CHARACTERS.
Ay imputé a honte plus que médiocre être vu spectateur ocieux de tant
vaillans, disertz, et chevalereux personnaiges.
RABELAIS.
_Lady Clarinda_ (_to the Captain_).—I declare the creature has been
listening to all this rigmarole, instead of attending to me. Do you ever
expect forgiveness? But now that they are all talking together, and you
cannot make out a word they say, nor they hear a word that we say, I will
describe the company to you. First, there is the old gentleman on my
left hand, at the head of the table, who is now leaning the other way to
talk to my brother. He is a good-tempered, half-informed person, very
unreasonably fond of reasoning, and of reasoning people; people that talk
nonsense logically: he is fond of disputation himself, when there are
only one or two, but seldom does more than listen in a large company of
_illuminés_. He made a great fortune in the city, and has the comfort of
a good conscience. He is very hospitable, and is generous in dinners;
though nothing would induce him to give sixpence to the poor, because he
holds that all misfortune is from imprudence, that none but the rich
ought to marry, and that all ought to thrive by honest industry, as he
did. He is ambitious of founding a family, and of allying himself with
nobility; and is thus as willing as other grown children to throw away
thousands for a gew-gaw, though he would not part with a penny for
charity. Next to him is my brother, whom you know as well as I do. He
has finished his education with credit, and as he never ventures to
oppose me in anything, I have no doubt he is very sensible. He has good
manners, is a model of dress, and is reckoned ornamental in all
societies. Next to him is Miss Crotchet, my sister-in-law that is to be.
You see she is rather pretty, and very genteel. She is tolerably
accomplished, has her table always covered with new novels, thinks Mr.
Mac Quedy an oracle, and is extremely desirous to be called “my lady.”
Next to her is Mr. Firedamp, a very absurd person, who thinks that water
is the evil principle. Next to him is Mr. Eavesdrop, a man who, by dint
of a certain something like smartness, has got into good society. He is
a sort of bookseller’s tool, and coins all his acquaintance in
reminiscences and sketches of character. I am very shy of him, for fear
he should print me.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—If he print you in your own likeness, which is that
of an angel, you need not fear him. If he print you in any other, I will
cut his throat. But proceed—
_Lady Clarinda_.—Next to him is Mr. Henbane, the toxicologist, I think he
calls himself. He has passed half his life in studying poisons and
antidotes. The first thing he did on his arrival here was to kill the
cat; and while Miss Crotchet was crying over her, he brought her to life
again. I am more shy of him than the other.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—They are two very dangerous fellows, and I shall
take care to keep them both at a respectful distance. Let us hope that
Eavesdrop will sketch off Henbane, and that Henbane will poison him for
his trouble.
_Lady Clarinda_.—Well, next to him sits Mr. Mac Quedy, the Modern
Athenian, who lays down the law about everything, and therefore may be
taken to understand everything. He turns all the affairs of this world
into questions of buying and selling. He is the Spirit of the Frozen
Ocean to everything like romance and sentiment. He condenses their
volume of steam into a drop of cold water in a moment. He has satisfied
me that I am a commodity in the market, and that I ought to set myself at
a high price. So you see, he who would have me must bid for me.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—I shall discuss that point with Mr. Mac Quedy.
_Lady Clarinda_.—Not a word for your life. Our flirtation is our own
secret. Let it remain so.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Flirtation, Clarinda! Is that all that the most
ardent—
_Lady Clarinda_.—Now, don’t be rhapsodical here. Next to Mr. Mac Quedy
is Mr. Skionar, a sort of poetical philosopher, a curious compound of the
intense and the mystical. He abominates all the ideas of Mr. Mac Quedy,
and settles everything by sentiment and intuition.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Then, I say, he is the wiser man.
_Lady Clarinda_.—They are two oddities, but a little of them is amusing,
and I like to hear them dispute. So you see I am in training for a
philosopher myself.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Any philosophy, for Heaven’s sake, but the
pound-shilling-and-pence philosophy of Mr. Mac Quedy.
_Lady Clarinda_.—Why, they say that even Mr. Skionar, though he is a
great dreamer, always dreams with his eyes open, or with one eye at any
rate, which is an eye to his gain: but I believe that in this respect the
poor man has got an ill name by keeping bad company. He has two dear
friends, Mr. Wilful Wontsee, and Mr. Rumblesack Shantsee, poets of some
note, who used to see visions of Utopia, and pure republics beyond the
Western deep: but, finding that these El Dorados brought them no revenue,
they turned their vision-seeing faculty into the more profitable channel
of espying all sorts of virtues in the high and the mighty, who were able
and willing to pay for the discovery.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—I do not fancy these virtue-spyers.
