Ay imputé a honte plus que médiocre
être vu spectateur ocieux de tant vaillans, disertz, et
chevalereux personnaiges.
Rabelais.
Lady Clarinda (to the Captain).—I declare
the creature has been listening to all this rigmarole, instead of
attending to me. Do you ever expect forgiveness? But
now that they are all talking together, and you cannot make out a
word they say, nor they hear a word that we say, I will describe
the company to you. First, there is the old gentleman on my
left hand, at the head of the table, who is now leaning the other
way to talk to my brother. He is a good-tempered,
half-informed person, very unreasonably fond of reasoning, and of
reasoning people; people that talk nonsense logically: he is fond
of disputation himself, when there are only one or two, but
seldom does more than listen in a large company of
illuminés. He made a great fortune in the
city, and has the comfort of a good conscience. He is very
hospitable, and is generous in dinners; though nothing would
induce him to give sixpence to the poor, because he holds that
all misfortune is from imprudence, that none but the rich ought
to marry, and that all ought to thrive by honest industry, as he
did. He is ambitious of founding a family, and of allying
himself with nobility; and is thus as willing as other grown
children to throw away thousands for a gew-gaw, though he would
not part with a penny for charity. Next to him is my
brother, whom you know as well as I do. He has finished his
education with credit, and as he never ventures to oppose me in
anything, I have no doubt he is very sensible. He has good
manners, is a model of dress, and is reckoned ornamental in all
societies. Next to him is Miss Crotchet, my sister-in-law
that is to be. You see she is rather pretty, and very
genteel. She is tolerably accomplished, has her table
always covered with new novels, thinks Mr. Mac Quedy an oracle,
and is extremely desirous to be called “my
lady.” Next to her is Mr. Firedamp, a very absurd
person, who thinks that water is the evil principle. Next
to him is Mr. Eavesdrop, a man who, by dint of a certain
something like smartness, has got into good society. He is
a sort of bookseller’s tool, and coins all his acquaintance
in reminiscences and sketches of character. I am very shy
of him, for fear he should print me.
Captain Fitzchrome.—If he print you in your own
likeness, which is that of an angel, you need not fear him.
If he print you in any other, I will cut his throat. But
proceed—
Lady Clarinda.—Next to him is Mr. Henbane, the
toxicologist, I think he calls himself. He has passed half
his life in studying poisons and antidotes. The first thing
he did on his arrival here was to kill the cat; and while Miss
Crotchet was crying over her, he brought her to life again.
I am more shy of him than the other.
Captain Fitzchrome.—They are two very dangerous
fellows, and I shall take care to keep them both at a respectful
distance. Let us hope that Eavesdrop will sketch off
Henbane, and that Henbane will poison him for his trouble.
Lady Clarinda.—Well, next to him sits Mr. Mac
Quedy, the Modern Athenian, who lays down the law about
everything, and therefore may be taken to understand
everything. He turns all the affairs of this world into
questions of buying and selling. He is the Spirit of the
Frozen Ocean to everything like romance and sentiment. He
condenses their volume of steam into a drop of cold water in a
moment. He has satisfied me that I am a commodity in the
market, and that I ought to set myself at a high price. So
you see, he who would have me must bid for me.
Captain Fitzchrome.—I shall discuss that point
with Mr. Mac Quedy.
Lady Clarinda.—Not a word for your life.
Our flirtation is our own secret. Let it remain so.
Captain Fitzchrome.—Flirtation, Clarinda!
Is that all that the most ardent—
Lady Clarinda.—Now, don’t be rhapsodical
here. Next to Mr. Mac Quedy is Mr. Skionar, a sort of
poetical philosopher, a curious compound of the intense and the
mystical. He abominates all the ideas of Mr. Mac Quedy, and
settles everything by sentiment and intuition.
Captain Fitzchrome.—Then, I say, he is the wiser
man.
Lady Clarinda.—They are two oddities, but a
little of them is amusing, and I like to hear them dispute.
So you see I am in training for a philosopher myself.
Captain Fitzchrome.—Any philosophy, for
Heaven’s sake, but the pound-shilling-and-pence philosophy
of Mr. Mac Quedy.
Lady Clarinda.—Why, they say that even Mr.
Skionar, though he is a great dreamer, always dreams with his
eyes open, or with one eye at any rate, which is an eye to his
gain: but I believe that in this respect the poor man has got an
ill name by keeping bad company. He has two dear friends,
Mr. Wilful Wontsee, and Mr. Rumblesack Shantsee, poets of some
note, who used to see visions of Utopia, and pure republics
beyond the Western deep: but, finding that these El Dorados
brought them no revenue, they turned their vision-seeing faculty
into the more profitable channel of espying all sorts of virtues
in the high and the mighty, who were able and willing to pay for
the discovery.
