"Tanner!" said I musingly, as I left the bridge; "Tanner! what can the
man who cures raw skins by means of a preparation of oak bark and other
materials have to do with the name which these fakers, as they call
themselves, bestow on the smallest silver coin in these dominions?
Tanner! I can't trace the connection between the man of bark and the
silver coin, unless journeymen tanners are in the habit of working for
sixpence a day. But I have it," I continued, flourishing my hat over my
head, "tanner, in this instance, is not an English word." Is it not
surprising that the language of Mr. Petulengro and of Tawno Chikno, is
continually coming to my assistance whenever I appear to be at a nonplus
with respect to the derivation of crabbed words? I have made out crabbed
words in AEschylus by means of the speech of Chikno and Petulengro, and
even in my Biblical researches I have derived no slight assistance from
it. It appears to be a kind of picklock, an open sesame, Tanner--Tawno!
the one is but a modification of the other; they were originally
identical, and have still much the same signification. Tanner, in the
language of the apple-woman, meaneth the smallest of English silver
coins; and Tawno, in the language of the Petulengros, though bestowed
upon the biggest of the Romans, according to strict interpretation,
signifieth a little child.
So I left the bridge, retracing my steps for a considerable way, as I
thought I had seen enough in the direction in which I had hitherto been
wandering.
[At last I came to a kind of open place from which three large streets
branched, and in the middle of the place stood the figure of a man on
horseback. It was admirably executed, and I stood still to survey it.
"Is that the statue of Cromwell?" said I to a drayman who was passing by,
driving a team of that enormous breed of horses which had struck me on
the bridge.
"Who?" said the man in a surly tone, stopping short.
"Cromwell," said I; "did you never hear of Oliver Cromwell?"
"Oh, Oliver," said the drayman, and a fine burst of intelligence lighted
up his broad English countenance. "To be sure I have; yes, and read of
him too. A fine fellow was Oliver, master, and the poor man's friend.
Whether that's his figure, though, I can't say. I hopes it be." Then
touching his hat to me, he followed his gigantic team, turning his head
to look at the statue as he walked along.
That man had he lived in Oliver's time would have made a capital
ironside, especially if mounted on one of those dray horses of his. I
remained looking at the statue some time longer. Turning round, I
perceived that I was close by a bookseller's shop, into which, after
deliberating a moment, I entered. An elderly, good-tempered looking man
was standing behind the counter.
"Have you the _Dairyman's Daughter_?" I demanded.
"Just one copy, young gentleman," said the bookseller, rubbing his hands;
"you are just in time, if you want one; all the rest are sold."
"What kind of character does it bear?"
"Excellent character, young gentleman; great demand for it; held in much
esteem, especially by the Evangelical party."
"Who are the Evangelical party?"
"Excellent people, young gentleman, and excellent customers of mine,"
rubbing his hands; "but setting that aside," he continued gravely,
"religious, good men."
"Not a set of canting scoundrels?"
The bookseller had placed a small book upon the counter; but he now
suddenly snatched it up and returned it to the shelf; then looking at me
full in the face, he said, quietly: "Young gentleman, I do not wish to be
uncivil, but you had better leave the shop."
"I beg your pardon if I have offended you, but I was merely repeating
what I had heard."
"Whoever told you so must be either a bad, or a very ignorant, man."
"I wish for the book."
"You shall not have it at any price."
"Why not?"
"I have my reasons," said the bookseller.
"Will you have the kindness," said I, "to tell me whose statue it is
which stands there on horseback?"
"Charles the First."
"And where is Cromwell's?"
"You may walk far enough about London, or, indeed, about England, before
you will find a statue of Cromwell, young gentleman."
"Well, I could not help thinking that was his."
"How came you to think so?"
"I thought it would be just the place for a statue to the most
illustrious Englishman. It is where I would place one were I prime
minister."
"Well, I do think that Charles would look better a little farther down,
opposite to Whitehall, for example," said the bookseller, rubbing his
hands. "Do you really wish to have the book?"
"Very much."