_Lady Clarinda_.—Next to Mr. Skionar sits Mr. Chainmail, a good-looking
young gentleman, as you see, with very antiquated tastes. He is fond of
old poetry, and is something of a poet himself. He is deep in monkish
literature, and holds that the best state of society was that of the
twelfth century, when nothing was going forward but fighting, feasting,
and praying, which he says are the three great purposes for which man was
made. He laments bitterly over the inventions of gunpowder, steam, and
gas, which he says have ruined the world. He lives within two or three
miles, and has a large hall, adorned with rusty pikes, shields, helmets,
swords, and tattered banners, and furnished with yew-tree chairs, and two
long old worm-eaten oak tables, where he dines with all his household,
after the fashion of his favourite age. He wants us all to dine with
him, and I believe we shall go.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—That will be something new, at any rate.
_Lady Clarinda_.—Next to him is Mr. Toogood, the co-operationist, who
will have neither fighting nor praying; but wants to parcel out the world
into squares like a chess-board, with a community on each, raising
everything for one another, with a great steam-engine to serve them in
common for tailor and hosier, kitchen and cook.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—He is the strangest of the set, so far.
_Lady Clarinda_.—This brings us to the bottom of the table, where sits my
humble servant, Mr. Crotchet the younger. I ought not to describe him.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—I entreat you do.
_Lady Clarinda_.—Well, I really have very little to say in his favour.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—I do not wish to hear anything in his favour; and I
rejoice to hear you say so, because—
_Lady Clarinda_.—Do not flatter yourself. If I take him, it will be to
please my father, and to have a town and country house, and plenty of
servants and a carriage and an opera-box, and make some of my
acquaintance who have married for love, or for rank, or for anything but
money, die for envy of my jewels. You do not think I would take him for
himself. Why, he is very smooth and spruce as far as his dress goes; but
as to his face, he looks as if he had tumbled headlong into a volcano,
and been thrown up again among the cinders.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—I cannot believe, that, speaking thus of him, you
mean to take him at all.
_Lady Clarinda_.—Oh! I am out of my teens. I have been very much in
love; but now I am come to years of discretion, and must think, like
other people, of settling myself advantageously. He was in love with a
banker’s daughter, and cast her off at her father’s bankruptcy, and the
poor girl has gone to hide herself in some wild place.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—She must have a strange taste, if she pines for the
loss of him.
_Lady Clarinda_.—They say he was good-looking, till his bubble schemes,
as they call them, stamped him with the physiognomy of a desperate
gambler. I suspect he has still a penchant towards his first flame. If
he takes me, it will be for my rank and connection, and the second seat
of the borough of Rogueingrain. So we shall meet on equal terms, and
shall enjoy all the blessedness of expecting nothing from each other.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—You can expect no security with such an adventurer.
_Lady Clarinda_.—I shall have the security of a good settlement, and then
if _andare al diavolo_ be his destiny, he may go, you know, by himself.
He is almost always dreaming and _distrait_. It is very likely that some
great reverse is in store for him: but that will not concern me, you
perceive.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—You torture me, Clarinda, with the bare
possibility.
_Lady Clarinda_.—Hush! Here is music to soothe your troubled spirit.
Next to him, on this side, sits the dilettante composer, Mr. Trillo; they
say his name was O’Trill, and he has taken the O from the beginning, and
put it at the end. I do not know how this may be. He plays well on the
violoncello, and better on the piano; sings agreeably; has a talent at
versemaking, and improvises a song with some felicity. He is very
agreeable company in the evening, with his instruments and music-books.
He maintains that the sole end of all enlightened society is to get up a
good opera, and laments that wealth, genius, and energy are squandered
upon other pursuits, to the neglect of this one great matter.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—That is a very pleasant fancy at any rate.
_Lady Clarinda_.—I assure you he has a great deal to say for it. Well,
next to him, again, is Dr. Morbific, who has been all over the world to
prove that there is no such thing as contagion; and has inoculated
himself with plague, yellow fever, and every variety of pestilence, and
is still alive to tell the story. I am very shy of him, too; for I look
on him as a walking phial of wrath, corked full of all infections, and
not to be touched without extreme hazard.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—This is the strangest fellow of all.
