THE FEAST OF LAPITHAE
The host himself led the way down stairs; while the rear of the party
was brought up by Mr. Whymper, to whom Yorke attached himself.
When they reached the dining-room, and before they took their seats at
the ample table, the chaplain, with sonorous voice, gave a view holloa!
which was the Crompton grace.
"It is very distressing to me to have to act in this way," whispered he
to his young friend, whose countenance betrayed considerable
astonishment; but it is the custom of the house; and, after all, there
is no great harm in it. _De minimis non curat lex_, you know."
"That does not hold good with respect to the law of affiliation,
parson," observed Mr. Byam Ryll, who sat on the other side of him, "if,
at least, I have not forgotten my _Burns_."
"I always understood that Burns had very loose views upon such matters,"
returned the chaplain, demurely.
"My dear parson, your remark is like that excellent condiment which I
wish I could see at this otherwise well-provided table--caviare to the
multitude. Why is it not furnished? You have only to say the word." Here
he addressed himself to Yorke: "This worthy divine who sits at the
bottom of the table, young gentleman, and who has neglected his duty in
not having introduced us, is all-powerful here; and we all endeavor to
make friends of him; nor is that circumstance, it is whispered, the only
respect in which he resembles the mammon of unrighteousness."
A shadow of annoyance crossed the parson's smiling face.
"Mr. Richard Yorke," said he, "this is Mr. Byam Ryll, our unlicensed
jester."
"The parson, on the contrary," retorted the other, with twinkling eyes,
"is our Vice, and gives himself every license. What is the matter with
Carew to-night? He looks glum. I dare say he has been eating greens and
bacon at some farm-house, and is now regretting the circumstance. He has
no moral courage, poor fellow, and knows not how to deny his appetite."
"You never did such a wasteful thing in your life, Byam, I'll warrant,"
said the parson, smiling; "and yet some say that you have been a
profligate."
"I know it," replied the gourmand, shaking his head; "and I forgive
them. They call me a slave to my stomach; if it be so, I at least serve
a master of some capacity, which is not the case with every body."
"You are saying something about _me_, you big fat man," cried Carew,
from the other end of the table, and his voice had a very unpleasant
grasp in it. "Come, out with it!"
"If our venerable friend does not stoop to deception," whispered the
parson into Yorke's ear, "he will now find himself in an ugly hole."
"I was observing that you did not eat your lamperns, Squire," said the
stout gentleman, "and remarked that you were in no want of a feeder."
"What's a feeder?" returned the host, ill-temperedly. "If it's a bib,
you'll soon want one yourself, for, egad, you're getting near your
second childhood!"
"It must have been my plumpness and innocence which suggested that
idea," responded the other, smiling. "But if you have never known a
feeder, you have missed a great advantage, Squire. When you dine with my
Lord Mayor the question is always asked, will you have a feeder, or will
you not? If you say 'Yes,' you pay your half-guinea, and get him. He is
generally a grave old gentleman like myself, and much resembles a
beneficed clergyman. He stands behind your chair throughout the feast,
and delicately suggests what it is best for you to eat, to drink, and to
avoid. 'No; _no_ salmon,' he murmurs, if you have had turbot already;
and, '_Now_, a glass of Burgundy, _if_ you please, Sir;'
or, '_Now_, a glass of sherry.' If an indigestible or ill-compounded
_entree_ is handed, he will whisper 'No, Sir: neither now nor never,'
with quite an outburst of honest indignation; nor will he suffer you to
take Gruyere cheese, nor port with your Stilton. The consequence is,
that the next morning you feel as lively as though you had not feasted
on the previous evening, and convinced that you made a good investment
of your half-guinea in securing his services. If there was a feeder at
Crompton," concluded the old gourmand, sighing, and with a hypocritical
look, "it would be a boon to some of you young fellows, and might
produce a healthy and devout old age."
"That's a good one!" "Well done, Byam!" "You won't beat that!" resounded
from all sides, for such were the terms in which the gallery at Crompton
expressed their approbation, whether of man or beast; but Mr. Frederick
Chandos and a few others, inclusive of Mr. Theodore Fane, kept a
dignified silence, as over a joke that was beyond their capacities--they
reserved their high approval for "gentlemen's stories" only. As for the
grim Squire, for whom alone the narrative had been served and garnished,
at so very short a notice, he observed upon it, that "when he had used
up old Byam's brains he should now have the less scruple in turning him
out-of-doors, inasmuch as it seemed there was a profession in town that
was just suited to him."
