(_To the Editor_.)
Having observed in several papers and periodicals, (amongst which is _The
Mirror_, No. 553,) sketches of "the late Mr. Colton," and none of these
tending, in my opinion, to convey a correct idea of the character of this
extraordinary man; allow me to offer you a slight sketch of the latter
period of his life.
I am aware I shall be met by many with the squeamish proverb, _De mortuis
nil nisi bonum_; though I am not disposed at this moment to enter on a
discussion of the merits of this received axiom. Shakspeare tells us "The
evil that men do, lives after them."
Mr. Colton, or as he was vulgarly called, Parson Colton, arrived in Paris
in the year 1825 or 1826, from America, to which country he sailed from
England shortly previous to the murder of Weare. He was at that time in
possession of very little money; this small stock he increased by
borrowing upon the security of some valuable jewellery which he took out
from his creditors in this country. With this sum he commenced his career
as player at the public gaming-tables in Paris, more particularly that at
154 in the Palais Royal. The system upon which he played was at once bold
and original, and attended with great success. I have good authority (his
own) for stating, he was at one period a winner of upwards of £10,000. He
subsequently lost nearly half this sum, and he expended the remainder in
paintings by the ancient masters, of which, in the year 1828, he had a
splendid collection. These pictures he intended for the English market;
but in the latter part of the same year, he became unfortunate at the
gambling tables, and they were parted with by degress, the proceeds lost,
and their late owner, in a short time, reduced to beggary, or nearly so.
His last literary labour, if it is worthy of the name, was a history of
the Three Days of July, published by Galignani.
In person, Mr. Colton was ungainly; he stooped much, his gait was slovenly,
and his dress mean and dirty; the reason he assigned for not removing the
dirt that accumulated on the lower part of his trousers and upon his boots,
was that none but shoeblacks looked below the knee in so dirty a city as
Paris. As if fond of contradiction, he wore at the same time a ridiculous
superfluity of jewellery; his unwashed hands were adorned with rings, and
his shirt, which probably had not visited his _blanchisseuse_ for a
fortnight, was garnished with numerous brooches and pins of considerable
value. A heavy gold chain secured his watch in his waistcoat pocket, and
he carried two massive gold boxes, one for snuff, though he took none
himself, and the other for tobacco. His face was pale and emaciated, the
cheek bones being remarkably prominent; his left arm was considerably
contracted, as he was fond of saying, from a pistol wound received in a
duel. His habits were low; when not at the gaming house, he was to be
found in one of the lower English houses, smoking and drinking,
entertaining his pot companions, and acting what is vulgarly called, the
"king of the company." He possessed a fund of anecdote and wit, and had
his manners been more polished, and his character less exceptionable, his
society would doubtless have been much courted.
His lodgings, which were in the Palais Royal, above the Café Phoenix, were
particularly filthy; his bedroom, into which all visiters were shown, was
truly disgusting; though he had at the same time two sitting-rooms,
handsomely furnished, which were constantly locked, and into which he
himself perhaps did not enter once in a month. An anecdote, which he
related to me, will tend to illustrate his character and style of living.
A pair of his pantaloons became much worn in the pockets, and he took them
to a tailor to be repaired. They were brought home when he was absent, and
left below with the porter, who gave them to him on his return. The
following morning the _tailleur_ called while Colton was still in bed, for
the cash; he was shown into the bedroom by the miserable little urchin who
attended daily to light the fire, &c., and demanded in payment twenty
_sous_; this was resisted on the part of Colton as exorbitant, and the
_tailleur_, vexed at having parted with his work before payment, seized a
pair that were at the bedside, (imagining them the same that he had
stitched,) and was about to quit the room with them as security, when the
reverend gentleman, drawing a pistol from under his pillow, and presenting
it at the terrified mender of garments, swore he would favour him with the
contents unless the pantaloons were replaced: this was of course complied
with, and our indignant _tailleur_ immediately proceeded to _Monsieur le
Commissaire_, who dispatched messengers to require the attendance of the
party who had thus threatened the life of a Citizen of Paris. Colton then
explained that the pantaloons of which the plaintiff had taken possession,
were those he had worn on the preceding day, and contained cash that he
had brought from the gaming-house to the amount of nearly £2,000. He was
of course discharged on payment of the twenty _sous_ to the tailor.
Although generally considered mean, I have much pleasure in stating that I
have known him perform many acts of charity, frequently giving a dinner to
some one of his reduced countrymen, (of whom there are too many in Paris,)
and occasionally assisting them with small sums of money. It has been
stated that the dread of an operation which became necessary for a
complaint under which he laboured, was the cause of his suicide; this I
much doubt, since I have never met with a man of greater fortitude and
stronger nerve. I am rather disposed to think that the depressed state of
his finances, severing the only hold he had on his dissolute associates,
and the attention paid too often to wealth, though accompanied by vice,
having disappeared, he found himself pennyless and despised; he was
without religious consolation; his health declined, his spirits were
broken; he was, and felt himself, alone in the world, without friends and
without commiseration, and in a moment of desperation he put a period to
his reckless existence.
Your correspondent, _Enort_, has certainly viewed the sunny side of his
character; and that too I am disposed to think, with a burning glass. I
have passed many hours in his society, pleased with his wit and
epigrammatic sallies, but strive in vain to call to my recollection "the
spontaneous flow of his Latin, his quotations from the ancient and modern
poets, and his masterly and eloquent developement of every subject that
his acute intellect chose to dilate upon." His conversation was ever
_egotistical_ in the extreme: the bold assertion that his _Lacon_ was the
most clever work in the English language, was ever on his lips, and I
regret to add, obscenity and irreligion too often supplied the place of
wit or rational converse.
_Palace Row, New Road_.