THE SERPENTINE RIVER.
In his way to St. James’s street, where the wine-merchant lived, Sir
Philip Baddely picked up several young men of his acquaintance, who were
all eager to witness a trial of _taste_, of epicurean taste, between the
baronet and Clarence Hervey. Amongst his other accomplishments our hero
piqued himself upon the exquisite accuracy of his organs of taste. He
neither loved wine, nor was he fond of eating; but at fine dinners,
with young men who were real epicures, Hervey gave himself the airs of
a connoisseur, and asserted superiority even in judging of wine and
sauces. Having gained immortal honour at an entertainment by gravely
protesting that some turtle would have been excellent if it had not
been done _a bubble too much_, he presumed, elate as he was with the
applauses of the company, to assert, that no man in England had a more
correct taste than himself.--Sir Philip Baddely could not passively
submit to this arrogance; he loudly proclaimed, that though he would
not dispute Mr. Hervey’s judgment as far as eating was concerned, yet he
would defy him as a connoisseur in wines, and he offered to submit the
competition to any eminent wine-merchant in London, and to some common
friend of acknowledged taste and experience.--Mr. Rochfort was chosen
as the common friend of acknowledged taste and experience; and a
fashionable wine-merchant was pitched upon to decide with him the merits
of these candidates for bacchanalian fame. Sir Philip, who was just
going to furnish his cellars, was a person of importance to the
wine-merchant, who produced accordingly his choicest treasures. Sir
Philip and Clarence tasted of all in their turns; Sir Philip with real,
and Clarence with affected gravity; and they delivered their opinions
of the positive and comparative merits of each. The wine-merchant
evidently, as Mr. Hervey thought, leaned towards Sir Philip. “Upon
my word, Sir Philip, you are right--that wine is the best I have--you
certainly have a most discriminating taste,” said the complaisant
wine-merchant.
“I’ll tell you what,” cried Sir Philip, “the thing is this: by Jove!
now, there’s no possibility now--no possibility now, by Jove! of
imposing upon me.”
“Then,” said Clarence Hervey, “would you engage to tell the differences
between these two wines ten times running, blind-fold?”
“Ten times! that’s nothing,” replied Sir Philip: “yes, fifty times, I
would, by Jove!”
But when it came to the trial, Sir Philip had nothing left but oaths
in his own favour. Clarence Hervey was victorious; and his sense of the
importance of this victory was much increased by the fumes of the wine,
which began to operate upon his brain. His triumph was, as he said it
ought to be, bacchanalian: he laughed and sang with anacreontic
spirit, and finished by declaring that he deserved to be crowned with
vine-leaves.
“Dine with me, Clarence,” said Rochfort, “and we’ll crown you with three
times three; and,” whispered he to Sir Philip, “we’ll have another trial
after dinner.”
“But as it’s not near dinner-time yet--what shall we do with ourselves
till dinner-time?” said Sir Philip, yawning pathetically.
Clarence not being used to drink in a morning, though all his companions
were, was much affected by the wine, and Rochfort proposed that they
should take a turn in the park to cool Hervey’s head. To Hyde-park they
repaired; Sir Philip boasting, all the way they walked, of the superior
strength of his head.
Clarence protested that his own was stronger than any man’s in England,
and observed, that at this instant he walked better than any person in
company, Sir Philip Baddely not excepted. Now Sir Philip Baddely was a
noted pedestrian, and he immediately challenged our hero to walk
with him for any money he pleased. “Done,” said Clarence, “for ten
guineas--for any money you please:” and instantly they set out to
walk, as Rochfort cried “one, two, three, and away; keep the path, and
whichever reaches that elm tree first has it.”
They were exactly even for some yards, then Clarence got ahead of Sir
Philip, and he reached the elm tree first; but as he waved his hat,
exclaiming, “Clarence has won the day,” Sir Philip came up with his
companions, and coolly informed him that he had lost his wager--“Lost!
lost! lost! Clarence--fairly lost.”
“Didn’t I reach the tree first?” said Clarence.
“Yes,” answered his companions; “but you didn’t keep the path. You
turned out of the way when you met that crowd of children yonder.”
“Now _I_,” said Sir Philip, “dashed fairly through them--kept the path,
and won my bet.”
“But,” said Hervey, “would you have had me run over that little child,
who was stooping down just in my way?”
