Wise kings choose wise ministers. Lord Spoonbill little thought what
a clumsy negociator he had selected in the person of Colonel Crop.
His lordship had not discernment enough to see that the Colonel was a
prodigious blockhead, and even when, as above recorded, the gallant
officer substituted in his narration the name of Arabella for that of
Penelope, neither the employed nor the employer had any suspicion that
there might be any error in the apprehension, or any mistake as to the
person sought.
It might also appear to some persons strange, that so great and so
sudden an alteration should have taken place in the mind of Miss
Primrose. But Lord Spoonbill had never rightly appreciated that young
lady’s character and disposition. For notwithstanding that Penelope
was a person of high spirit and great constitutional vivacity, there
was nothing in the temperament of her mind bordering on what is called
the satirical. She was not one of those half knowing ones, who are
ambitious of shewing their understanding by ridiculing the rest of the
world as fools. Indeed, whenever she did encounter a blockhead, and
that was not unfrequent, she made it rather a rule to treat him with
much consideration and tenderness of manner, knowing that no man would
voluntarily choose to be a booby.
Lord Spoonbill was somewhat of a blockhead, but he was not totally
and altogether obtuse. He had a considerable degree of pertness and
a certain coxcomical air, whereby he passed with himself and his
dependent intimates as a man of some understanding. Now, though Miss
Primrose could and did see that notwithstanding all his fine airs he
was but a very weak young man, yet she always behaved and spoke to him
most respectfully, and even diffidently. So that his lordship thought
himself a clever fellow in the sight of Miss Primrose.
Inasmuch, also, as Lord Spoonbill thought that Miss Primrose had
rejected his first overtures because, and only because, she had
anticipated a renewal of the acquaintance with Robert Darnley; now
his lordship apprehended that, as, according to the information which
he had received, this acquaintance was altogether at an end, Penelope
would be more disposed to accept of his offers.
His lordship therefore suffered the negociation to proceed according
to the proposal of Sir George Aimwell, imagining that, if Colonel Crop
could persuade Penelope to accompany him to London, there would be very
little difficulty in making any arrangement which his lordship might
then see proper to suggest. Upon these very agreeable reflections and
anticipations, Lord Spoonbill was proud that he could triumph over
the assumed wisdom and sagacity of his friend Erpingham. And, as soon
as his lordship returned from his important excursion to his newly
purchased borough, he called on his worthy Epicurean friend.
Erpingham was miserably changed in aspect and in manner since Lord
Spoonbill had seen him last. There had not been between this and the
previous visit an interval of many months; but in the short period
which had passed there had been a mighty change. The brightness of
his look was dimmed, the confidence of his manner was abated, and the
general air of his apartment seemed changed from comfort to negligence.
When Lord Spoonbill entered the apartment, he found his friend as usual
with a book before him; but he did not appear to be much occupied with
the book. There also lay on his table a newspaper, which was an unusual
sight, for Erpingham had been accustomed to avoid everything which
might in any degree awake unpleasant sympathies, and he used to observe
that newspapers were the repository of most disgusting and distressing
information. There was another manifest symptom of alteration in the
Epicurean’s habits and feelings, and that was a phial containing
laudanum. Now Erpingham had always expressed an abhorrence of all
manner of drugs, and had carefully avoided artificial stimulants,
fancying that they tended to greater evil by the lassitude which
followed their effects, than good by the temporary excitement which
they produced.
One alteration however in Erpingham’s manner appeared to Lord Spoonbill
as an alteration for the better, and that was the greater cordiality
with which the visit was received. It had been the practice of
Erpingham to receive such as called upon him with cold indifference,
and even occasionally to seem to look upon them as unwelcome intruders.
The reader may recollect the careless lounging manner in which
Erpingham received his friend Lord Spoonbill on a former occasion.
His lordship, as recorded, did not like such manner of reception. But
on the present occasion there was an improvement. The Epicurean’s
countenance brightened up for a moment when the name of his visitor was
announced; and, instead of sitting or lounging unmoveably, Erpingham
rose up and went to meet him, and with his own hand reached him a chair.
