DISTURBED SLUMBERS--THE BED-POST--TWO WIZARDS--WHAT CAN I DO?--REAL
LIBRARY--THE REV. MR. PLATITUDE--TOLERATION TO DISSENTERS--PARADOX--SWORD
OF ST. PETER--ENEMY TO HUMBUG--HIGH PRINCIPLES--FALSE CONCORD--THE
DAMSEL--WHAT RELIGION?--THE FURTHER CONVERSATION--THAT WOULD NEVER DO!
During the greater part of that night my slumbers were disturbed by
strange dreams. Amongst other things, I fancied that I was my host; my
head appeared to be teeming with wild thoughts and imaginations, out of
which I was endeavouring to frame a book. And now the book was finished
and given to the world, and the world shouted; and all eyes were turned
upon me, and I shrank from the eyes of the world. And, when I got into
retired places, I touched various objects in order to baffle the evil
chance. In short, during the whole night, I was acting over the story
which I had heard before I went to bed.
At about eight o'clock I awoke. The storm had long since passed away,
and the morning was bright and shining; my couch was so soft and
luxurious that I felt loth to quit it, so I lay some time, my eyes
wandering about the magnificent room to which fortune had conducted me in
so singular a manner; at last I heaved a sigh; I was thinking of my own
homeless condition, and imagining where I should find myself on the
following morning. Unwilling, however, to indulge in melancholy
thoughts, I sprang out of bed and proceeded to dress myself, and, whilst
dressing, I felt an irresistible inclination to touch the bed-post.
I finished dressing and left the room, feeling compelled, however, as I
left it, to touch the lintel of the door. Is it possible, thought I,
that from what I have lately heard the long-forgotten influence should
have possessed me again? but I will not give way to it; so I hurried
downstairs, resisting as I went a certain inclination which I
occasionally felt to touch the rail of the banister. I was presently
upon the gravel walk before the house: it was indeed a glorious morning.
I stood for some time observing the golden fish disporting in the waters
of the pond, and then strolled about amongst the noble trees of the park;
the beauty and freshness of the morning--for the air had been
considerably cooled by the late storm--soon enabled me to cast away the
gloomy ideas which had previously taken possession of my mind, and, after
a stroll of about half an hour, I returned towards the house in high
spirits. It is true that once I felt very much inclined to go and touch
the leaves of a flowery shrub which I saw at some distance, and had even
moved two or three paces towards it; but, bethinking myself, I manfully
resisted the temptation. 'Begone!' I exclaimed, 'ye sorceries, in which
I formerly trusted--begone for ever vagaries which I had almost
forgotten; good luck is not to be obtained, or bad averted, by magic
touches; besides, two wizards in one parish would be too much, in all
conscience.'
I returned to the house, and entered the library; breakfast was laid on
the table, and my friend was standing before the portrait which I have
already said hung above the mantelpiece; so intently was he occupied in
gazing at it that he did not hear me enter, nor was aware of my presence
till I advanced close to him and spoke, when he turned round and shook me
by the hand.
'What can possibly have induced you to hang up that portrait in your
library? it is a staring likeness, it is true, but it appears to me a
wretched daub.'
'Daub as you call it,' said my friend, smiling, 'I would not part with it
for the best piece of Rafael. For many a happy thought I am indebted to
that picture--it is my principal source of inspiration; when my
imagination flags, as of course it occasionally does, I stare upon those
features, and forthwith strange ideas of fun and drollery begin to flow
into my mind; these I round, amplify, or combine into goodly creations,
and bring forth as I find an opportunity. It is true that I am
occasionally tormented by the thought that, by doing this, I am
committing plagiarism; though, in that case, all thoughts must be
plagiarisms, all that we think being the result of what we hear, see, or
feel. What can I do? I must derive my thoughts from some source or
other; and, after all, it is better to plariarise from the features of my
landlord than from the works of Butler and Cervantes. My works, as you
are aware, are of a serio-comic character. My neighbours are of opinion
that I am a great reader, and so I am, but only of those features--my
real library is that picture.'
