How difficult it is to succeed in giving pleasure. When I addressed
you recently, I honestly intended to gratify you by the adoption of
a tone of easy familiarity. Surely, I thought to myself, I cannot be
wrong if I address my friend POMPOSITY by his name, and speak to him
in a chatty rather than in an inflated style. If I chose the latter,
might he not think that I was poking fun at him by cheap parody,
and manifest his displeasure by bringing a host of BULMERS about my
ears? These considerations prevailed with me, and the result was the
letter you received. But, _O pectora cæca_! I have learnt from an
authoritative source that you are displeased. You resent, it seems,
what you are pleased to term my affectation of intimacy, and you beg
for a style of greater respect in any future communications. So be it.
I have pondered for hours, and have eventually come to the conclusion
that I shall best consult your wishes by addressing you in a manner
suited to diplomatic personages of importance. I have noticed that
in their official intercourse these gentlemen move on stilts of the
most rigid punctilio, and I have often pictured to myself the glow
of genuine pride which must suffuse the soul of an ambassador or a
foreign Minister when, for the first time, he finds himself styled an
Excellency. It may be of course that he knows himself to be anything
rather than excellent, but he will keep that knowledge to himself,
stowed away in some remote corner of his mind, and never on any
account allowed to interfere with his enjoyment of the ignorant and
empty compliments that others pay him.
[Illustration]
I wish to ask you a simple question. Why do you render those who spend
their lives in your service so extremely ridiculous? That may be just
the fashion of your humour; but is it fair to persist as you do? There
is, for instance, my old friend BENJAMIN CHUMP, little BEN CHUMP as
we used to call him in the irreverent days, before his face had turned
purple or his waistcoat had prevented him from catching stray glimpses
of his patent-leathered toes. Little BEN was not made for the country,
that was certain. A life of Clubs and dinner-parties would have suited
him to perfection. In his Club he could always pose before a select
and, it must be added, a dwindling circle as a man of influence.
"There is no Club, however watched and tended, but one dread bore
is there." BEN might have developed into a prime bore, but as he was
plentifully supplied with money and had a good cook and a pleasant
wife, he would always have managed to gather round him plenty of
guests who would have forgiven him his elaborate platitudes, for the
sake of his admirable made-dishes. Suddenly, however, he resolved to
become a country gentleman. As there is no law to prevent a CHUMP
from turning into a squire, BEN had not to wait very long before he
was able to put his fatal resolve into execution. He purchased an
Elizabethan mansion, and descended with all his airs and belongings
upon the unhappy country-side which he had decided to make the scene
of his rural education. Before that I used to see him constantly.
After that I quite lost sight of him. Occasionally I read paragraphs
in weekly papers about immense festivities due to the enterprise of
the CHUMPS, and from time to time I received local papers containing
long accounts of hunt breakfasts, athletic sports, the roasting of
whole oxen, and other such stirring country incidents in which it
appeared that the CHUMPS took a prominent part. I will do BEN the
credit to say that he never omitted to mark with broad red pencil
those parts which referred specially to himself, or reported any
speech he may have happened to make.
Eventually that which I dreaded came about. Circumstances made it
impossible for me to refuse an invitation to Carchester Manor, and
on a certain evening in the first week of December I found myself a
guest under the roof of the CHUMPS. The entertainment provided was, I
am bound to say, magnificent. Every want that the most exacting guest
could feel was supplied almost before he had expressed it, and all
that gorgeous rooms, stately retainers and irreproachable cooking
could do to secure our comfort was done at Carchester Manor. But CHUMP
himself was on that first evening the grandest spectacle of all. He
overpowered me. Like some huge Spanish galleon making her way with
bellying sails and majestic progress amidst a fleet of cockle-shells,
so did CHUMP bear himself amidst his party. The neighbouring magnates
came to meet us. Lord and Lady AGINCOURT with their charming daughter
Lady MABEL POICTIERS, Sir GEORGE BUCKWHEAT and his wife, the Reverend
Canon and Mrs. CATSPAW, and a host of others were there to do CHUMP
honour. I thought of POLYCRATES and his ring and of other well-known
examples. Something I knew must happen to disturb this edifice of
pompous grandeur. The something was not long in coming, for just after
CHUMP had expatiated at immense length upon the vintages of France,
after he had offered to stock the failing cellars of Lord AGINCOURT
from his own, after the butler had, with due parade, placed two corks
at his master's side in token of the treat that was to follow, it was
discovered by little BILLY SILTZER, an impudent dog without veneration
or reticence, that _both_ the bottles of _Pontet Canet_ were
disgustingly corked. To my relief, but to CHUMP's discomfiture, BILLY
announced his discovery. "BEN, my boy," he shouted across the table,
"the moths have been at this tap of wine. I'm afraid his Lordship
won't care to take it off your hands." BEN became blue with suppressed
fury. The trembling butler obeyed his angry summons. "Take that stuff
away," said BEN, "and drink it yourself. Bring fresh wine at once."