Lord Spoonbill was astonished at the change; but he was also astonished
at the manifest depression of the poor man’s spirits. For the smile
with which he received his friend soon vanished, and left the dull
symptoms of permanent and deep depression.
Erpingham closed his book, and in the midst of a suppressed yawn made
the usual enquiries and uttered the ordinary common-places, more after
the manner of the rest of the world than had formerly been his custom.
And when Lord Spoonbill had given the expected answers, he went on to
speak concerning Penelope Primrose.
“Oh yes, I recollect hearing you mention that name,” said Erpingham;
“and have you made your arrangements yet?”
“Not quite,” replied his lordship, “but I believe I soon may on my
own terms. You pretended to be mightily wise and discerning when you
uttered your oracles about ladies’ hearts and affections; but I think I
shall demonstrate that I understand the female heart as well as you do.”
“Very likely,” replied Erpingham; “I don’t make pretensions to any
great share of understanding on any subject.”
There was so much carelessness and coldness in the tone of this reply,
that Lord Spoonbill thought that his friend had been visited by some
calamity, or was labouring under some illness; and this apprehension
was strengthened by the sight of the phial of laudanum on the
table. Looking however again and more observingly at his friend’s
countenance, Lord Spoonbill fancied that he discerned symptoms rather
of mental than of bodily suffering. And with more considerateness than
might have been expected from him, his lordship did not abruptly ask if
any misfortune had happened to his friend, but turned the conversation
to general topics, and in doing this was much assisted by the newspaper
which was lying on the table. He thought that if Erpingham had met with
any misfortune and sought for sympathy, he would mention his sorrows
unasked.
As Lord Spoonbill had taken up the newspaper for the purpose of
finding some topic of common and meaningless talk, he held it in his
hand some time, uttering his occasional comments on its infinitely
various contents. Erpingham in the mean time made brief and sometimes
inapplicable replies to the observations, and by degrees this desultory
conversation grew less and less, and then ceased.
His lordship continued reading the paper silently, and Erpingham
amused himself by looking at the fire. Ever and anon did Lord Spoonbill
slily and cautiously lift up his eyes from the paper, endeavouring to
catch a furtive glance at his friend’s countenance in order to form, if
he possibly could, some conjecture as to what might be passing in his
mind. His lordship however was not by nature or habit well fitted for
reading the mind through the face.
After this unpleasant, and, to Lord Spoonbill unaccountable, silence
had continued for some few minutes, Erpingham took the phial of
laudanum, and pouring without any accurate admeasurement an apparently
large quantity into a glass of cold water, deliberately drank, to the
great astonishment of his lordship, a dose that indicated desperation
or long practice.
The right honorable one threw down the paper which he had been reading,
and uttering almost a scream of astonishment, exclaimed, “Good God,
Erpingham, are you mad?”
The Epicurean received and answered the exclamation with a start, a
frown, a laugh, and a sneer, which seemed almost simultaneous.
“Mad!” echoed he; “yes, I believe I am mad.” Then with greater
composure, and the manner of one in the perfect and sober possession of
his senses and judgment, and as if the dose just taken had produced no
effect whatever, he continued, “I believe I take rather too much; but
in the use of such stimulants it is difficult to observe moderation.
It is quite contrary to my theory to indulge in such a habit; but
necessity has no law.”
“And pray how long,” said Lord Spoonbill, “have you been accustomed to
this habit? You appear to be quite a veteran.”
“Not so much of a veteran as you seem to imagine,” replied Erpingham:
“I have made a very rapid proficiency.”
“But don’t you think it is very injurious?” asked Lord Spoonbill.
“To be sure I do,” replied the Epicurean; “but who is guided in his
conduct by what he thinks? I know it injures my health, I know that it
must shorten my life, I know that it makes me wretched, but I must take
it.”
