit properly; he will have the tact only
acquired in good society, and know where a joke is in place, and how far
a compliment may go. He will not outrageously and indiscriminately laud
all objects committed to his charge, for he knows the value of praise;
that diamonds, could we have them by the bushel, would be used as coals;
that above all, he has a character of sincerity to support; that he
is not merely the advocate of the person who employs him, but that the
public is his client too, who honors him and confides in him. Ask him
to sell a copy of Raffaelle for an original; a trumpery modern Brussels
counterfeit for real old Mechlin; some common French forged crockery for
the old delightful, delicate, Dresden china; and he will quit you with
scorn, or order his servant to show you the door of his study.
Study, by the way,--no, “study” is a vulgar word; every word is vulgar
which a man uses to give the world an exaggerated notion of himself or
his condition. When the wretched bagman, brought up to give evidence
before Judge Coltman, was asked what his trade was, and replied that “he
represented the house of Dobson and Hobson,” he showed himself to be
a vulgar, mean-souled wretch, and was most properly reprimanded by his
lordship. To be a bagman is to be humble, but not of necessity vulgar.
Pomposity is vulgar, to ape a higher rank than your own is vulgar, for
an ensign of militia to call himself captain is vulgar, or for a bagman
to style himself the “representative” of Dobson and Hobson. The honest
auctioneer, then, will not call his room his study; but his “private
room,” or his office, or whatever may be the phrase commonly used among
auctioneers.
He will not for the same reason call himself (as once in a momentary
feeling of pride and enthusiasm for the profession I thought he
should)--he will not call himself an “advocate,” but an auctioneer.
There is no need to attempt to awe people by big titles: let each man
bear his own name without shame. And a very gentlemanlike and agreeable,
though exceptional position (for it is clear that there cannot be more
than two of the class,) may the auctioneer occupy.
He must not sacrifice his honesty, then, either for his own sake or his
clients', in any way, nor tell fibs about himself or them. He is by no
means called upon to draw the long bow in their behalf; all that his
office obliges him to do--and let us hope his disposition will lead him
to do it also--is to take a favorable, kindly, philanthropic view of the
world; to say what can fairly be said by a good-natured and ingenious
man in praise of any article for which he is desirous to awaken public
sympathy. And how readily and pleasantly may this be done! I will take
upon myself, for instance, to write an eulogium upon So-and-So's last
novel, which shall be every word of it true; and which work, though
to some discontented spirits it might appear dull, may be shown to be
really amusing and instructive,--nay, IS amusing and instructive,--to
those who have the art of discovering where those precious qualities
lie.
An auctioneer should have the organ of truth large; of imagination and
comparison, considerable; of wit, great; of benevolence, excessively
large.
And how happy might such a man be, and cause others to be! He should go
through the world laughing, merry, observant, kind-hearted. He should
love everything in the world, because his profession regards everything.
With books of lighter literature (for I do not recommend the genteel
auctioneer to meddle with heavy antiquarian and philological works) he
should be elegantly conversant, being able to give a neat history of
the author, a pretty sparkling kind criticism of the work, and an
appropriate eulogium upon the binding, which would make those people
read who never read before; or buy, at least, which is his first
consideration. Of pictures we have already spoken. Of china, of jewelry,
of gold-headed canes, valuable arms, picturesque antiquities, with what
eloquent entrainement might he not speak! He feels every one of these
things in his heart. He has all the tastes of the fashionable world. Dr.
Meyrick cannot be more enthusiastic about an old suit of armor than
he; Sir Harris Nicolas not more eloquent regarding the gallant times in
which it was worn, and the brave histories connected with it. He takes
up a pearl necklace with as much delight as any beauty who was sighing
to wear it round her own snowy throat, and hugs a china monster with
as much joy as the oldest duchess could do. Nor must he affect these
things; he must feel them. He is a glass in which all the tastes of
fashion are reflected. He must be every one of the characters to whom
he addresses himself--a genteel Goethe or Shakspeare, a fashionable
world-spirit.
How can a man be all this and not be a gentleman; and not have had an
education in the midst of the best company--an insight into the most
delicate feelings, and wants, and usages? The pulpit oratory of such a
man would be invaluable; people would flock to listen to him from
far and near. He might out of a single teacup cause streams of
world-philosophy to flow, which would be drunk in by grateful thousands;
and draw out of an old pincushion points of wit, morals, and experience,
that would make a nation wise.
Look round, examine THE ANNALS OF AUCTIONS, as Mr. Robins remarks,
and (with every respect for him and his brethren) say, is there in the
profession SUCH A MAN? Do we want such a man? Is such a man likely or
not likely to make an immense fortune? Can we get such a man except out
of the very best society, and among the most favored there?
Everybody answers “No!” I knew you would answer no. And now, gentlemen
who have laughed at my pretension to discover a profession, say, have
I not? I have laid my finger upon the spot where the social deficit
exists. I have shown that we labor under a want; and when the world
wants, do we not know that a man will step forth to fill the vacant
space that Fate has left for him? Pass we now to the--
SECOND PROFESSION.