'But how did you obtain it?' said I.
'Some years ago a travelling painter came into this neighbourhood, and my
jolly host, at the request of his wife, consented to sit for his
portrait; she highly admired the picture, but she soon died, and then my
fat friend, who is of an affectionate disposition, said he could not bear
the sight of it, as it put him in mind of his poor wife. I purchased it
of him for five pounds--I would not take five thousand for it; when you
called that picture a daub, you did not see all the poetry of it.'
We sat down to breakfast; my entertainer appeared to be in much better
spirits than on the preceding day; I did not observe him touch once; ere
breakfast was over a servant entered--'The Reverend Mr. Platitude, sir,'
said he.
A shade of dissatisfaction came over the countenance of my host. 'What
does the silly pestilent fellow mean by coming here?' said he, half to
himself; 'let him come in,' said he to the servant.
The servant went out, and in a moment reappeared, introducing the
Reverend Mr. Platitude. The Reverend Mr. Platitude, having what is
vulgarly called a game leg, came shambling into the room; he was about
thirty years of age, and about five feet three inches high; his face was
of the colour of pepper, and nearly as rugged as a nutmeg-grater; his
hair was black; with his eyes he squinted, and grinned with his lips,
which were very much apart, disclosing two very irregular rows of teeth;
he was dressed in the true Levitical fashion, in a suit of spotless
black, and a neckerchief of spotless white.
The Reverend Mr. Platitude advanced winking and grinning to my
entertainer, who received him politely but with evident coldness; nothing
daunted, however, the Reverend Mr. Platitude took a seat by the table,
and, being asked to take a cup of coffee, winked, grinned, and consented.
In company I am occasionally subject to fits of what is generally called
absence; my mind takes flight and returns to former scenes, or presses
forward into the future. One of these fits of absence came over me at
this time--I looked at the Reverend Mr. Platitude for a moment, heard a
word or two that proceeded from his mouth, and saying to myself, 'You are
no man for me,' fell into a fit of musing--into the same train of thought
as in the morning, no very pleasant one--I was thinking of the future.
I continued in my reverie for some time, and probably should have
continued longer, had I not been suddenly aroused by the voice of Mr.
Platitude raised to a very high key. 'Yes, my dear sir,' said he, 'it is
but too true; I have it on good authority--a gone church--a lost
church--a ruined church--a demolished church is the Church of England.
Toleration to Dissenters!--oh, monstrous!'
'I suppose,' said my host, 'that the repeal of the Test Acts will be
merely a precursor of the emancipation of the Papists?'
'Of the Catholics,' said the Reverend Mr. Platitude. 'Ahem. There was a
time, as I believe you are aware, my dear sir, when I was as much opposed
to the emancipation of the Catholics as it was possible for any one to
be; but I was prejudiced, my dear sir, labouring under a cloud of most
unfortunate prejudice; but I thank my Maker I am so no longer. I have
travelled, as you are aware. It is only by travelling that one can rub
off prejudices; I think you will agree with me there. I am speaking to a
traveller. I left behind all my prejudices in Italy. The Catholics are
at least our fellow-Christians. I thank Heaven that I am no longer an
enemy to Catholic emancipation.'
'And yet you would not tolerate Dissenters?'
'Dissenters, my dear sir; I hope you would not class such a set as the
Dissenters with Catholics?'
'Perhaps it would be unjust,' said my host, 'though to which of the two
parties is another thing; but permit me to ask you a question: Does it
not smack somewhat of paradox to talk of Catholics, whilst you admit
there are Dissenters? If there are Dissenters, how should there be
Catholics?'
'It is not my fault that there are Dissenters,' said the Reverend Mr.
Platitude; 'if I had my will I would neither admit there were any, nor
permit any to be.'