But, alas, for wasted indignation, no more _Pontet Canet_ was
forthcoming, and we had to satisfy ourselves on a wine whose
inferiority no flourish of trumpets could disguise.
Now there is nothing in the accident of a corked bottle that ought
to crush a man. I have seen a host rise serenely after such an
occurrence, and nobody dreamt of imputing it to him for wickedness.
But the contrast between the magniloquence of poor BEN and the deadly
failure of his wine, was too great. Even Lady MABEL, a kind girl
without affectations, could not forbear a smile when the incident was
narrated to her in the drawing-room, and some of the other guests,
whose names I charitably refrain from mentioning, seemed quite radiant
with pleasure at the misfortune of their host. CHUMP, however, was not
long in recovering, and before many hours had passed, he was assuring
us in the smoking-room, that he proposed to establish sport in his
particular district on a broad and enduring basis. On the following
morning there was a lawn-meet at the Manor, and, as I'm a living
sinner, our wretched host was flung flat on his back before the eyes
of all the neighbouring sportsmen and sportswomen by a fiery chestnut
which he bought for £400 from a well-known dealer. What became of him
during the rest of the day I know not. Indeed I shrink from continuing
the story of his ridiculous humiliations, and I merely desire to
remark that if this be your Excellency's manner of rewarding those
who serve you, I pray that I may be for ever preserved from your
patronage.
So much, then, for BENJAMIN. In spite of everything I have a sort of
sneaking regard for the poor man, especially since I discovered that
he was not a free agent, but was inspired in word and action by your
blatant influence. Were it not that I feared to weary you, I might
proceed at much greater length. I might parade before you regiment
upon regiment of pompous local magnates and political nobodies all
drilled and disciplined by your offensive methods, and all of them
as absurd and preposterous as they can be made. But the spectacle
would only move you to derision. One point, however, I must insist
on. Whatever you do, don't throw JOSHUA POSER across my path again.
I might do him an injury. We were at College together, he being my
senior by a year. Even then he always assumed a condescension towards
me, an air as of one who temporarily stepped down from a pedestal to
mingle with common grovellers. He became a personage in the City,
a Chairman and a Director of Companies, and I lost sight of him.
Yesterday I met him, and he was good enough to address me. "Yes,
yes," he observed, "I remember you well. I have read some of your
contributions to periodical literature, and I can honestly say I
was pleased; yes, I was pleased. Of course the work is unequal,
and I marked one or two passages that might have been omitted with
advantage. For instance, the discussion between the vicar and the
family doctor is not quite in the most refined taste, but there is
distinct promise even in that. By the way, why don't you write in _The
New Congeries_? Your style would suit it. I always take that paper in,
and I find it very much appreciated in the pantry. The butler reads
it, when we have done with it, and passes it on to the footman. It
keeps them out of mischief. Now take my advice, and contribute to
that." I humbly murmured my thanks to this intolerable person, and
left him. As I turned away I half thought I heard the sound of your
Excellency's bellows in the neighbourhood of POSER. Was I wrong?
I remain (merely in an epistolary sense),
Your Excellency's humble servant,