Now let us consider how difficult it is even for great men to escape
from being Snobs. It is very well for the reader, whose fine feelings
are disgusted by the assertion that Kings, Princes, Lords, are Snobs, to
say 'You are confessedly a Snob yourself. In professing to depict Snobs,
it is only your own ugly mug which you are copying with a Narcissus-like
conceit and fatuity.' But I shall pardon this explosion of ill-temper
on the part of my constant reader, reflecting upon the misfortune of his
birth and country. It is impossible for ANY Briton, perhaps, not to be a
Snob in some degree. If people can be convinced of this fact, an immense
point is gained, surely. If I have pointed out the disease, let us hope
that other scientific characters may discover the remedy.
If you, who are a person of the middle ranks of life, are a Snob,--you
whom nobody flatters particularly; you who have no toadies; you whom no
cringing flunkeys or shopmen bow out of doors; you whom the policeman
tells to move on; you who are jostled in the crowd of this world, and
amongst the Snobs our brethren: consider how much harder it is for a man
to escape who has not your advantages, and is all his life long subject
to adulation; the butt of meanness; consider how difficult it is for the
Snobs' idol not to be a Snob.
As I was discoursing with my friend Eugenio in this impressive way, Lord
Buckram passed us, the son of the Marquis of Bagwig, and knocked at
the door of the family mansion in Red Lion Square. His noble father and
mother occupied, as everybody knows, distinguished posts in the
Courts of late Sovereigns. The Marquis was Lord of the Pantry, and her
Ladyship, Lady of the Powder Closet to Queen Charlotte. Buck (as I
call him, for we are very familiar) gave me a nod as he passed, and
I proceeded to show Eugenio how it was impossible that this nobleman
should not be one of ourselves, having been practised upon by Snobs all
his life.
His parents resolved to give him a public education, and sent him to
school at the earliest possible period. The Reverend Otto Rose, D.D.,
Principal of the Preparatory Academy for young noblemen and gentlemen,
Richmond Lodge, took this little Lord in hand, and fell down and
worshipped him. He always introduced him to fathers and mothers who
came to visit their children at the school. He referred with pride and
pleasure to the most noble the Marquis of Bagwig, as one of the kind
friends and patrons of his Seminary. He made Lord Buckram a bait for
such a multiplicity of pupils, that a new wing was built to Richmond
Lodge, and thirty-five new little white dimity beds were added to
the establishment. Mm. Rose used to take out the little Lord in the
one-horse chaise with her when she paid visits, until the Rector's
lady and the Surgeon's wife almost died with envy. His own son and Lord
Buckram having been discovered robbing an orchard together, the Doctor
flogged his own flesh and blood most unmercifully for leading the young
Lord astray. He parted from him with tears. There was always a letter
directed to the Most Noble the Marquis ef Bagwig, on the Doctor's study
table, when any visitors were received by him.
At Eton, a great deal of Snobbishness was thrashed out of Lord Buckram,
and he was birched with perfect impartiality. Even there, however, a
select band of sucking tuft-hunters followed him. Young Croesus lent
him three-and-twenty bran-new sovereigns out of his father's bank. Young
Snaily did his exercises for him, and tried 'to know him at home;' but
Young Bull licked him in a fight of fifty-five minutes, and he was caned
several times with great advantage for not sufficiently polishing his
master Smith's shoes. Boys are not ALL toadies in the morning of life.
But when he went to the University, crowds of toadies sprawled over
him. The tutors toadied him. The fellows in hall paid him great clumsy
compliments. The Dean never remarked his absence from Chapel, or heard
any noise issuing from his rooms. A number of respectable young fellows,
(it is among the respectable, the Baker Street class, that Snobbishness
flourishes, more than among any set of people in England)--a number of
these clung to him like leeches. There was no end now to Croesus's loans
of money; and Buckram couldn't ride out with the hounds, but Snaily (a
timid creature by nature) was in the field, and would take any leap at
which his friend chose to ride. Young Rose came up to the same College,
having been kept back for that express purpose by his father. He spent a
quarter's allowance in giving Buckram a single dinner; but he knew
there was always pardon for him for extravagance in such a cause; and a
ten-pound note always came to him from home when he mentioned Buckram's
name in a letter. What wild visions entered the brains of Mrs. Podge
and Miss Podge, the wife and daughter of the Principal of Lord Buckram's
College, I don't know, but that reverend old gentleman was too profound
a flunkey by nature ever for one minute to think that a child of his
could marry a nobleman. He therefore hastened on his daughter's union
with Professor Crab.
When Lord Buckram, after taking his honorary degree, (for Alma Mater is
a Snob, too, and truckles to a Lord like the rest,)--when Lord Buckram
went abroad to finish his education, you all know what dangers he ran,
and what numbers of caps were set at him. Lady Leach and her daughters
followed him from Paris to Rome, and from Rome to Baden-Baden;
Miss Leggitt burst into tears before his face when he announced his
determination to quit Naples, and fainted on the neck of her mamma:
Captain Macdragon, of Macdragonstown, County Tipperary, called upon
him to 'explene his intintions with respect to his sisther, Miss Amalia
Macdragon, of Macdragonstown,' and proposed to shoot him unless he
married that spotless and beautiful young creature, who was afterwards
led to the altar by Mr. Muff, at Cheltenham. If perseverance and forty
thousand pounds down could have tempted him, Miss Lydia Croesus would
certainly have been Lady Buckram. Count Towrowski was glad to take her
with half the meney, as all the genteel world knows.
And now, perhaps, the reader is anxious to know what sort of a man
this is who wounded so many ladies' hearts, and who has been such a
prodigious favourite with men. If we were to describe him it would be
personal. Besides, it really does not matter in the least what sort of a
man he is, or what his personal qualities are.
Suppose he is a young nobleman of a literary turn, and that he published
poems ever so foolish and feeble, the Snobs would purchase thousands
of his volumes: the publishers (who refused my Passion-Flowers, and
my grand Epic at any price) would give him his own. Suppose he is a
nobleman of a jovial turn, and has a fancy for wrenching off knockers,
frequenting ginshops, and half murdering policemen: the public will
sympathize good-naturedly with his amusements, and say he is a hearty,
honest fellow. Suppose he is fond of play and the turf; and has a fancy
to be a blackleg, and occasionally condescends to pluck a pigeon at
cards; the public will pardon him, and many honest people will court
him, as they would court a housebreaker if he happened to be a Lord.
Suppose he is an idiot; yet, by the glorious constitution, he is good
enough to govern US. Suppose he is an honest, highminded gentleman; so
much the better for himself. But he may be an ass, and yet respected; or
a ruffian, and yet be exceedingly popular; or a rogue, and yet excuses
will be found for him. Snobs will still worship him. Male Snobs will do
him honour, and females look kindly upon him, however hideous he may be.