This profession, too, is a great, lofty and exceptional one, and
discovered by me considering these things, and deeply musing upon the
necessities of society. Nor let honorable gentlemen imagine that I am
enabled to offer them in this profession, more than any other, a promise
of what is called future glory, deathless fame, and so forth. All that
I say is, that I can put young men in the way of making a comfortable
livelihood, and leaving behind them, not a name, but what is better, a
decent maintenance to their children. Fitz-Boodle is as good a name as
any in England. General Fitz-Boodle, who, in Marlborough's time, and
in conjunction with the famous Van Slaap, beat the French in the
famous action of Vischzouchee, near Mardyk, in Holland, on the 14th of
February, 1709, is promised an immortality upon his tomb in Westminster
Abbey; but he died of apoplexy, deucedly in debt, two years afterwards:
and what after that is the use of a name?
No, no; the age of chivalry is past. Take the twenty-four first men who
come into the club, and ask who they are, and how they made their money?
There's Woolsey-Sackville: his father was Lord Chancellor, and sat
on the woolsack, whence he took his title; his grandfather dealt in
coal-sacks, and not in woolsacks,--small coal-sacks, dribbling out
little supplies of black diamonds to the poor. Yonder comes Frank
Leveson, in a huge broad-brimmed hat, his shirt-cuffs turned up to his
elbows. Leveson is as gentlemanly a fellow as the world contains, and if
he has a fault, is perhaps too finikin. Well, you fancy him related to
the Sutherland family: nor, indeed, does honest Frank deny it; but entre
nous, my good sir, his father was an attorney, and his grandfather
a bailiff in Chancery Lane, bearing a name still older than that of
Leveson, namely, Levy. So it is that this confounded equality grows and
grows, and has laid the good old nobility by the heels. Look at that
venerable Sir Charles Kitely, of Kitely Park: he is interested about the
Ashantees, and is just come from Exeter Hall. Kitely discounted bills
in the City in the year 1787, and gained his baronetcy by a loan to the
French princes. All these points of history are perfectly well known;
and do you fancy the world cares? Psha! Profession is no disgrace to
a man: be what you like, provided you succeed. If Mr. Fauntleroy could
come to life with a million of money, you and I would dine with him: you
know we would; for why should we be better than our neighbors?
Put, then, out of your head the idea that this or that profession is
unworthy of you: take any that may bring you profit, and thank him that
puts you in the way of being rich.
The profession I would urge (upon a person duly qualified to undertake
it) has, I confess, at the first glance, something ridiculous about
it; and will not appear to young ladies so romantic as the calling of a
gallant soldier, blazing with glory, gold lace, and vermilion coats;
or a dear delightful clergyman, with a sweet blue eye, and a
pocket-handkerchief scented charmingly with lavender-water. The
profession I allude to WILL, I own, be to young women disagreeable, to
sober men trivial, to great stupid moralists unworthy.
But mark my words for it, that in the religious world (I have once or
twice, by mistake no doubt, had the honor of dining in “serious” houses,
and can vouch for the fact that the dinners there are of excellent
quality)--in the serious world, in the great mercantile world, among the
legal community (notorious feeders), in every house in town (except some
half-dozen which can afford to do without such aid), the man I propose
might speedily render himself indispensable.
Does the reader now begin to take? Have I hinted enough for him that
he may see with eagle glance the immense beauty of the profession I am
about to unfold to him? We have all seen Gunter and Chevet; Fregoso, on
the Puerta del Sol (a relation of the ex-Minister Calomarde), is a good
purveyor enough for the benighted olla-eaters of Madrid; nor have I any
fault to find with Guimard, a Frenchman, who has lately set up in the
Toledo, at Naples, where he furnishes people with decent food. It has
given me pleasure, too, in walking about London--in the Strand,
in Oxford Street, and elsewhere, to see fournisseurs and
comestible-merchants newly set up. Messrs. Morel have excellent articles
in their warehouses; Fortnum and Mason are known to most of my readers.
But what is not known, what is wanted, what is languished for in England
is a DINNER-MASTER,--a gentleman who is not a provider of meat or wine,
like the parties before named, who can have no earthly interest in
the price of truffled turkeys or dry champagne beyond that legitimate
interest which he may feel for his client, and which leads him to see
that the latter is not cheated by his tradesmen. For the dinner-giver is
almost naturally an ignorant man. How in mercy's name can Mr. Serjeant
Snorter, who is all day at Westminster, or in chambers, know possibly
the mysteries, the delicacy, of dinner-giving? How can Alderman Pogson
know anything beyond the fact that venison is good with currant jelly,
and that he likes lots of green fat with his turtle? Snorter knows
law, Pogson is acquainted with the state of the tallow-market; but what
should he know of eating, like you and me, who have given up our time
to it? (I say ME only familiarly, for I have only reached so far in
the science as to know that I know nothing.) But men there are, gifted
individuals, who have spent years of deep thought--not merely
intervals of labor, but hours of study every day--over the gormandizing
science,--who, like alchemists, have let their fortunes go, guinea by
guinea, into the all-devouring pot,--who, ruined as they sometimes are,
never get a guinea by chance but they will have a plate of pease in May
with it, or a little feast of ortolans, or a piece of Glo'ster salmon,
or one more flask from their favorite claret-bin.
It is not the ruined gastronomist that I would advise a person to select
as his TABLE-MASTER; for the opportunities of peculation would be too
great in a position of such confidence--such complete abandonment of
one man to another. A ruined man would be making bargains with the
tradesmen. They would offer to cash bills for him, or send him opportune
presents of wine, which he could convert into money, or bribe him in one
way or another. Let this be done, and the profession of table-master is
ruined. Snorter and Pogson may almost as well order their own dinners,
as be at the mercy of a “gastronomic agent” whose faith is not beyond
all question.