Book: Paul Clifford, Volume 1.

E >> Edward Bulwer Lytton >> Paul Clifford, Volume 1.




"We will begin with the encouraging tickle: 'Although this work is full
of faults,--though the characters are unnatural, the plot utterly
improbable, the thoughts hackneyed, and the style ungrammatical,--yet we
would by no means discourage the author from proceeding; and in the mean
while we confidently recommend his work to the attention of the reading
public."

"Take, now, the advising tickle: 'There is a good deal of merit in these
little volumes, although we must regret the evident haste in which they
were written. The author might do better,--we recommend him a study of
the best writers;' then conclude by a Latin quotation, which you may take
from one of the mottoes in the 'Spectator.'

"Now, young gentleman, for a specimen of the metaphorical tickle: 'We beg
this poetical aspirant to remember the fate of Pyrenaeus, who, attempting
to pursue the Muses, forgot that he had not the wings of the goddesses,
flung himself from the loftiest ascent he could reach, and perished.'

"This you see, Paul, is a loftier and more erudite sort of tickle, and
may be reserved for one of the Quarterly Reviews. Never throw away a
simile unnecessarily.

"Now for a sample of the facetious tickle: 'Mr.---has obtained a
considerable reputation! Some fine ladies think him a great philosopher,
and he has been praised in our hearing by some Cambridge Fellows for his
knowledge of fashionable society.'

"For this sort of tickle we generally use the dullest of our tribe; and I
have selected the foregoing example from the criticisms of a
distinguished writer in 'The Asinaeum,' whom we call, _par excellence,
the_ Ass.

"There is a variety of other tickles,--the familiar, the vulgar, the
polite, the good-natured, the bitter; but in general all tickles may be
supposed to signify, however disguised, one or other of these meanings:
'This book would be exceedingly good if it were not exceedingly bad;' or,
'this book would be exceedingly bad if it were not exceedingly good.'

"You have now, Paul, a general idea of the superior art required by the
tickle?"

Our hero signified his assent by a sort of hysterical sound between a
laugh and a groan. MacGrawler continued:--

"There is another grand difficulty attendant on this class of
criticism.--it is generally requisite to read a few pages of the work;
because we seldom tickle without extracting, and it requires some
judgment to make the context agree with the extract. But it is not often
necessary to extract when you slash or when you plaster; when you slash,
it is better in general to conclude with: 'After what we have said, it is
unnecessary to add that we cannot offend the taste of our readers by any
quotation from this execrable trash.' And when you plaster, you may wind
up with: 'We regret that our limits will not allow us to give any
extracts from this wonderful and unrivalled work. We must refer our
readers to the book itself.'

"And now, sir, I think I have given you a sufficient outline of the noble
science of Scaliger and MacGrawler. Doubtless you are reconciled to the
task I have allotted you; and while I tickle the Romance, you will slash
the Inquiry and plaster the Epic!"

"I will do my best, sir!" said Paul, with that modest yet noble
simplicity which becomes the virtuously ambitious; and MacGrawler
forthwith gave him pen and paper, and set him down to his undertaking.

He had the good fortune to please MacGrawler, who, after having made a
few corrections in style, declared he evinced a peculiar genius in that
branch of composition. And then it was that Paul, made conceited by
praise, said, looking contemptuously in the face of his preceptor, and
swinging his legs to and fro,--

"And what, sir, shall I receive for the plastered Epic and the slashed
Inquiry?"

As the face of the school-boy who, when guessing, as he thinks rightly,
at the meaning of some mysterious word in Cornelius Nepos, receiveth not
the sugared epithet of praise, but a sudden stroke across the _os
humerosve_ [Face or shoulders] even so, blank, puzzled, and thunder-
stricken, waxed the face of Mr. MacGrawler at the abrupt and astounding
audacity of Paul.

"Receive!" he repeated,--"receive! Why, you impudent, ungrateful puppy,
would you steal the bread from your old master? If I can obtain for your
crude articles an admission into the illustrious pages of 'The Asinaeum,'
will you not be sufficiently paid, sir, by the honour? Answer me that.
Another man, young gentleman, would have charged you a premium for his
instructions; and here have I, in one lesson, imparted to you all the
mysteries of the science, and for nothing! And you talk to me of
'receive!--receive!' Young gentleman, in the words of the immortal bard,
'I would as lief you had talked to me of ratsbane!'"

