CHAPTER XXXIII.
J'ai toujours cru que le bon n'etait que le beau mis en action.--Rousseau.
Shortly after Russelton's answer to Sir Willoughby's eulogisticobservations on his own attire, I left those two worthies till I wasto join them at dinner; it wanted three hours yet to that time, and Irepaired to my quarters to bathe and write letters. I scribbled oneto Madame D'Anville, full of antitheses and maxims, sure to charm her;another to my mother, to prepare her for my arrival; and a third to LordVincent, giving him certain commissions at Paris, which I had forgottenpersonally to execute.
My pen is not that of a ready writer; and what with yawning, stretching,admiring my rings, and putting pen to paper, in the intervals of thesemore natural occupations, it was time to bathe and dress before myletters were completed. I set off to Russelton's abode in high spirits,and fully resolved to make the most of a character so original.
It was a very small room in which I found him; he was stretched in aneasy chair before the fire-place, gazing complacently at his feet,and apparently occupied in any thing but listening to Sir WilloughbyTownsend, who was talking with great vehemence about politics and thecorn laws. Notwithstanding the heat of the weather, there was a smallfire on the hearth, which, aided by the earnestness of his effortsto convince his host, put poor Sir Willoughby into a most intenseperspiration. Russelton, however, seemed enviably cool, and hung overthe burning wood like a cucumber on a hotbed. Sir Willoughby came to afull stop by the window, and (gasping for breath) attempted to throw itopen.
"What are you doing? for Heaven's sake, what are you doing?" criedRusselton, starting up; "do you mean to kill me?"
"Kill you!" said Sir Willoughby, quite aghast.
"Yes; kill me! is it not quite cold enough already in this d--dseafaring place, without making my only retreat, humble as it is, atheatre for thorough draughts? Have I not had the rheumatism in my leftshoulder, and the ague in my little finger, these last six months? andmust you now terminate my miserable existence at one blow, by openingthat abominable lattice? Do you think, because your great frame, freshfrom the Yorkshire wolds, and compacted of such materials, that onewould think, in eating your beeves, you had digested their hides intoskin--do you think, because your limbs might be cut up into planks fora seventy-eight, and warranted water-proof without pitch, because of thedensity of their pores--do you think, because you are as impervious asan araphorostic shoe, that I, John Russelton, am equally impenetrable,and that you are to let easterly winds play about my room like children,begetting rheums and asthmas and all manner of catarrhs? I do beg, SirWilloughby Townshend, that you will suffer me to die a more natural andcivilized death;" and so saying, Russelton sank down into his chair,apparently in the last state of exhaustion.
Sir Willoughby, who remembered the humourist in all his departed glory,and still venerated him as a temple where the deity yet breathed, thoughthe altar was overthrown, made to this extraordinary remonstrance noother reply than a long whiff, and a "Well, Russelton, dash my wig (afavourite oath of Sir W.'s) but you're a queer fellow."
Russelton now turned to me, and invited me, with a tone of the mostlady-like languor, to sit down near the fire. As I am naturally of achilly disposition, and fond, too, of beating people in their own line,I drew a chair close to the hearth, declared the weather was very cold,and rung the bell for some more wood. Russelton started for a moment,and then, with a politeness he had not deigned to exert before,approached his chair to mine, and began a conversation, which, in spiteof his bad witticisms, and peculiarity of manner, I found singularlyentertaining.
Dinner was announced, and we adjourned to another room--poor SirWilloughby, with his waistcoat unbuttoned, and breathing like a pug ina phthisis--groaned bitterly, when he discovered that this apartment wassmaller and hotter than the one before. Russelton immediately helpedhim to some scalding soup--and said, as he told the servant to hand SirWilloughby the cayenne--"you will find this, my dear Townshend, a verysensible potage for this severe season."
Dinner went off tamely enough, with the exception of "our stoutfriend's" agony, which Russelton enjoyed most luxuriously. Thethreatened mutton-chops did not make their appearance, and the dinner,though rather too small, was excellently cooked, and better arranged.With the dessert, the poor baronet rose, and pleading suddenindisposition, tottered out of the door.