Captain Fitzchrome.—I do not fancy these
virtue-spyers.
Lady Clarinda.—Next to Mr. Skionar sits Mr.
Chainmail, a good-looking young gentleman, as you see, with very
antiquated tastes. He is fond of old poetry, and is
something of a poet himself. He is deep in monkish
literature, and holds that the best state of society was that of
the twelfth century, when nothing was going forward but fighting,
feasting, and praying, which he says are the three great purposes
for which man was made. He laments bitterly over the
inventions of gunpowder, steam, and gas, which he says have
ruined the world. He lives within two or three miles, and
has a large hall, adorned with rusty pikes, shields, helmets,
swords, and tattered banners, and furnished with yew-tree chairs,
and two long old worm-eaten oak tables, where he dines with all
his household, after the fashion of his favourite age. He
wants us all to dine with him, and I believe we shall go.
Captain Fitzchrome.—That will be something new,
at any rate.
Lady Clarinda.—Next to him is Mr. Toogood, the
co-operationist, who will have neither fighting nor praying; but
wants to parcel out the world into squares like a chess-board,
with a community on each, raising everything for one another,
with a great steam-engine to serve them in common for tailor and
hosier, kitchen and cook.
Captain Fitzchrome.—He is the strangest of the
set, so far.
Lady Clarinda.—This brings us to the bottom of
the table, where sits my humble servant, Mr. Crotchet the
younger. I ought not to describe him.
Captain Fitzchrome.—I entreat you do.
Lady Clarinda.—Well, I really have very little to
say in his favour.
Captain Fitzchrome.—I do not wish to hear
anything in his favour; and I rejoice to hear you say so,
because—
Lady Clarinda.—Do not flatter yourself. If
I take him, it will be to please my father, and to have a town
and country house, and plenty of servants and a carriage and an
opera-box, and make some of my acquaintance who have married for
love, or for rank, or for anything but money, die for envy of my
jewels. You do not think I would take him for
himself. Why, he is very smooth and spruce as far as his
dress goes; but as to his face, he looks as if he had tumbled
headlong into a volcano, and been thrown up again among the
cinders.
Captain Fitzchrome.—I cannot believe, that,
speaking thus of him, you mean to take him at all.
Lady Clarinda.—Oh! I am out of my teens. I
have been very much in love; but now I am come to years of
discretion, and must think, like other people, of settling myself
advantageously. He was in love with a banker’s
daughter, and cast her off at her father’s bankruptcy, and
the poor girl has gone to hide herself in some wild place.
Captain Fitzchrome.—She must have a strange
taste, if she pines for the loss of him.
Lady Clarinda.—They say he was good-looking, till
his bubble schemes, as they call them, stamped him with the
physiognomy of a desperate gambler. I suspect he has still
a penchant towards his first flame. If he takes me, it will
be for my rank and connection, and the second seat of the borough
of Rogueingrain. So we shall meet on equal terms, and shall
enjoy all the blessedness of expecting nothing from each
other.
Captain Fitzchrome.—You can expect no security
with such an adventurer.
Lady Clarinda.—I shall have the security of a
good settlement, and then if andare al diavolo be his
destiny, he may go, you know, by himself. He is almost
always dreaming and distrait. It is very likely that
some great reverse is in store for him: but that will not concern
me, you perceive.
Captain Fitzchrome.—You torture me, Clarinda,
with the bare possibility.
Lady Clarinda.—Hush! Here is music to
soothe your troubled spirit. Next to him, on this side,
sits the dilettante composer, Mr. Trillo; they say his name was
O’Trill, and he has taken the O from the beginning, and put
it at the end. I do not know how this may be. He
plays well on the violoncello, and better on the piano; sings
agreeably; has a talent at versemaking, and improvises a song
with some felicity. He is very agreeable company in the
evening, with his instruments and music-books. He maintains
that the sole end of all enlightened society is to get up a good
opera, and laments that wealth, genius, and energy are squandered
upon other pursuits, to the neglect of this one great matter.
Captain Fitzchrome.—That is a very pleasant fancy
at any rate.
Lady Clarinda.—I assure you he has a great deal
to say for it. Well, next to him, again, is Dr. Morbific,
who has been all over the world to prove that there is no such
thing as contagion; and has inoculated himself with plague,
yellow fever, and every variety of pestilence, and is still alive
to tell the story. I am very shy of him, too; for I look on
him as a walking phial of wrath, corked full of all infections,
and not to be touched without extreme hazard.