"In fine, then, Mr. MacGrawler, I shall get nothing for my trouble?" said
Paul.

"To be sure not, sir; the very best writer in 'The Asinaeum' only gets
three shillings an article!" Almost more than he deserves, the critic
might have added; for he who writes for nobody should receive nothing!

"Then, sir," quoth the mercenary Paul, profanely, and rising, he kicked
with one kick the cat, the Epic, and the Inquiry to the other end of the
room,--"then, sir, you may all go to the devil!"

We do not, O gentle reader! seek to excuse this hasty anathema. The
habits of childhood will sometimes break forth despite of the after
blessings of education; and we set not up Paul for thine imitation as
that model of virtue and of wisdom which we design thee to discover in
MacGrawler.

When that great critic perceived Paul had risen and was retreating in
high dudgeon towards the door, he rose also, and repeating Paul's last
words, said,--

"'Go to the devil!' Not so quick, young gentleman,--_festinca
lente_,--all in good time. What though I did, astonished at your
premature request, say that you should receive nothing; yet my great love
for you may induce me to bestir myself on your behalf. The 'Asinaeum,' I
it is true, only gives three shillings an article in general; but I am
its editor, and will intercede with the proprietors on your behalf. Yes,
yes; I will see what is to be done. Stop a bit, my boy."

Paul, though very irascible, was easily pacified; he reseated himself,
and taking MacGrawler's hand, said,--

"Forgive me for my petulance, my dear sir; but, to tell you the honest
truth, I am very low in the world just at present, and must get money in
some way or another,--in short, I must either pick pockets or write (not
gratuitously) for 'The Asinaeum. '"

And without further preliminary Paul related his present circumstances to
the critic, declared his determination not to return to the Mug, and
requested, at least, from the friendship of his old preceptor the
accommodation of shelter for that night.

MacGrawler was exceedingly disconcerted at hearing so bad an account of
his pupil's finances as well as prospects, for he had secretly intended
to regale himself that evening with a bowl of punch, for which he
purposed that Paul should pay; but as he knew the quickness of parts
possessed by the young gentleman, as also the great affection entertained
for him by Mrs. Lobkins, who in all probability would solicit his return
the next day, he thought it not unlikely that Paul would enjoy the same
good fortune as that presiding over his feline companion, which, though
it had just been kicked to the other end of the apartment, was now
resuming its former occupation, unhurt, and no less merrily than before.
He therefore thought it would be imprudent to discard his quondam pupil,
despite of his present poverty; and, moreover, although the first happy
project of pocketing all the profits derivable from Paul's industry was
now abandoned, he still perceived great facility in pocketing a part of
the same receipts. He therefore answered Paul very warmly, that he fully
sympathized with him in his present melancholy situation; that, so far as
he was concerned, he would share his last shilling with his beloved
pupil, but that he regretted at that moment he had only eleven-pence
halfpenny in his pocket; that he would, however, exert himself to the
utmost in procuring an opening for Paul's literary genius; and that, if
Paul liked to take the slashing and plastering part of the business on
himself, he would willingly surrender it to him, and give him all the
profits whatever they might be. _En attendant_, he regretted that a
violent rheumatism prevented his giving up his own bed to his pupil, but
that he might, with all the pleasure imaginable, sleep upon the rug
before the fire. Paul was so affected by this kindness in the worthy
man, that, though not much addicted to the melting mood, he shed tears of
gratitude. He insisted, however, on not receiving the whole reward of
his labours; and at length it was settled, though with a noble reluctance
on the part of MacGrawler, that it should be equally shared between the
critic and the critic's _protege_,--the half profits being reasonably
awarded to MacGrawler for his instructions and his recommendation.




CHAPTER VI.

Bad events peep out o' the tail of good purposes.--_Bartholomew Fair_.