How wondrous is the power of naked wealth--of the mere money! Simply
because he had a large rent-roll, this mad Carew could find not only
companions of his own calibre--reckless good-for-naughts, or dull
debauchees--but could command gray beard experience, wit, the art of
pleasing, in one man; and in another (what he was not less destitute of,
and needed more), politic management and common-sense. We do not say, as
the Squire himself sometimes did, when in a good-humor with his two
satellites, that Parson Whymper and Byam Ryll had more brains in their
little fingers than all his other friends had in their whole bodies, but
it was certain that, even when drunk, they were wiser than the others
when sober; the one had astuteness enough for a great statesman (or what
has passed for such in England) to hold the most discordant elements
together, and to make what is rotten seem almost sound; and, indeed,
without his chaplain's dextrous skidding, Carew would long ago have
irretrievably lost social caste, and dissipated his vast means to the
last shilling. On the other hand, Byam Ryll was gifted with even rarer
qualities; he was essentially a man of mark and character, and might
have made his fortune in any pursuit by his own wits; but his fortune
had been ready-made when he came of age, and he had occupied himself
very agreeably instead in getting through it, in which he had quite
succeeded. Parson Whymper, who had never known what it was to have a
ten-pound note to call his own, was now no worse off than he. They would
both have frankly owned, had they been asked, that they detested work of
any kind. Yet the chaplain had almost as much business on his hands as
the bursar of a great college, in the administration of Carew's affairs,
besides filling an office which was by no means a sinecure, in that of
his master of the ceremonies. Many a rudeness in that house would have
been bitterly avenged, and many a quarrel would have had a serious
termination, but for the good offices of Parson Whymper. Nor would Mr.
Byam Ryll have been considered by every body to earn an easy livelihood
in making jests out of every occasion, to tickle the fancy of a
dull-witted audience and of a patron, as often as not, morose; yet the
flesh-pots of Egypt had attracted both these men to the Squire's
service, their poverty as well as their will consenting; and in exchange
for meat and drink, and lodging of the best, they had sold themselves
into slavery. Upon the whole, they were well disposed to one another;
the bond of intelligence united them against the rich "roughs" with whom
they had to deal; they tilted together, side by side, against the
_canaille_; yet each, from the bitter consciousness of his own
degradation, took pleasure in the humiliation or discomfiture of the
other, at the rude hands of their common master.
"Profession," said Chandos, in reply to Carew's last remark; "gad, your
ancient friend is lucky to have found one in these days. They tell me
that no young gentleman can now get his living without answering
questions, writing down things, drawing maps, and passing--What the
deuce do they call them?"
"Hanged if _I_ know," said the Squire. "Ask Byam; he knows every thing."
"I say, Mr. Byam," drawled the young man, somewhat insolently, but
without being aware that he was addressing a stranger by his Christian
name, "Carew says you know every thing. What is it that a gentleman is
now obliged to go through before he can get any of these snug things one
used to get for the asking? What is the confounded thing one has to
pass?"
"Muster," answered Ryll, derisively, as though it was a riddle.
Carew laughed aloud. The nearer a retort approached to a practical joke,
provided it was not at his own expense, the better he liked it.
"What did the old beggar say?" inquired Mr. Frederick Chandos, his fair
face crimson with anger.
"He asked for the mustard; he didn't hear you," answered the Squire,
mischievously; "he never does hear a fellow who lisps."
"I asked you, Mr. Byam," repeated the young man with tipsy gravity,
"what is the name of those examinations?"
"The name of the gentleman on my left, Mr. Chandos, is Ryll, and not
Byam--except to his intimate friends," interposed the chaplain; "and the
name you are in want of is competitive."
"That's it," said the young man, slapping the table, and forgetting both
his mistake and his anger in the unaccustomed acquisition of an idea.
"Competitive examination is what they call it Well, you know, there was
my young brother--confound him!--looking to me to pay his bills; and, in
fact, having nothing to live upon, poor devil, except what I gave him.
So, of course, I was anxious to get him off my hands."
"Very natural," assented Carew. "For my part, I could never see what
younger brothers were born for."
"You'd see it less if you had one to keep," continued Chandos. "In old
times, now, I could have got Jack something warm and snug under
government, or in the colonies; and so I should now, but for one
thing--that he had to pass one of these cursed examinations first.
However, as it had to be done, and as Jack, according to his own
account, was as much out of form for one as another of them, I
recommended him to try his luck for something in India; for as long as
you can keep a fellow on the other side of the world he can't dun
you--not to hurt; it ain't like coming and calling _himself_; and you
needn't read his letters unless you like. Well, 'India be it,' says
Jack; 'that's as good a place as another;' though, in my opinion, he
never expected to go there. He thought he had no chance whatever of
pulling through, and so did I, for the fact is, Jack is a born fool."
"Did you say he was your brother, or only your half-brother?" inquired
Mr. Byam Ryll, with an appearance of great interest.
"My very own brother, Sir," replied the unconscious Chandos, flattered
to find such attention paid to him; "and as like to me as one thimble, I
mean as one pea, is to another. Well, the strange thing is, the deuce
alone knows how it happened, but _Jack got through_." Here he took a
bumper of port, as though in honor of that occasion. "It's a perfect
marvel, but the best thing for _him_ (as well as for me) in the world.
Nobody ever went out under better auspices, for the governor of Bengal
is our cousin, and Jack was to school with his private sec.: it's a
first-rate connection. Our family has been connected with India for ever
so long. I'll tell you how."
"It is a most admirable connection," observed Mr. Byam Ryll; "and the
whole circumstances of the case will, I have no doubt, be interesting in
the highest degree to the natives of Bengal. Your brother should embody
them in a neat speech, and deliver it from the deck of the steamer
before he lands."