“_I_!’ not I,” said Sir Philip; “but I would have you go through with
your civility: if a man will be polite, he must pay for his politeness
sometimes.--You said you’d lay me _any money_ I pleased, recollect--now
I’m very moderate--and as you are a particular friend, Clarence, I’ll
only take your ten guineas.”
A loud laugh from his companions provoked Clarence; they were glad “to
have a laugh against him,” because he excited universal envy by the real
superiority of his talents, and by his perpetually taking the lead in
those trifles which were beneath his ambition, and exactly suited to
engage the attention of his associates.
“Be it so, and welcome; I’ll pay ten guineas for having better manners
than any of you,” cried Hervey, laughing; “but remember, though I’ve lost
this bet, I don’t give up my pedestrian fame.--Sir Philip, there are no
women to throw golden apples in my way now, and no children for me to
stumble over: I dare you to another trial--double or quit.”
“I’m off, by Jove!” said Sir Philip. “I’m too hot, damme, to walk with
you any more--but I’m your man if you’ve a mind for a swim--here’s the
Serpentine river, Clarence--hey? damn it!--hey?”
Sir Philip and all his companions knew that Clarence had never learned
to swim.
“You may wink at one another, as wisely as you please,” said Clarence,
“but come on, my boys--I am your man for a swim--hundred guineas upon
it!
----‘Darest thou, Rochfort, now
Leap in with me into this weedy flood,
And swim to yonder point?’”
and instantly Hervey, who had in his confused head some recollection of
an essay of Dr. Franklin on swimming, by which he fancied that he could
ensure at once his safety and his fame, threw off his coat and jumped
into the river--luckily he was not in boots. Rochfort, and all the other
young men stood laughing by the river side.
“Who the devil are these two that seem to be making up to us?” said
Sir Philip, looking at two gentlemen who were coming towards them; “St.
George, hey? you know every body.”
“The foremost is Percival, of Oakly-park, I think, ‘pon my honour,”
replied Mr. St. George, and he then began to settle how many thousands
a year Mr. Percival was worth. This point was not decided when the
gentlemen came up to the spot where Sir Philip was standing.
The child for whose sake Clarence Hervey had lost his bet was Mr.
Percival’s, and he came to thank him for his civility.--The gentleman
who accompanied Mr. Percival was an old friend of Clarence Hervey’s; he
had met him abroad, but had not seen him for some years.
“Pray, gentlemen,” said he to Sir Philip and his party, “is Mr. Clarence
Hervey amongst you? I think I saw him pass by me just now.”
“Damn it, yes--where is Clary, though?” exclaimed Sir Philip, suddenly
recollecting himself.--Clarence Hervey at this instant was drowning: he
had got out of his depth, and had struggled in vain to recover himself.
“Curse me, if it’s not all over with Clary,” continued Sir Philip. “Do
any of you see his head any where? Damn you, Rochfort, yonder it is.”
“Damme, so it is,” said Rochfort; “but he’s so heavy in his clothes,
he’d pull me down along with him to Davy’s locker:--damme, if I’ll go
after him.”
“Damn it, though, can’t some of ye swim? Can’t some of ye jump in?”
cried Sir Philip, turning to his companions: “damn it, Clarence will go
to the bottom.”
And so he inevitably would have done, had not Mr. Percival at this
instant leaped into the river, and seized hold of the drowning Clarence.
It was with great difficulty that he dragged him to the shore.--Sir
Philip’s party, as soon as the danger was over, officiously offered
their assistance. Clarence Hervey was absolutely senseless. “Damn it,
what shall we do with him now?” said Sir Philip: “Damn it, we must call
some of the people from the boat-house--he’s as heavy as lead: damn me,
if I know what to do with him.” [2]
Whilst Sir Philip was damning himself, Mr. Percival ran to the
boat-house for assistance, and they carried the body into the house.
The elderly gentleman who had accompanied Mr. Percival now made his way
through the midst of the noisy crowd, and directed what should be done
to restore Mr. Hervey’s suspended animation. Whilst he was employed in
this benevolent manner, Clarence’s worthy friends were sneering at him,
and whispering to one another; “Ecod, he talks as if he was a doctor,”
said Rochfort.
“‘Pon honour, I do believe,” said St. George, “he is the famous Dr.
X----; I met him at a circulating library t’other day.”
“Dr. X---- the writer, do you mean?” said Sir Philip; “then, damn me,
we’d better get out of his way as fast as we can, or he’ll have some
of us down in black and white; and curse me, if I should choose to meet
with myself in a book.”