When he was gone, Russelton threw himself back in his chair, and laughedfor several minutes with a loud chuckling sound, till the tears ran downhis cheek. "A nice heart you must have!" thought I--(my conclusions ofcharacter are always drawn from small propensities).
After a few jests at Sir Willoughby, our conversation turned upon otherindividuals. I soon saw that Russelton was a soured and disappointedman; his remarks on people were all sarcasms--his mind was overflowedwith a suffusion of ill-nature--he bit as well as growled. No man of theworld ever, I am convinced, becomes a real philosopher in retirement.People who have been employed for years upon trifles have not thegreatness of mind, which could alone make them indifferent to what theyhave coveted all their lives, as most enviable and important.
"Have you read ------'s memoirs?" said Mr. Russelton. "No! Well, Iimagined every one had at least dipped into them. I have often hadserious thoughts of dignifying my own retirement, by the literaryemployment of detailing my adventures in the world. I think I couldthrow a new light upon things and persons, which my contemporaries willshrink back like owls at perceiving.
"Your life," said I, "must indeed furnish matter of equal instructionand amusement."
"Ay," answered Russelton; "amusement to the fools, but instruction tothe knaves. I am, indeed, a lamentable example of the fall of ambition.I brought starch into all the neckcloths in England, and I end by tyingmy own at a three-inch looking-glass at Calais. You are a young man, Mr.Pelham, about to commence life, probably with the same views as (thoughgreater advantages than) myself; perhaps in indulging my egotism, Ishall not weary without recompensing you.
"I came into the world with an inordinate love of glory, and a greatadmiration of the original; these propensities might have made me aShakspeare--they did more, they made me a Russelton! When I was sixyears old, I cut my jacket into a coat, and turned my aunt's bestpetticoat into a waistcoat. I disdained at eight the language of thevulgar, and when my father asked me to fetch his slippers, I replied,that my soul swelled beyond the limits of a lackey's. At nine, I wasself-inoculated with propriety of ideas. I rejected malt with the airof His Majesty, and formed a violent affection for maraschino; thoughstarving at school, I never took twice of pudding, and paid sixpencea week out of my shilling to have my shoes blacked. As I grew up, mynotions expanded. I gave myself, without restraint, to the ambitionthat burnt within me--I cut my old friends, who were rather enviousthan emulous of my genius, and I employed three tradesmen to make mygloves--one for the hand, a second for the fingers, and a third forthe thumb! These two qualities made me courted and admired by a newrace--for the great secrets of being courted are to shun others, andseem delighted with yourself. The latter is obvious enough; who thedeuce should be pleased with you, if you yourself are not?
"Before I left college I fell in love. Other fellows, at my age, in sucha predicament, would have whined--shaved only twice a week, and writtenverses. I did none of the three--the last indeed I tried, but, to myinfinite surprise, I found my genius was not universal. I began with
"'Sweet nymph, for whom I wake my muse.'
"For this, after considerable hammering, I could only think of the rhyme'shoes'--so I began again,--
"'Thy praise demands much softer lutes.'
"And the fellow of this verse terminated like myself in 'boots.'--Otherefforts were equally successful--'bloom' suggested to my imaginationno rhyme but 'perfume!'--'despair' only reminded me of my 'hair,'--and'hope' was met at the end of the second verse, by the inharmoniousantithesis of 'soap.' Finding, therefore, that my forte was not inthe Pierian line, I redoubled my attention to my dress; I coated, andcravated, and essen
ced, and oiled, with all the attention the veryinspiration of my rhymes seemed to advise;--in short, I thought the bestpledge I could give my Dulcinea of my passion for her person, would beto show her what affectionate veneration I could pay to my own.
"My mistress could not withhold from me her admiration, but she deniedme her love. She confessed Mr. Russelton was the best dressed man at theUniversity, and had the whitest hands; and two days after this avowal,she ran away with a great rosy-cheeked extract from Leicestershire.