Lord Spoonbill could not understand that logic; and Erpingham had too
great a contempt for his lordship’s understanding to explain it. We
have too great a respect for the understanding of our readers to think
that they need an explanation.
Erpingham, being now relieved from the vapour which had oppressed
him, began to talk freely and even cheerfully to his puzzled friend
Lord Spoonbill. The hereditary legislator could not by any means, or
by any effort of judgment, or any struggle of penetration, divine
what could have produced so great and so melancholy a change in his
formerly cheerful and light-hearted friend. There had not been one
individual in all Lord Spoonbill’s extensive range of acquaintance
who seemed to be so happily independent and so independently happy as
Erpingham. Now, if Colonel Crop had taken to drinking laudanum, Lord
Spoonbill would not have been very greatly surprised; for the colonel
did appear to require a stimulus, seeing that he was for the most part
grievously dull and prodigiously flat. But Erpingham was a man of
judgment and reflection, of humour and knowledge; and he had to all
appearance studied so thoroughly the art of happiness and enjoyment,
that sometimes Lord Spoonbill almost envied him. And he must have been
a very happy and a very obviously happy man for Lord Spoonbill to envy
him; for Lord Spoonbill had a very considerable opinion of himself,
of his own greatness both in possession and reversion. Lord Spoonbill
also regarded with peculiar and unspeakable delight the circumstance
of his being born of a noble family, and being destined to bear the
title of Earl of Smatterton; he thought that to be noble was to be the
envy and admiration of mankind. It must therefore have been something
very extraordinary that could lead his lordship to regard any one with
a feeling at all approaching to envy. With such feeling, however, he
certainly had regarded his friend Erpingham; and now to see that same
man sunk, from no apparent or assignable cause whatever, into a state
of miserable dejection, and depending for temporary excitement on an
artificial stimulant, puzzled and perplexed his lordship beyond measure.
Under this impression Lord Spoonbill could not avoid expressing his
feeling of astonishment: “Upon my word, Erpingham, you quite surprise
me. I always used to think you one of the happiest men living.”
“I have been too happy,” replied Erpingham.
Lord Spoonbill was puzzled again, and thought that his friend was
absolutely mad. His lordship shewed symptoms of his suspicion, and
Erpingham divined his thoughts.
“You think me more than half mad, and perhaps I am. I am not mad
however by the excitement of my daily dose of laudanum. It is that
which brings me to my senses, and I only know that I am not mad because
I am sure that I am so.”
Lord Spoonbill did not look the less surprised at this last speech
than he had at what he had heard and seen before. Erpingham, who
was amused at the bewilderment of his noble friend, went on to add
to the poor man’s perplexity by indulging himself with a long and
unconnected rhapsody of paradoxical prate, which sometimes sounded to
his lordship’s ear like the wisdom of an oracle, and sometimes like
the ravings of a madman. But there was nothing in Erpingham’s manner
of speaking that was expressive of wildness. His tone was gentle and
his utterance calm, and his appearance collected; and he shewed every
symptom of self-possession, except that his notions were so strange.
While Lord Spoonbill was listening in silent wonderment to this strange
talk, there was announced, very much to his lordship’s relief, a new
visitor; no less a personage than Zephaniah Pringle. And now the
mystery began to be in part unfolded, and Lord Spoonbill soon discerned
by the direction which the conversation took between Erpingham and
the critic, that if his friend’s understanding had not been impaired
by the use of laudanum, his taste had been corrupted by his literary
acquaintance with Zephaniah Pringle.
This gentleman has been already introduced to our readers, and it
is superfluous to say more in this place touching the critic’s
peculiarities, than that his ambition for distinction and notoriety was
very powerful; but as his actual ability was not equal to his ambitious
desires, and as he despaired of attaining distinction by excellence,
he sought to gain notoriety by eccentricities. Therefore he sought
out paradoxical modes of expressing common-place thoughts, and as in
some of his expressions he was intelligible, he was considered to be
ingenious in all. So it came to pass that his society was sought by
those who would never have noticed him for the sake of what his mind
contained, had it not been that he used a most singular and curious
mode of giving utterance to the contents of his mind and the results of
his meditation.