'Of course you would admit there were such as long as they existed; but
how would you get rid of them?'
'I would have the Church exert its authority.'
'What do you mean by exerting its authority?'
'I would not have the Church bear the sword in vain.'
'What, the sword of St. Peter? You remember what the founder of the
religion which you profess said about the sword, "He who striketh with it
. . . " I think those who have called themselves the Church have had
enough of the sword. Two can play with the sword, Mr. Platitude. The
Church of Rome tried the sword with the Lutherans: how did it fare with
the Church of Rome? The Church of England tried the sword, Mr.
Platitude, with the Puritans: how did it fare with Laud and Charles?'
'Oh, as for the Church of England,' said Mr. Platitude, 'I have little to
say. Thank God, I left all my Church of England prejudices in Italy.
Had the Church of England known its true interests, it would long ago
have sought a reconciliation with its illustrious mother. If the Church
of England had not been in some degree a schismatic church, it would not
have fared so ill at the time of which you are speaking; the rest of the
Church would have come to its assistance. The Irish would have helped
it, so would the French, so would the Portuguese. Disunion has always
been the bane of the Church.'
Once more I fell into a reverie. My mind now reverted to the past;
methought I was in a small comfortable room wainscoted with oak; I was
seated on one side of a fireplace, close by a table on which were wine
and fruit; on the other side of the fire sat a man in a plain suit of
brown, with the hair combed back from his somewhat high forehead; he had
a pipe in his mouth, which for some time he smoked gravely and placidly,
without saying a word; at length, after drawing at the pipe for some time
rather vigorously, he removed it from his mouth, and, emitting an
accumulated cloud of smoke, he exclaimed in a slow and measured tone, 'As
I was telling you just now, my good chap, I have always been an enemy to
humbug.'
When I awoke from my reverie the Reverend Mr. Platitude was quitting the
apartment.
'Who is that person?' said I to my entertainer, as the door closed behind
him.
'Who is he?' said my host; 'why, the Reverend Mr. Platitude.'
'Does he reside in this neighbourhood?'
'He holds a living about three miles from here; his history, as far as I
am acquainted with it, is as follows. His father was a respectable
tanner in the neighbouring town, who, wishing to make his son a
gentleman, sent him to college. Having never been at college myself, I
cannot say whether he took the wisest course; I believe it is more easy
to unmake than to make a gentleman; I have known many gentlemanly youths
go to college, and return anything but what they went. Young Mr.
Platitude did not go to college a gentleman, but neither did he return
one: he went to college an ass, and returned a prig; to his original
folly was superadded a vast quantity of conceit. He told his father that
he had adopted high principles, and was determined to discountenance
everything low and mean; advised him to eschew trade, and to purchase him
a living. The old man retired from business, purchased his son a living,
and shortly after died, leaving him what remained of his fortune. The
first thing the Reverend Mr. Platitude did, after his father's decease,
was to send his mother and sister into Wales to live upon a small
annuity, assigning as a reason that he was averse to anything low, and
that they talked ungrammatically. Wishing to shine in the pulpit, he now
preached high sermons, as he called them, interspersed with scraps of
learning. His sermons did not, however, procure him much popularity; on
the contrary, his church soon became nearly deserted, the greater part of
his flock going over to certain dissenting preachers, who had shortly
before made their appearance in the neighbourhood. Mr. Platitude was
filled with wrath, and abused Dissenters in most unmeasured terms.
Coming in contact with some of the preachers at a public meeting, he was
rash enough to enter into argument with them. Poor Platitude! he had
better have been quiet, he appeared like a child, a very infant, in their
grasp; he attempted to take shelter under his college learning, but
found, to his dismay, that his opponents knew more Greek and Latin than
himself. These illiterate boors, as he had supposed them, caught him at
once in a false concord, and Mr. Platitude had to slink home overwhelmed
with shame. To avenge himself he applied to the ecclesiastical court,
but was told that the Dissenters could not be put down by the present
ecclesiastical law. He found the Church of England, to use his own
expression, a poor, powerless, restricted Church. He now thought to
improve his consequence by marriage, and made up to a rich and beautiful
young lady in the neighbourhood; the damsel measured him from head to
foot with a pair of very sharp eyes, dropped a curtsey, and refused him.