_Lady Clarinda_.—Next to him sits Mr. Philpot, the geographer, who thinks
of nothing but the heads and tails of rivers, and lays down the streams
of Terra Incognita as accurately as if he had been there. He is a person
of pleasant fancy, and makes a sort of fairy land of every country he
touches, from the Frozen Ocean to the Deserts of Sahara.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—How does he settle matters with Mr. Firedamp?
_Lady Clarinda_.—You see Mr. Firedamp has got as far as possible out of
his way. Next to him is Sir Simon Steeltrap, of Steeltrap Lodge, Member
for Crouching-Curtown, Justice of Peace for the county, and Lord of the
United Manors of Spring-gun-and-Treadmill; a great preserver of game and
public morals. By administering the laws which he assists in making, he
disposes, at his pleasure, of the land and its live stock, including all
the two-legged varieties, with and without feathers, in a circumference
of several miles round Steeltrap Lodge. He has enclosed commons and
woodlands; abolished cottage gardens; taken the village cricket-ground
into his own park, out of pure regard to the sanctity of Sunday; shut up
footpaths and alehouses (all but those which belong to his electioneering
friend, Mr. Quassia, the brewer); put down fairs and fiddlers; committed
many poachers; shot a few; convicted one-third of the peasantry;
suspected the rest; and passed nearly the whole of them through a
wholesome course of prison discipline, which has finished their education
at the expense of the county.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—He is somewhat out of his element here: among such
a diversity of opinions he will hear some he will not like.
_Lady Clarinda_.—It was rather ill-judged in Mr. Crotchet to invite him
to-day. But the art of assorting company is above these _parvenus_.
They invite a certain number of persons without considering how they
harmonise with each other. Between Sir Simon and you is the Reverend
Doctor Folliott. He is said to be an excellent scholar, and is fonder of
books than the majority of his cloth; he is very fond, also, of the good
things of this world. He is of an admirable temper, and says rude things
in a pleasant half-earnest manner, that nobody can take offence with.
And next to him again is one Captain Fitzchrome, who is very much in love
with a certain person that does not mean to have anything to say to him,
because she can better her fortune by taking somebody else.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—And next to him again is the beautiful, the
accomplished, the witty, the fascinating, the tormenting, Lady Clarinda,
who traduces herself to the said Captain by assertions which it would
drive him crazy to believe.
_Lady Clarinda_.—Time will show, sir. And now we have gone the round of
the table.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—But I must say, though I know you had always a turn
for sketching characters, you surprise me by your observation, and
especially by your attention to opinions.
_Lady Clarinda_.—Well, I will tell you a secret: I am writing a novel.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—A novel!
_Lady Clarinda_.—Yes, a novel. And I shall get a little finery by it:
trinkets and fal-lals, which I cannot get from papa. You must know I
have been reading several fashionable novels, the fashionable this, and
the fashionable that; and I thought to myself, why I can do better than
any of these myself. So I wrote a chapter or two, and sent them as a
specimen to Mr. Puffall, the book-seller, telling him they were to be a
part of the fashionable something or other, and he offered me, I will not
say how much, to finish it in three volumes, and let him pay all the
newspapers for recommending it as the work of a lady of quality, who had
made very free with the characters of her acquaintance.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Surely you have not done so?
_Lady Clarinda_.—Oh, no! I leave that to Mr. Eavesdrop. But Mr. Puffall
made it a condition that I should let him say so.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—A strange recommendation.
_Lady Clarinda_.—Oh, nothing else will do. And it seems you may give
yourself any character you like, and the newspapers will print it as if
it came from themselves. I have commended you to three of our friends
here as an economist, a transcendentalist, and a classical scholar; and
if you wish to be renowned through the world for these, or any other
accomplishments, the newspapers will confirm you in their possession for
half-a-guinea a piece.
_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Truly, the praise of such gentry must be a feather
in any one’s cap.
_Lady Clarinda_.—So you will see, some morning, that my novel is “the
most popular production of the day.” This is Mr. Puffall’s favourite
phrase. He makes the newspapers say it of everything he publishes. But
“the day,” you know, is a very convenient phrase; it allows of three
hundred and sixty-five “most popular productions” in a year. And in
leap-year one more.