Captain Fitzchrome.—This is the strangest fellow
of all.
Lady Clarinda.—Next to him sits Mr. Philpot, the
geographer, who thinks of nothing but the heads and tails of
rivers, and lays down the streams of Terra Incognita as
accurately as if he had been there. He is a person of
pleasant fancy, and makes a sort of fairy land of every country
he touches, from the Frozen Ocean to the Deserts of Sahara.
Captain Fitzchrome.—How does he settle matters
with Mr. Firedamp?
Lady Clarinda.—You see Mr. Firedamp has got as
far as possible out of his way. Next to him is Sir Simon
Steeltrap, of Steeltrap Lodge, Member for Crouching-Curtown,
Justice of Peace for the county, and Lord of the United Manors of
Spring-gun-and-Treadmill; a great preserver of game and public
morals. By administering the laws which he assists in
making, he disposes, at his pleasure, of the land and its live
stock, including all the two-legged varieties, with and without
feathers, in a circumference of several miles round Steeltrap
Lodge. He has enclosed commons and woodlands; abolished
cottage gardens; taken the village cricket-ground into his own
park, out of pure regard to the sanctity of Sunday; shut up
footpaths and alehouses (all but those which belong to his
electioneering friend, Mr. Quassia, the brewer); put down fairs
and fiddlers; committed many poachers; shot a few; convicted
one-third of the peasantry; suspected the rest; and passed nearly
the whole of them through a wholesome course of prison
discipline, which has finished their education at the expense of
the county.
Captain Fitzchrome.—He is somewhat out of his
element here: among such a diversity of opinions he will hear
some he will not like.
Lady Clarinda.—It was rather ill-judged in Mr.
Crotchet to invite him to-day. But the art of assorting
company is above these parvenus. They invite a
certain number of persons without considering how they harmonise
with each other. Between Sir Simon and you is the Reverend
Doctor Folliott. He is said to be an excellent scholar, and
is fonder of books than the majority of his cloth; he is very
fond, also, of the good things of this world. He is of an
admirable temper, and says rude things in a pleasant half-earnest
manner, that nobody can take offence with. And next to him
again is one Captain Fitzchrome, who is very much in love with a
certain person that does not mean to have anything to say to him,
because she can better her fortune by taking somebody else.
Captain Fitzchrome.—And next to him again is the
beautiful, the accomplished, the witty, the fascinating, the
tormenting, Lady Clarinda, who traduces herself to the said
Captain by assertions which it would drive him crazy to
believe.
Lady Clarinda.—Time will show, sir. And now
we have gone the round of the table.
Captain Fitzchrome.—But I must say, though I know
you had always a turn for sketching characters, you surprise me
by your observation, and especially by your attention to
opinions.
Lady Clarinda.—Well, I will tell you a secret: I
am writing a novel.
Captain Fitzchrome.—A novel!
Lady Clarinda.—Yes, a novel. And I shall
get a little finery by it: trinkets and fal-lals, which I cannot
get from papa. You must know I have been reading several
fashionable novels, the fashionable this, and the fashionable
that; and I thought to myself, why I can do better than any of
these myself. So I wrote a chapter or two, and sent them as
a specimen to Mr. Puffall, the book-seller, telling him they were
to be a part of the fashionable something or other, and he
offered me, I will not say how much, to finish it in three
volumes, and let him pay all the newspapers for recommending it
as the work of a lady of quality, who had made very free with the
characters of her acquaintance.
Captain Fitzchrome.—Surely you have not done
so?
Lady Clarinda.—Oh, no! I leave that to Mr.
Eavesdrop. But Mr. Puffall made it a condition that I
should let him say so.
Captain Fitzchrome.—A strange recommendation.
Lady Clarinda.—Oh, nothing else will do.
And it seems you may give yourself any character you like, and
the newspapers will print it as if it came from themselves.
I have commended you to three of our friends here as an
economist, a transcendentalist, and a classical scholar; and if
you wish to be renowned through the world for these, or any other
accomplishments, the newspapers will confirm you in their
possession for half-a-guinea a piece.
Captain Fitzchrome.—Truly, the praise of such
gentry must be a feather in any one’s cap.
Lady Clarinda.—So you will see, some morning,
that my novel is “the most popular production of the
day.” This is Mr. Puffall’s favourite
phrase. He makes the newspapers say it of everything he
publishes. But “the day,” you know, is a very
convenient phrase; it allows of three hundred and sixty-five
“most popular productions” in a year. And in
leap-year one more.
