Then must I plunge again into the crowd, And follow all that peace
disdains to seek.--Byron.
In the quiet of my retreat I remained for eight days--during which time
I never looked once at a newspaper--imagine how great was my philosophy!
On the ninth, I began to think it high time I should hear from Dawton;
and finding that I had eaten two rolls for breakfast, and that my
untimely wrinkle began to assume a more mitigated appearance, I
bethought me once more of the “Beauties of Babylon.”
While I was in this kindly mood towards the great city and its
inhabitants, my landlady put two letters in my hand--one was from my
mother, the other from Guloseton. I opened the latter first; it ran
thus:
“Dear Pelham,
“I was very sorry to hear you had left town--and so unexpectedly too. I
obtained your address from Mivart’s, and hasten to avail myself of
it. Pray come to town immediately, I have received some chevreuil as
a present, and long for your opinion; it is too nice to keep: for all
things nice were made but to grow bad when nicest; as Moore, I believe,
says of flowers, substituting sweet and fleetest, for bad and nicest;
so, you see, you must come without loss of time.
“But you, my friend--how can you possibly have been spending your time?
I was kept awake all last night, by thinking what you could have for
dinner. Fish is out of the question in the country; chickens die of the
pip every where but in London; game is out of season; it is impossible
to send to Gibblet’s for meat; it is equally impossible to get it any
where else; and as for the only two natural productions of the country,
vegetables and eggs, I need no extraordinary penetration, to be certain,
that your cook cannot transmute the latter into an omelette aux huitres,
on the former into legumes a la creme.
“Thus, you see, by a series of undeniable demonstrations, you must
absolutely be in a state of starvation. At this thought, the tears rush
into my eyes: for heaven’s sake, for my sake, for your own sake, but
above all, for the sake of the chevreuil, hasten to London. I figure you
to myself in the last stage of atrophy--airy as a trifle, thin as the
ghost of a greyhound.
“I need say no more on the subject. I may rely on your own discretion,
to procure me the immediate pleasure of your company. Indeed, were I to
dwell longer on your melancholy situation, my feelings would overcome
me--Mais, revenons a nos moutons--(a most pertinent phrase, by the
by--oh! the French excel us in every thing, from the paramount science
of cookery, to the little art of conversation.)
“You must tell me your candid, your unbiased, your deliberate opinion
of chevreuil. For my part, I should not wonder at the mythology of
the northern heathen nations, which places hunting among the chief
enjoyments of their heaven, were chevreuil the object of their chace;
but nihil est omni parte beatum, it wants fat, my dear Pelham, it wants
fat: nor do I see how to remedy this defect; for were we by art to
supply the fat, we should deprive ourselves of the flavour bestowed
by nature; and this, my dear Pelham, was always my great argument for
liberty. Cooped, chained, and confined in cities, and slavery, all
things lose the fresh and generous tastes, which it is the peculiar
blessing of freedom and the country to afford.
“Tell me, my friend, what has been the late subject of your reflections?
My thoughts have dwelt much, and seriously, on the ‘terra incognita,’
the undiscovered tracts in the pays culinaire, which the profoundest
investigators have left untouched and unexplored in veal. But more of
this hereafter;--the lightness of a letter, is ill suited to the depths
of philosophical research.
“Lord Dawton sounded me upon my votes yesterday. ‘A thousand pities
too,’ said he, ‘that you never speak in the House of Lords.’ ‘Orator
fit,’ said I--orators are subject to apoplexy.
“Adieu, my dear friend, for friend you are, if the philosopher was right
in defining true friendship to consist in liking and disliking the same
things. [Seneca.] You hate parsnips au naturel--so do I; you love pates
du foie gras, et moi aussi--nous voila les meilleurs amis du monde.
“Guloseton.”
So much for my friend, thought I--and now for my mother, opening the
maternal epistle, which I herewith transcribe:
“My dear Henry,
“Lose no time in coming to town. Every day the ministers are filling up
the minor places, and it requires a great stretch of recollection in a
politician, to remember the absent. Mr. V--, said yesterday, at a
dinner party, where I was present, that Lord Dawton had promised him the
Borough of--. Now you know, my dear Henry, that was the very borough he
promised to you: you must see further into this; Lord Dawton, is a good
sort of man enough, but refused once to fight a duel; therefore, if he
has disregarded his honour in one instance, he may do so in another: at
all events, you have no time to lose.
“The young Duke of--gives a ball tomorrow evening: Mrs.--pays all the
expenses, and I know for a certainty that she will marry him in a week;
this as yet is a secret. There will be a great mixture, but the ball
will be worth going to: I have a card for you.
“Lady Huffemall and I think that we shall not patronize the future
duchess; but have not yet made up our minds. Lady Roseville, however,
speaks of the intended match with great respect, and says that since we
admit convenance, as the chief rule in matrimony, she never remembers an
instance in which it has been more consulted.