“No danger of that,” said Rochfort; “for how can one meet with oneself
in a book, Sir Philip, if one never opens one?--By Jove, that’s the true
way.”
“But, ‘pon my honour,” said St. George, “I should like of all things to
see myself in print; ‘twould make one famously famous.”
“Damn me, if I don’t flatter myself, though, one can make oneself famous
enough to all intents and purposes without having any thing to say to
these author geniuses. You’re a famous fellow, faith! to want to see
yourself in print--I’ll publish this in Bond-street: damn it, in point
of famousness, I’d sport my Random against all the books that ever were
read or written, damn me! But what are we doing here?”
“Hervey’s in good hands,” said Rochfort, “and this here’s a cursed
stupid lounge for us--besides, it’s getting towards dinner-time; so
my voice is, let’s be off, and we can leave St. George (who has such a
famous mind to be in the doctor’s book) to bring Clary after us, when
he’s ready for dinner and good company again, you know--ha! ha! ha!”
Away the faithful friends went to the important business of their day.
When Clarence Hervey came to his senses he started up, rubbed his eyes,
and looked about, exclaiming--“What’s all this?--Where am I?--Where’s
Baddely?--Where’s Rochfort?--Where are they all?”
“Gone home to dinner,” answered Mr. St. George, who was a hanger-on of
Sir Philip’s; “but they left me to bring you after them. Faith, Clary,
you’ve had a squeak for your life! ‘Pon my honour, we thought at one
time it was all over with you--but you’re a rough one: we shan’t have to
‘pour over your grave a full bottle of red’ as yet, my boy--you’ll do as
well as ever. So I’ll step and call a coach for you, Clary, and we shall
be at dinner as soon as the best of ‘em after all, by jingo! I leave you
in good hands with the doctor here, that brought you to life, and the
gentleman that dragged you out of the water. Here’s a note for you,”
whispered Mr. St. George, as he leaned over Clarence Hervey--“here’s
a note for you from Sir Philip and Rochfort: read it, do you mind, to
_yourself_.”
“If I can,” said Clarence; “but Sir Philip writes a _bloody bad hand_.”
[3]
“Oh, he’s a _baronet_,” said St. George, “ha! ha! ha!” and, charmed with
his own wit, he left the boat-house.
Clarence with some difficulty deciphered the note, which contained these
words:
“Quiz the doctor, Clary, as soon as you are up to it--he’s an author--so
fair game--quiz the doctor, and we’ll drink your health with three times
three in Rochfort’s burgundy.
“Yours, &c.
“PHIL. BADDELY.
“P.S. Burn this when read.”
With the request contained in the postscript Clarence immediately
complied; he threw the note into the fire with indignation the moment
that he had read it, and turning towards the gentleman to whom it
alluded, he began to express, in the strongest terms, his gratitude
for their benevolence. But he stopped short in the midst of his
acknowledgments, when he discovered to whom he was speaking.
“Dr. X----!” cried he. “Is it possible? How rejoiced I am to see you,
and how rejoiced I am to be obliged to you! There is not a man in
England to whom I would rather be obliged.”
“You are not acquainted with Mr. Percival, I believe,” said Dr. X----:
“give me leave, Mr. Percival, to introduce to you the young gentleman
whose life you have saved, and whose life--though, by the company in
which you found him, you might not think so--is worth saving. This, sir,
is no less a man than Mr. Clarence Hervey, of whose universal genius you
have just had a specimen; for which he was crowned with sedges, as he
well deserved, by the god of the Serpentine river. Do not be so unjust
as to imagine that he has any of the presumption which is sometimes the
chief characteristic of a man of universal genius. Mr. Clarence Hervey
is, without exception, the most humble man of my acquaintance; for
whilst all good judges would think him fit company for Mr. Percival, he
has the humility to think himself upon a level with Mr. Rochfort and Sir
Philip Baddely.”
“You have lost as little of your satirical wit, Dr. X----, as of your
active benevolence, I perceive,” said Clarence Hervey, “since I met you
abroad. But as I cannot submit to your unjust charge of humility, will
you tell me where you are to be found in town, and to-morrow------”
“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,” said Dr. X----: “why not
to-day?”
“I am engaged,” said Clarence, hesitating and laughing---“I am
unfortunately engaged to-day to dine with Mr. Rochfort and Sir Philip
Baddely, and in the evening I am to be at Lady Delacour’s.”