Mr. Platitude, finding England a very stupid place, determined to travel;
he went to Italy; how he passed his time there he knows best, to other
people it is a matter of little importance. At the end of two years he
returned with a real or assumed contempt for everything English, and
especially for the Church to which he belongs, and out of which he is
supported. He forthwith gave out that he had left behind him all his
Church of England prejudices, and, as a proof thereof, spoke against
sacerdotal wedlock and the toleration of schismatics. In an evil hour
for myself he was introduced to me by a clergyman of my acquaintance, and
from that time I have been pestered, as I was this morning, at least once
a week. I seldom enter into any discussion with him, but fix my eyes on
the portrait over the mantelpiece, and endeavour to conjure up some comic
idea or situation, whilst he goes on talking tomfoolery by the hour about
Church authority, schismatics, and the unlawfulness of sacerdotal
wedlock; occasionally he brings with him a strange kind of being, whose
acquaintance he says he made in Italy; I believe he is some sharking
priest who has come over to proselytise and plunder. This being has some
powers of conversation and some learning, but carries the countenance of
an arch villain; Platitude is evidently his tool.'
'Of what religion are you?' said I to my host.
'That of the Vicar of Wakefield--good, quiet, Church of England, which
would live and let live, practises charity, and rails at no one; where
the priest is the husband of one wife, takes care of his family and his
parish--such is the religion for me, though I confess I have hitherto
thought too little of religious matters. When, however, I have completed
this plaguy work on which I am engaged, I hope to be able to devote more
attention to them.'
After some further conversation, the subjects being, if I remember right,
college education, priggism, church authority, tomfoolery, and the like,
I rose and said to my host, 'I must now leave you.'
'Whither are you going?'
'I do not know.'
'Stay here, then--you shall be welcome as many days, months, and years as
you please to stay.'
'Do you think I would hang upon another man? No, not if he were Emperor
of all the Chinas. I will now make my preparations, and then bid you
farewell.'
I retired to my apartment and collected the handful of things which I
carried with me on my travels.
'I will walk a little way with you,' said my friend on my return.
He walked with me to the park gate; neither of us said anything by the
way. When we had come upon the road, I said, 'Farewell now; I will not
permit you to give yourself any further trouble on my account. Receive
my best thanks for your kindness; before we part, however, I should wish
to ask you a question. Do you think you shall ever grow tired of
authorship?'
'I have my fears,' said my friend, advancing his hand to one of the iron
bars of the gate.
'Don't touch,' said I, 'it is a bad habit. I have but one word to add:
should you ever grow tired of authorship follow your first idea of
getting into Parliament; you have words enough at command; perhaps you
want manner and method; but, in that case, you must apply to a teacher,
you must take lessons of a master of elocution.'
'That would never do!' said my host; 'I know myself too well to think of
applying for assistance to any one. Were I to become a parliamentary
orator, I should wish to be an original one, even if not above
mediocrity. What pleasure should I take in any speech I might make,
however original as to thought, provided the gestures I employed and the
very modulation of my voice were not my own? Take lessons, indeed! why,
the fellow who taught me, the professor, might be standing in the gallery
whilst I spoke; and, at the best parts of my speech, might say to
himself, "That gesture is mine--that modulation is mine." I could not
bear the thought of such a thing.'
'Farewell,' said I, 'and may you prosper. I have nothing more to say.'
I departed. At the distance of twenty yards I turned round suddenly; my
friend was just withdrawing his finger from the bar of the gate.
'He has been touching,' said I, as I proceeded on my way; 'I wonder what
was the evil chance he wished to baffle.'