“There are to be several promotions in the peerage. Lord H--‘s friends
wish to give out that he will have a dukedom; Mais j’en doute. However,
he has well deserved it; for he not only gives the best dinners in town,
but the best account of them, in the Morning Post, afterwards; which I
think is very properly upholding the dignity of our order.
“I hope most earnestly that you do not (in your country retreat) neglect
your health; nor, I may add, your mind; and that you take an opportunity
every other day of practising waltzing, which you can very well do, with
the help of an arm-chair. I would send you down (did I not expect you
here so soon) Lord Mount E--‘s Musical Reminiscences; not only because
it is a very entertaining book; but because I wish you to pay much
greater attention to music than you seem inclined to do. T. H--who is
never very refined in his bon mots, says, that Lord M. seems to have
considered the world a concert, in which the best performer plays
first fiddle. It is, indeed, quite delightful to see the veneration
our musical friend has for the orchestra and its occupants. I wish to
heaven, my dear Henry, he could instil into you a little of his ardour.
I am quite mortified at times by your ignorance of tunes and operas:
nothing tells better in conversation, than a knowledge of music, as you
will one day or other discover.
“God bless you, my dearest Henry. Fully expecting you, I have sent to
engage your former rooms at Mivart’s; do not let me be disappointed.
“Yours,
“F. P.”
I read the above letter twice over, and felt my cheek glow and my heart
swell as I passed the passage relative to Lord Dawton and the borough.
The new minister had certainly, for some weeks since, been playing a
double part with me; it would long ago have been easy to procure me a
subordinate situation--still easier to place me in parliament; yet he
had contented himself with doubtful promises and idle civilities. What,
however, seemed to me most unaccountable was, his motive in breaking
or paltering with his engagement; he knew that I had served him and his
party better than half his corps; he professed, not only to me, but
to society, the highest opinion of my abilities, knowledge, and
application. He saw, consequently, how serviceable I could be as a
friend; and from the same qualities, joined to the rank of my birth
and connections, and the high and resentful temper of my mind, he might
readily augur that I could be equally influential as a foe.
With this reflection, I stilled the beating of my heart, and the fever
of my pulse. I crushed the obnoxious letter in my hand, walked thrice
up and down my room, paused at the bell--rung it violently--ordered post
horses instantly, and in less than an hour was on the road to London.
How different is the human mind, according to the difference of place.
In our passions, as in our creeds, we are the mere dependents of
geographical situation. Nay, the trifling variation of a single mile
will revolutionize the whole tides and torrents of our hearts. The man
who is meek, generous, benevolent, and kind in the country, enters the
scene of contest, and becomes forthwith fiery or mean, selfish or stern,
just as if the virtues were only for solitude, and the vices for the
city. I have ill expressed the above reflection; n’importe--so much the
better shall I explain my feelings at the time I speak of--for I was
then too eager and engrossed to attend to the niceties of words. On my
arrival at Mivart’s, I scarcely allowed myself time to change my dress
before I set out to Lord Dawton. He shall afford me an explanation,
I thought, or a recompence, or a revenge. I knocked at the door--the
minister was out. “Give him this card,” said I, haughtily, to the
porter, “and say I shall call to-morrow at three.”
I walked to Brookes’s--there I met Mr. V--. My acquaintance with him was
small, but he was a man of talent, and, what was more to my purpose, of
open manners. I went up to him, and we entered into conversation. “Is it
true,” said I; “that I am to congratulate you upon the certainty of your
return for Lord Dawton’s borough of--?”
“I believe so,” replied V--. “Lord Dawton engaged it to me last week,
and Mr. H--, the present member, has accepted the Chiltern Hundreds. You
know all our family support Lord Dawton warmly on the present crisis,
and my return for this borough was materially insisted upon. Such
things are, you see, Mr. Pelham, even in these virtuous days of
parliamentary purity.”
“True,” said I, dissembling my chagrin, “yourself and Dawton have made
an admirable exchange. Think you the ministry can be said to be fairly
seated?”
“By no means; every thing depends upon the motion of--, brought on next
week. Dawton looks to that as to the decisive battle for this session.”
Lord Gavelton now joined us, and I sauntered away with the utmost
(seeming) indifference. At the top of St. James’s-street, Lady
Roseville’s well known carriage passed me--she stopped for a moment. “We
shall meet at the Duke of--‘s to-night,” said she, “shall we not?”
“If you go--certainly,” I replied.
I went home to my solitary apartment, and if I suffered somewhat of the
torments of baffled hope and foiled ambition, the pang is not for the
spectator. My lighter moments are for the world--my deeper for myself;
and, like the Spartan boy, I would keep, even in the pangs of death, a
mantle over the teeth and fangs which are fastening upon my breast.