IT was not long before there was a visible improvement in the pages of
"The Asinaeum." The slashing part of that incomparable journal was
suddenly conceived and carried on with a vigour and spirit which
astonished the hallowed few who contributed to its circulation. It was
not difficult to see that a new soldier had been enlisted in the service;
there was something so fresh and hearty about the abuse that it could
never have proceeded from the worn-out acerbity of an old _slasher_. To
be sure, a little ignorance of ordinary facts, and an innovating method
of applying words to meanings which they never were meant to denote, were
now and then distinguishable in the criticisms of the new Achilles;
nevertheless, it was easy to attribute these peculiarities to an original
turn of thinking; and the rise of the paper on the appearance of a series
of articles upon contemporary authors, written by this "eminent hand,"
was so remarkable that fifty copies--a number perfectly unprecedented in
the annals of "The Asinaeum"--were absolutely sold in one week; indeed,
remembering the principle on which it was founded, one sturdy old writer
declared that the journal would soon do for itself and become popular.
There was a remarkable peculiarity about the literary debutant who signed
himself "Nobilitas:" he not only put old words to a new sense, but he
used words which had never, among the general run of writers, been used
before. This was especially remarkable in the application of hard names
to authors. Once, in censuring a popular writer for pleasing the public
and thereby growing rich, the "eminent hand" ended with "He who
surreptitiously accumulates bustle [money] is, in fact, nothing better than a
buzz gloak!" [Pickpocket].

These enigmatical words and recondite phrases imparted a great air of
learning to the style of the new critic; and from the unintelligible
sublimity of his diction, it seemed doubtful whether he was a poet from
Highgate or a philosopher from Konigsberg. At all events, the reviewer
preserved his incognito, and while his praises were rung at no less than
three tea-tables, even glory appeared to him less delicious than
disguise.

In this incognito, reader, thou hast already discovered Paul; and now we
have to delight thee with a piece of unexampled morality in the excellent
MacGrawler. That worthy Mentor, perceiving that there was an inherent
turn for dissipation and extravagance in our hero, resolved magnanimously
rather to bring upon himself the sins of treachery and malappropriation
than suffer his friend and former pupil to incur those of wastefulness
and profusion. Contrary therefore to the agreement made with Paul,
instead of giving that youth the half of those profits consequent on his
brilliant lucubrations, he imparted to him only one fourth, and, with the
utmost tenderness for Paul's salvation, applied the other three portions
of the same to his own necessities. The best actions are, alas! often
misconstrued in this world; and we are now about to record a remarkable
instance of that melancholy truth.

One evening MacGrawler, having "moistened his virtue" in the same manner
that the great Cato is said to have done, in the confusion which such a
process sometimes occasions in the best regulated heads, gave Paul what
appeared to him the outline of a certain article which he wished to be
slashingly filled up, but what in reality was the following note from the
editor of a monthly periodical:--

SIR,--Understanding that my friend, Mr.---, proprietor of "The Asinaeum,"
allows the very distinguished writer whom you have introduced to the
literary world, and who signs himself "Nobilitas," only five shillings an
article, I beg, through you, to tender him double that sum. The article
required will be of an ordinary length.

I am, sir, etc.,

Now, that very morning, MacGrawler had informed Paul of this offer,
altering only, from the amiable motives we have already explained, the
sum of ten shillings to that of four; and no sooner did Paul read the
communication we have placed before the reader than, instead of gratitude
to MacGrawler for his consideration of Paul's moral infirmities, he
conceived against that gentleman the most bitter resentment. He did not,
however, vent his feelings at once upon the Scotsman,--indeed, at that
moment, as the sage was in a deep sleep under the table, it would have
been to no purpose had he unbridled his indignation,--but he resolved
without loss of time to quit the abode of the critic. "And, indeed,"
said he, soliloquizing, "I am heartily tired of this life, and shall be
very glad to seek some other employment. Fortunately, I have hoarded up
five guineas and four shillings; and with that independence in my
possession, since I have forsworn gambling, I cannot easily starve."

To this soliloquy succeeded a misanthropical revery upon the
faithlessness of friends; and the meditation ended in Paul's making up a
little bundle of such clothes, etc., as Dummie had succeeded in removing
from the Mug, and which Paul had taken from the rag-merchant's abode one
morning when Dummie was abroad.

When this easy task was concluded, Paul wrote a short and upbraiding note
to his illustrious preceptor, and left it unsealed on the table. He
then, upsetting the ink-bottle on MacGrawler's sleeping countenance,
departed from the house, and strolled away he cared not whither.