It is probable that Mr. Frederick Chandos would have so far
misunderstood the nature of this observation as to have accepted it as a
compliment had not Carew burst into a series of wild laughs, which
betokened high approval, and was one of his few tokens of enjoyment. He
had evinced unmistakable signs of discontent and boredom before his
intellectual henchman had thus struck in on his behalf; and he was
really gratified for the rescue. Chandos was muttering some drunken
words of insolence and anger; but Carew bore him down.
"Pooh, pooh! Old Byam was right!" cried he, with boisterous mirth. "I
dare say all that long story of yours _may_ interest those black
fellows; but for me, I care nothing about it. It's all rubbish. Be
quiet, you young fool, I say; it's too early yet for buffets. Here,
bring the beaker."
This was a magnificent tankard, the pride of Crompton, which, at the
conclusion of dinner, was always filled with port-wine, and passed round
the table. It was lined with silver gilt, but made of ivory, and had a
cover of the same, both finely carved. On the bowl was portrayed a
Forest Scene, with Satyrs pursuing Nymphs; on the lid was the Battle of
the Centaurs; while the stem was formed by a sculptured figure of
Hercules. If the artist, Magnus Berg, who had fashioned it long ago in
his own Rhine Land, had had foresight of the sort of company into whose
hands his work was in these days to pass he could not have hit upon more
apt devices. His Satyrs and his Centaurs had here their representatives
in the flesh; while the thews and sinews of the son of Alcmene had their
counterpart in those of the man who now stood up at the head of that
splendid table, and drank such a draught as though the port were porter.
It was a feat to hold it with one hand, and therefore Carew did so; but
to empty it at a draught was, even for him, an impossibility, for it
held three bottles of wine. Though the Squire could be acquitted of
entertaining reverence for any thing human or divine, he had a sort of
superstitious regard for his beaker, and believed that so long as he had
it in his possession--like the "Luck of Eden Hall"--no great harm could
happen to him. He attached all the importance of a religious
ceremony--and, indeed, it was the only one he practiced--to the using of
this goblet, and resented any levity during the process as though it
were sacrilege. But to stand up after dinner, and much less to support
this elaborate drinking-vessel, was not always an easy matter with the
Squire's guests, and so it happened on the present occasion. The usage
was, that one held the cover while his neighbor drank from the cup,
after a ceremonious bow to him; and it fell to the lot of Mr. Frederick
Chandos to perform this latter duty immediately after his host, and
while there was still much wine in the goblet. Uncertain as to his
footing, and trembling with irritation, as well as with the weight of
his burden, he hesitated to drink. Perhaps, in his already wine-muddled
brain, he had some vague idea of passing the vessel on, and thereby
showing his displeasure; but, at all events, the hesitation was
unfortunate for him, for, with a fierce ejaculation of impatience, Carew
crammed the great cover on the young man's head, which, like the helmet
of Otranto, came down over nose and chin. Maddened with the insult,
Chandos dashed the contents of the goblet into what he thought was the
Squire's face, but which was indeed the white cravat and waistcoat of
his opposite neighbor; and then began a scene that Smollett alone could
have described or Hogarth painted. It was as though a concerted signal
had been given for a free fight among all the Squire's guests. The one
art that was practiced among them was that of boxing, and almost every
man present had a neat way of hitting out with one hand or the other,
which he believed to be unique, and the effect of which he was most
curious to observe. The less skillful with their fists used any other
weapons that came handy. The dessert service of Dresden porcelain,
elaborately enameled with views of the chief towns of Germany, had once
been the marriage portion of a princess, and was justly held to be one
of the rarest treasures of Crompton; but it was no more respected now
than if it had furnished forth the table of Pirithous. The plates
skimmed about like quoits, and all the board became a wreck of glass and
china. Above the clamor and the fighting could be heard Carew's strident
voice demanding his beaker, pouring unimaginable anathemas against any
one who should do it damage, and threatening to unmuzzle and bring in
his bear. The servants, not unused to such mad tumults, gathered in a
mass at the doorway, and awaited with equanimity the subsidence of the
storm among their betters. It came at last, and found the scene of
contest not unlike a ship after storm--the decks all but clean swept,
and the crew (who had broken into the spirit-room) exhausted.
Richard Yorke, who, with his two neighbors, had taken no part in the
affray beyond defending himself from blows or missiles, was even more
astonished at the general good-humor that now succeeded than at the
fracas itself. If there had been any bad blood among the combatants, it
seemed to have been spilled, for there was now nothing but laughter and
applausive drumming of fists upon the table. The company were as pleased
with their own performance as the holiday faces that greet with such
exuberant joy the havoc upon the stage at pantomime time. The _habitués_
of Crompton, indeed, were not unlike wild school-boys, with a Lord of
Misrule for their master, and "give and take" for their one good
precept. Nay, the rude outbreak had even a beneficial effect, for it cut
short the orgie, which might, and probably would, have otherwise been
prolonged for hours. There was no dissentient voice when Mr. Byam Ryll
arose and observed, in demure accents: "Suppose, my dear friends, that
we join the ladies."