"I did not blame her: I pitied her too much--but I made a vow never tobe in love again. In spite of all advantages I kept my oath, and avengedmyself on the species for the insult of the individual.
"Before I commenced a part which was to continue through life, Iconsidered deeply on the humours of the spectators. I saw thatthe character of the English was servile to rank, and yielding topretension--they admire you for your acquaintance, and cringe to you foryour conceit. The first thing, therefore, was to know great people--thesecond to controul them. I dressed well, and had good horses--thatwas sufficient to make me sought by the young of my own sex. I talkedscandal, and was never abashed--that was more than enough to make merecherche among the matrons of the other. It is single men, and marriedwomen, to whom are given the St. Peter's keys of Society. I was soonadmitted into its heaven--I was more--I was one of its saints. I becameimitated as well as initiated. I was the rage--the lion. Why?--was Ibetter--was I richer--was I handsomer--was I cleverer, than my kind?No, no;--(and here Russelton ground his teeth with a strong andwrathful expression of scorn);--and had I been all--had I been a veryconcentration and monopoly of all human perfections, they would not havevalued me at half the price they did set on me. It was--I will tell youthe simple secret, Mr. Pelham--it was because I trampled on them, that,like crushed herbs, they sent up a grateful incense in return.
"Oh! it was balm to my bitter and loathing temper, to see those whowould have spurned me from them, if they dared, writhe beneath my lash,as I withheld or inflicted it at will. I was the magician who held thegreat spirits that longed to tear me to pieces, by one simple spellwhich a superior hardihood had won me--and, by Heaven, I did not spareto exert it.
"Well, well, this is but an idle recollection now; all human power, saysthe proverb of every language, is but of short duration. Alexander didnot conquer kingdoms for ever; and Russelton's good fortune deserted himat last. Napoleon died in exile, and so shall I; but we have both hadour day, and mine was the brightest of the two, for it had no changetill the evening. I am more happy than people would think for--Je nesuis pas souvent ou mon corps est--I live in a world of recollections, Itrample again upon coronets and ermine, the glories of the small great!I give once more laws which no libertine is so hardy not to feel exaltedin adopting; I hold my court, and issue my fiats; I am like the madman,and out of the very straws of my cell, I make my subjects and my realm;and when I wake from these bright visions, and see myself an old,deserted man, forgotten, and decaying inch by inch in a foreign village,I can at least summon sufficient of my ancient regality of spirit notto sink beneath the reverse. If I am inclined to be melancholy, why, Iextinguish my fire, and imagine I have demolished a duchess. I steal upto my solitary chamber, to renew again, in my sleep, the phantoms of myyouth; to carouse with princes; to legislate for nobles; and to wake inthe morning (here Russelton's countenance and manner suddenly changed toan affectation of methodistical gravity,) and thank Heaven that I havestill a coat to my stomach, as well as to my back, and that I amsafely delivered of such villainous company; 'to forswear sack and livecleanly,' during the rest of my sublunary existence."
After this long detail of Mr. Russelton's, the conversation was but dulland broken. I could not avoid indulging a reverie upon what I hadheard, and my host was evidently still revolving the recollectionshis narration had conjured up; we sat opposite each other for severalminutes as abstracted and distracted as if we had been a couple twomonths married; till at last I rose, and tendered my adieus. Russeltonreceived them with his usual coldness, but more than his usual civility,for he followed me to the door.
Just as they were about to shut it, he called me back. "Mr. Pelham,"said he, "Mr. Pelham, when you come back this way, do look in upon me,and--and as you will be going a good deal into society, just find outwhat people say of my manner of life!" [It will be perceived by thosereaders who are kind or patient enough to reach the conclusion of thiswork, that Russelton is specified as one of my few dramatis personae ofwhich only the first outline is taken from real life: all the rest--all,indeed, which forms and marks the character thus briefly delineated, isdrawn solely from imagination.]
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