The evening was gradually closing as Paul, chewing the cud of his bitter
fancies, found himself on London Bridge. He paused there, and leaning
over the bridge, gazed wistfully on the gloomy waters that rolled onward,
caring not a minnow for the numerous charming young ladies who have
thought proper to drown themselves in those merciless waves, thereby
depriving many a good mistress of an excellent housemaid or an invaluable
cook, and many a treacherous Phaon of letters beginning with "Parjured
Villen," and ending with "Your affectionot but melancholy Molly."

While thus musing, he was suddenly accosted by a gentleman in boots and
spurs, having a riding-whip in one hand, and the other hand stuck in the
pocket of his inexpressibles. The hat of the gallant was gracefully and
carefully put on, so as to derange as little as possible a profusion of
dark curls, which, streaming with unguents, fell low not only on either
side of the face, but on the neck and even the shoulders of the owner.
The face was saturnine and strongly marked, but handsome and striking.
There was a mixture of frippery and sternness in its expression,--
something between Madame Vestries and T. P. Cooke, or between "lovely
Sally" and a "Captain bold of Halifax." The stature of this personage
was remarkably tall, and his figure was stout, muscular, and well knit.
In fine, to complete his portrait, and give our readers of the present
day an exact idea of this hero of the past, we shall add that he was
altogether that sort of gentleman one sees swaggering in the Burlington
Arcade, with his hair and hat on one side, and a military cloak thrown
over his shoulders; or prowling in Regent Street, towards the evening,
_whiskered_ and _cigarred_.

Laying his hand on the shoulder of our hero, this gentleman said, with an
affected intonation of voice,--

"How dost, my fine fellow? Long since I saw you! Damme, but you look
the worse for wear. What hast thou been doing with thyself?"

"Ha!" cried our hero, returning the salutation of the stranger, "and is
it Long Ned whom I behold? I am indeed glad to meet you; and I say, my
friend, I hope what I heard of you is not true!"

"Hist!" said Long Ned, looking round fearfully, and sinking his voice;
"never talk of what you hear of gentlemen, except you wish to bring them
to their last dying speech and confession. But come with me, my lad;
there is a tavern hard by, and we may as well discuss matters over a pint
of wine. You look cursed seedy, to be sure; but I can tell Bill the
waiter--famous fellow, that Bill!--that you are one of my tenants, come
to complain of my steward, who has just distrained you for rent, you dog!
No wonder you look so worn in the rigging. Come, follow me. I can't
walk _with_ thee. It would look too like Northumberland House and the
butcher's abode next door taking a stroll together."

"Really, Mr. Pepper," said our hero, colouring, and by no means pleased
with the ingenious comparison of his friend, "if you are ashamed of my
clothes, which I own might be newer, I will not wound you with my--"

"Pooh! my lad, pooh!" cried Long Ned, interrupting him; "never take
offence. _I_ never do. I never take anything but money, except, indeed,
watches. I don't mean to hurt your feelings; all of us have been poor
once. 'Gad, I remember when I had not a dud to my back; and now, you see
me,--you see me, Paul! But come, 't is only through the streets you need
separate from me. Keep a little behind, very little; that will do. Ay,
that will do," repeated Long Ned, mutteringly to himself; "they'll take
him for a bailiff. It looks handsome nowadays to be so attended; it
shows one _had_ credit _once!_"

Meanwhile Paul, though by no means pleased with the contempt expressed
for his personal appearance by his lengthy associate, and impressed with
a keener sense than ever of the crimes of his coat and the vices of his
other garment,--"Oh, breathe not its name!"--followed doggedly and
sullenly the strutting steps of the coxcombical Mr. Pepper. That
personage arrived at last at a small tavern, and arresting a waiter who
was running across the passage into the coffee-room with a dish of
hung-beef, demanded (no doubt from a pleasing anticipation of a similar
pendulous catastrophe) a plate of the same excellent cheer, to be
carried, in company with a bottle of port, into a private apartment. No
sooner did he find himself alone with Paul than, bursting into a loud
laugh, Mr. Ned surveyed his comrade from head to foot through an eyeglass
which he wore fastened to his button-hole by a piece of blue ribbon.