Mr Erpingham, who from weariness of spirit and from a satiety of
sensual luxury, was glad of everything that excited him, felt himself
mightily amused with Zephaniah’s paradoxes. And these two gentlemen
often amused themselves with most ingenious discussions on all
discussable subjects. Erpingham had by nature powers of discernment,
and understanding reasonably good, but he had by his own moral
indolence suffered those powers to lie dormant, and that understanding
to remain uncultivated. When by this neglect he had become nervous,
fanciful, and depressed, he was amused with any fooleries that
presented themselves, and so he was much entertained by Zephaniah
Pringle.
Zephaniah was a crafty one. He carried his wits to market. There is
no great harm in that. But finding that with this stock he was but
scantily provided, he had thrust into the panniers also his conscience
and his moral principles, and he mystified his sense of right and
wrong, and made people stare. And he made himself very useful to his
party; but though he could write most eloquently about loyalty and
religion, he could eat most heartily and talk most sycophantically at
the tables of those who had not much religion or loyalty to make a
boast of. Erpingham was amused to find how very ingeniously a man could
write in defence of the church without entertaining any regard whatever
for its doctrines or worship.
As Erpingham was himself very much pleased with Zephaniah, he
introduced him most triumphantly to Lord Spoonbill; and herein was
another illustration of the unsound state of Erpingham’s mind; for
Lord Spoonbill recollected that formerly his friend had spoken very
disrespectfully of the mental character of Zephaniah the critic.
As his lordship was not particularly partial to condescending when no
obvious and express advantage was derivable from so doing, he prepared
to depart on the arrival of Mr Pringle, thinking it a good opportunity
afforded him for taking his leave.
“Are you in a hurry?” said Erpingham.
“Yes,” replied his lordship, after a moment’s hesitation; “I am going
to look out for a snug little cottage in the neighbourhood of town for
a particular friend of mine.”
“Suppose I sell you mine?” said Erpingham.
Lord Spoonbill smiled, for he saw that Erpingham knew who the
particular friend was for whom the cottage was sought. His lordship
then replied; “Your’s, Erpingham! Surely you are not serious? How can
you think of parting with the place after having been at so much pains
and expense to render it so truly delightful?”
“I wish to part with it,” said Erpingham, “merely because it is
delightful; and it ceases to interest me because I cannot do anything
more to improve it; every alteration will make it less beautiful.”
“Now I wish,” replied his lordship, “that you would speak seriously.
Do you really intend to part with the cottage? Because, if you do, I
should be glad to purchase it.”
“I seriously do,” said Erpingham; “for I have an intention of spending
a little time on the Continent, in order, if possible, to get rid of
these vapours and blue devils.”
Zephaniah Pringle was then beginning with a mighty parade of pomposity
to say something very wise and oracular on the subject of blue devils
or the Continent, but Lord Spoonbill most unceremoniously cut the
critic short, and directed his conversation and attention all to
Erpingham, as if no one else were in the room.
It might have been rude for Zephaniah to speak at this juncture,
and a great piece of presumption in him to imagine that a lord and
a gentleman should admit, unasked, into their colloquy a low-born
plebeian critic; but still we cannot altogether acquit Lord Spoonbill
of rudeness for purposely and broadly repressing the poor man, and
treating the man of genius like a mere common man.
Zephaniah felt the indignity most deeply, and resented it mentally,
fully purposing to have his revenge in some form or other. There
seemed however very slight prospect of an opportunity of retaliating,
for Lord Spoonbill did not shew symptoms of book-making. The critic
remained during the conference between Lord Spoonbill and Mr Erpingham
in profound silence; and the conference ended at last in the promise
and overture of serious negotiation for the sale of the cottage to Lord
Spoonbill.