Tout notre mal vient de ne pouvoir etre seuls; de la le jeu, le luxe,
la dissipation, le vin, les femmes, l’ignorance, la medisance, l’envie,
l’oubli de soi-meme et de Dieu.--La Bruyere.
The next day I resolved to call upon Tyrrell, seeing that he had not yet
kept his promise of anticipating me, and being very desirous not to lose
any opportunity of improving my acquaintance with him; accordingly, I
sent my valet to make inquiries as to his abode. I found that he lodged
in the same hotel as myself; and having previously ascertained that he
was at home, I made up my features into their most winning expression,
and was ushered by the head waiter into the gamester’s apartment.
He was sitting by the fire in a listless, yet thoughtful attitude. His
muscular and rather handsome person, was indued in a dressing-gown of
rich brocade, thrown on with a slovenly nonchalance. His stockings
were about his heels, his hair was dishevelled, and the light streaming
through the half-drawn window-curtains, rested upon the grey flakes with
which its darker luxuriance was interspersed, and the cross light in
which he had the imprudence or misfortune to sit (odious cross light,
which even I already begin carefully to avoid), fully developed the
deep wrinkles which years and dissipation had planted round his eyes
and mouth. I was quite startled at the oldness and haggardness of his
appearance.
He rose gracefully enough when I was announced; and no sooner had the
waiter retired, than he came up to me, shook me warmly by the hand, and
said, “Let me thank you now for the attention you formerly shewed me,
when I was less able to express my acknowledgments. I shall be proud to
cultivate your intimacy.”
I answered him in the same strain, and in the course of conversation,
made myself so entertaining, that he agreed to spend the remainder
of the day with me. We ordered our horses at three, and our dinner at
seven, and I left him till the former were ready, in order to allow him
time for his toilet.
During our ride we talked principally on general subjects, on the
various differences of France and England, on horses, on wines, on
women, on politics, on all things, except that which had created our
acquaintance. His remarks were those of a strong, ill-regulated mind,
which had made experience supply the place of the reasoning faculties;
there was a looseness in his sentiments, and a licentiousness in his
opinions, which startled even me (used as I had been to rakes of all
schools); his philosophy was of that species which thinks that the best
maxim of wisdom is--to despise. Of men he spoke with the bitterness of
hatred; of women, with the levity of contempt. France had taught him its
debaucheries, but not the elegance which refines them: if his sentiments
were low, the language in which they were clothed was meaner still:
and that which makes the morality of the upper classes, and which no
criminal is supposed to be hardy enough to reject; that religion which
has no scoffers, that code which has no impugners, that honour among
gentlemen, which constitutes the moving principle of the society in
which they live, he seemed to imagine, even in its most fundamental
laws, was an authority to which nothing but the inexperience of the
young, and the credulity of the romantic, could accede.
Upon the whole, he seemed to me a “bold, bad man,” with just enough of
intellect to teach him to be a villain, without that higher degree which
shews him that it is the worst course for his interest; and just enough
of daring to make him indifferent to the dangers of guilt, though it was
not sufficient to make him conquer and control them. For the rest,
he loved trotting better than cantering--piqued himself upon being
manly--wore doe-skin gloves--drank port wine, par preference, and
considered beef-steaks and oysters as the most delicate dish in the
whole carte. I think, now, reader, you have a tolerably good view of his
character.
After dinner, when we were discussing the second bottle, I thought it
would not be a bad opportunity to question him upon his acquaintance
with Glanville. His countenance fell directly I mentioned that name.
However, he rallied himself. “Oh,” said he, “you mean the soi-disant
Warburton. I knew him some years back--he was a poor silly youth, half
mad, I believe, and particularly hostile to me, owing to some foolish
disagreement when he was quite a boy.”
“What was the cause?” said I.
“Nothing--nothing of any consequence,” answered Tyrrell; and then added,
with an air of coxcombry, “I believe I was more fortunate than he, in
an affaire du coeur. Poor Granville is a little romantic, you know. But
enough of this now: shall we go to the rooms?”
“With pleasure,” said I; and to the rooms we went.