"Well, here it is; no price, young gentleman; no price--can't break my
word--give the money, if you like, to the beggars in the street. Cromwell
is the first Englishman who endeavoured to put all sects on an equality.
Wouldn't do, though--world too fond of humbug--still is. However, good
day, young gentleman, and when you are prime minister, do not forget the
two statues."]
I should say that I scarcely walked less than thirty miles about the big
city on the day of my first arrival. Night came on, but still I was
walking about, my eyes wide open, and admiring everything that presented
itself to them. Everything was new to me, for everything is different in
London from what it is elsewhere--the people, their language, the horses,
the _tout ensemble_--even the stones of London are different from
others--at least it appeared to me that I had never walked with the same
ease and facility on the flag-stones of a country town as on those of
London; so I continued roving about till night came on, and then the
splendour of some of the shops particularly struck me. "A regular
Arabian nights' entertainment!" said I, as I looked into one on Cornhill,
gorgeous with precious merchandise, and lighted up with lustres, the rays
of which were reflected from a hundred mirrors.
But, notwithstanding the excellence of the London pavement, I began about
nine o'clock to feel myself thoroughly tired; painfully and slowly did I
drag my feet along. I also felt very much in want of some refreshment,
and I remembered that since breakfast I had taken nothing. I was now in
the Strand, and, glancing about, I perceived that I was close by an
hotel, which bore over the door the somewhat remarkable name of Holy
Lands. Without a moment's hesitation I entered a well-lighted passage,
and, turning to the left, I found myself in a well-lighted coffee-room,
with a well-dressed and frizzled waiter before me. "Bring me some
claret," said I, for I was rather faint than hungry, and I felt ashamed
to give a humbler order to so well-dressed an individual. The waiter
looked at me for a moment; then, making a low bow, he bustled off, and I
sat myself down in the box nearest to the window. Presently the waiter
returned, bearing beneath his left arm a long bottle, and between the
fingers of his right hand two large purple glasses; placing the latter on
the table, he produced a cork-screw, drew the cork in a twinkling, set
the bottle down before me with a bang, and then, standing still, appeared
to watch my movements. You think I don't know how to drink a glass of
claret, thought I to myself. I'll soon show you how we drink claret
where I come from; and, filling one of the glasses to the brim, I
flickered it for a moment between my eyes and the lustre, and then held
it to my nose; having given that organ full time to test the bouquet of
the wine, I applied the glass to my lips, taking a large mouthful of the
wine, which I swallowed slowly and by degrees, that the palate might
likewise have an opportunity of performing its functions. A second
mouthful I disposed of more summarily; then, placing the empty glass upon
the table, I fixed my eyes upon the bottle, and said--nothing; whereupon
the waiter, who had been observing the whole process with considerable
attention, made me a bow yet more low than before, and turning on his
heel, retired with a smart chuck of his head, as much as to say, It is
all right; the young man is used to claret.
And when the waiter had retired I took a second glass of the wine, which
I found excellent; and, observing a newspaper lying near me, I took it up
and began perusing it. It has been observed somewhere that people who
are in the habit of reading newspapers every day are not unfrequently
struck with the excellence of style and general talent which they
display. Now, if that be the case, how must I have been surprised, who
was reading a newspaper for the first time, and that one of the best of
the London Journals! Yes, strange as it may seem, it was nevertheless
true, that, up to the moment of which I am speaking, I had never read a
newspaper of any description. I of course had frequently seen journals,
and even handled them; but, as for reading them, what were they to me?--I
cared not for news. But here I was now with my claret before me,
perusing, perhaps, the best of all the London Journals--it was not the ---
and I was astonished: an entirely new field of literature appeared to be
opened to my view. It was a discovery, but I confess rather an
unpleasant one; for I said to myself, if literary talent is so very
common in London, that the journals, things which, as their very name
denotes, are ephemeral, are written in a style like the article I have
been perusing, how can I hope to distinguish myself in this big town,
when, for the life of me, I don't think I could write anything half so
clever as what I have been reading. And then I laid down the paper, and
fell into deep musing; rousing myself from which, I took a glass of wine,
and pouring out another, began musing again. What I have been reading,
thought I, is certainly very clever and very talented; but talent and
cleverness I think I have heard some one say are very common-place
things, only fitted for everyday occasions. I question whether the man
who wrote the book I saw this day on the bridge was a clever man; but,
after all, was he not something much better? I don't think he could have
written this article, but then he wrote the book which I saw on the
bridge. Then, if he could not have written the article on which I now
hold my forefinger--and I do not believe he could--why should I feel
discouraged at the consciousness that I, too, could not write it? I
certainly could no more have written the article than he could; but then,
like him, though I would not compare myself to the man who wrote the book
I saw upon the bridge, I think I could--and here I emptied the glass of
claret--write something better.