“Lady Delacour! Not the same Lady Delacour whom four years ago, when we
met at Florence, you compared to the Venus de Medici--no, no, it cannot
be the same--a goddess of four years’ standing!--Incredible!”
“Incredible as it seems,” said Clarence, “it is true: I admire her
ladyship more than ever I did.”
“Like a true connoisseur,” said Dr. X----, “you admire a fine picture
the older it grows: I hear that her ladyship’s face is really one of the
finest pieces of painting extant, with the advantage of
‘Ev’ry grace which time alone can grant.’”
“Come, come, Dr. X----,” cried Mr. Percival, “no more wit at Lady
Delacour’s expense: I have a fellow-feeling for Mr. Hervey.”
“Why, you are not in love with her ladyship, are you?” said Dr. X----.
“I am not in love with Lady Delacour’s picture of herself,” replied Mr.
Percival, “but I was once in love with the original.”
“How?--When?--Where?” cried Clarence Hervey, in a tone totally different
from that in which he had first addressed Mr. Percival.
“To-morrow you shall know the how, the when, and the where,” said Mr.
Percival: “here’s your friend, Mr. St. George, and his coach.”
“The deuce take him!” said Clarence: “but tell me, is it possible that
you are not in love with her still?--and why?”
“Why?” said Mr. Percival--“why? Come to-morrow, as you have promised, to
Upper Grosvenor-street, and let me introduce you to Lady Anne Percival;
she can answer your question better than I can--if not entirely to your
satisfaction, at least entirely to mine, which is more surprising, as
the lady is my wife.”
By this time Clarence Hervey was equipped in a dry suit of clothes;
and by the strength of an excellent constitution, which he had never
injured, even amongst his dissipated associates, he had recovered from
the effects of his late imprudence.--“Clary, let’s away, here’s the
coach,” said Mr. St. George. “Why, my boy--that’s a famous fellow,
faith!--why, you look the better for being drowned. ‘Pon honour, if I
were you, I would jump into the Serpentine river once a day.”
“If I could always be sure of such good friends to pull me out,” said
Hervey.--“Pray, St. George, by-the-bye, what were you, and Rochfort,
and Sir Philip, and all the rest of my friends doing, whilst I was
drowning?”
“I can’t say particularly, upon my soul,” replied Mr. St. George; “for
my own part, I was in boots, so you know I was out of the question. But
what signifies all that now? Come, come, we had best think of looking
after our dinners.”
Clarence Hervey, who had very quick feelings, was extremely hurt by
the indifference which his dear friends had shown when his life was in
danger: he was apt to believe that he was really an object of affection
and admiration amongst his companions; and that though they were neither
very wise, nor very witty, they were certainly very good-natured. When
they had forfeited, by their late conduct, these claims to his regard,
his partiality for them was changed into contempt.
“You had better come home and dine with me, Mr. Hervey,” said Mr.
Percival, “if you be not absolutely engaged; for here is your physician,
who tells me that temperance is necessary for a man just recovered from
drowning, and Mr. Rochfort keeps too good a table, I am told, for one in
your condition.”
Clarence accepted of this invitation with a degree of pleasure which
perfectly astonished Mr. St. George.
“Every man knows his own affairs best,” said he to Clarence, as he
stepped into his hackney coach; “but for my share, I will do my friend
Rochfort the justice to say that no one lives as well as he does.”
“If to live well mean nothing but to eat,” said Clarence.
“Now,” said Dr. X----, looking at his watch, “it will be eight o’clock
by the time we get to Upper Grosvenor-street, and Lady Anne will
probably have waited dinner for us about two hours, which I apprehend
is sufficient to try the patience of any woman but Griselda. Do
not,” continued he, turning to Clarence Hervey, “expect to see an
old-fashioned, spiritless, patient Griselda, in Lady Anne Percival: I
can assure you that she is--but I will neither tell you what she is,
nor what she is not. Every man who has any abilities, likes to have the
pleasure and honour of finding out a character by his own penetration,
instead of having it forced upon him at full length in capital
letters of gold, finely emblazoned and illuminated by the hand of some
injudicious friend: every child thinks the violet of his own finding the
sweetest. I spare you any farther allusion and illustrations,” concluded
Dr. X----, “for here we are, thank God, in Upper Grosvenor-street.”