Thereupon I resumed the newspaper; and, as I was before struck with the
fluency of style and the general talent which it displayed, I was now
equally so with its common-placeness and want of originality on every
subject; and it was evident to me that, whatever advantage these
newspaper-writers might have over me in some points, they had never
studied the Welsh bards, translated Kaempe Viser, or been under the
pupilage of Mr. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno.
And as I sat conning the newspaper three individuals entered the room,
and seated themselves in the box at the farther end of which I was. They
were all three very well dressed; two of them elderly gentlemen, the
third a young man about my own age, or perhaps a year or two older. They
called for coffee; and, after two or three observations, the two eldest
commenced a conversation in French, which, however, though they spoke it
fluently enough, I perceived at once was not their native language; the
young man, however, took no part in their conversation, and when they
addressed a portion to him, which indeed was but rarely, merely replied
by a monosyllable. I have never been a listener, and I paid but little
heed to their discourse, nor indeed to themselves; as I occasionally
looked up, however, I could perceive that the features of the young man,
who chanced to be seated exactly opposite to me, wore an air of
constraint and vexation. This circumstance caused me to observe him more
particularly than I otherwise should have done: his features were
handsome and prepossessing; he had dark brown hair, and a high-arched
forehead. After the lapse of half an hour, the two elder individuals,
having finished their coffee, called for the waiter, and then rose as if
to depart, the young man, however, still remaining seated in the box. The
others, having reached the door, turned round, and, finding that the
youth did not follow them, one of them called to him with a tone of some
authority; whereupon the young man rose, and, pronouncing half audibly
the word "botheration," rose and followed them. I now observed that he
was remarkably tall. All three left the house. In about ten minutes,
finding nothing more worth reading in the newspaper, I laid it down, and
though the claret was not yet exhausted, I was thinking of betaking
myself to my lodgings, and was about to call the waiter, when I heard a
step in the passage, and in another moment, the tall young man entered
the room, advanced to the same box, and, sitting down nearly opposite to
me, again pronounced to himself, but more audibly than before, the same
word.
"A troublesome world this, sir," said I, looking at him.
"Yes," said the young man, looking fixedly at me; "but I am afraid we
bring most of our troubles on our own heads--at least I can say so of
myself," he added, laughing. Then, after a pause, "I beg pardon," he
said, "but am I not addressing one of my own country?"
"Of what country are you?" said I.
"Ireland."
"I am not of your country, sir; but I have an infinite veneration for
your country, as Strap said to the French soldier. Will you take a glass
of wine?"
"_Ah_, _de tout mon coeur_, as the parasite said to Gil Blas," cried the
young man, laughing. "Here's to our better acquaintance!"
And better acquainted we soon became; and I found that, in making the
acquaintance of the young man, I had, indeed, made a valuable
acquisition; he was accomplished, highly connected, and bore the name of
Francis Ardry. {201} Frank and ardent he was, and in a very little time
had told me much that related to himself, and in return I communicated a
general outline of my own history; he listened with profound attention,
but laughed heartily when I told him some particulars of my visit in the
morning to the publisher, whom he had frequently heard of.
We left the house together.
"We shall soon see each other again," said he, as we separated at the
door of my lodging.