"Well, 'gad now," said he, stopping ever and anon, as if to laugh the
more heartily, "stab my vitals, but you are a comical quiz. I wonder
what the women would say, if they saw the dashing Edward Pepper, Esquire,
walking arm in arm with thee at Ranelagh or Vauxhall! Nay, man, never be
downcast; if I laugh at thee, it is only to make thee look a little
merrier thyself. Why, thou lookest like a book of my grandfather's
called Burton's ''Anatomy of Melancholy;' and faith, a shabbier bound
copy of it I never saw."

"These jests are a little hard," said Paul, struggling between anger and
an attempt to smile; and then recollecting his late literary occupations,
and the many extracts he had taken from "Gleanings of the Belles
Lettres," in order to impart elegance to his criticisms, he threw out his
hand theatrically, and spouted with a solemn face,--

"'Of all the griefs that harass the distrest,
Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest!'"

"Well, now, prithee forgive me," said Long Ned, composing his features,
"and just tell me what you have been doing the last two months."

"Slashing and plastering!" said Paul, with conscious pride.

"Slashing and what? The boy's mad. What do you mean, Paul?"

"In other words," said our hero, speaking very slowly, "know, O very Long
Ned! that I have been critic to 'The Asinaeum.'"

If Paul's comrade laughed at first, he now laughed ten times more merrily
than ever. He threw his full length of limb upon a neighbouring sofa,
and literally rolled with cachinnatory convulsions; nor did his risible
emotions subside until the entrance of the hung-beef restored him to
recollection. Seeing, then, that a cloud lowered over Paul's
countenance, he went up to him with something like gravity, begged his
pardon for his want of politeness, and desired him to wash away all
unkindness in a bumper of port. Paul, whose excellent dispositions we
have before had occasion to remark, was not impervious to his friend's
apologies. He assured Long Ned that he quite forgave him for his
ridicule of the high situation he (Paul) had enjoyed in the literary
world; that it was the duty of a public censor to bear no malice, and
that he should be very glad to take his share in the interment of the
hung-beef.

The pair now sat down to their repast; and Paul, who had fared but
meagerly in that Temple of Athena over which MacGrawler presided, did
ample justice to the viands before him. By degrees, as he ate and drank,
his heart opened to his companion; and laying aside that Asinaeum dignity
which he had at first thought it incumbent on him to assume, he
entertained Pepper with all the particulars of the life he had lately
passed. He narrated to him his breach with Dame Lobkins, his agreement
with MacGrawler, the glory he had acquired, and the wrongs he had
sustained; and he concluded, as now the second bottle made its
appearance, by stating his desire of exchanging for some more active
profession that sedentary career which he had so promisingly begun.

This last part of Paul's confessions secretly delighted the soul of Long
Ned; for that experienced collector of the highways--Ned was, indeed, of
no less noble a profession--had long fixed an eye upon our hero, as one
whom he thought likely to be an honour to that enterprising calling which
he espoused, and an useful assistant to himself. He had not, in his
earlier acquaintance with Paul, when the youth was under the roof and the
_surveillance_ of the practised and wary Mrs. Lobkins, deemed it prudent
to expose the exact nature of his own pursuits, and had contented himself
by gradually ripening the mind and the finances of Paul into that state
when the proposition of a leap from a hedge would not be likely greatly
to revolt the person to whom it was made. He now thought that time near
at hand; and filling our hero's glass up to the brim, thus artfully
addressed him:--

"Courage, my friend! Your narration has given me a sensible pleasure;
for curse me if it has not strengthened my favourite opinion,--that
everything is for the best. If it had not been for the meanness of that
pitiful fellow, MacGrawler, you might still be inspired with the paltry
ambition of earning a few shillings a week and vilifying a parcel of poor
devils in the what-d'ye-call it, with a hard name; whereas now, my good
Paul, I trust I shall be able to open to your genius a new career, in
which guineas are had for the asking,--in which you may wear fine
clothes, and ogle the ladies at Ranelagh; and when you are tired of glory
and liberty, Paul, why, you have only to make your bow to an heiress, or
a widow with a spanking jointure, and quit the hum of men like a
Cincinnatus!"

Though Paul's perception into the abstruser branches of morals was not
very acute,--and at that time the port wine had considerably confused the
few notions he possessed upon "the beauty of virtue,"--yet he could not
but perceive that Mr. Pepper's insinuated proposition was far from being
one which the bench of bishops or a synod of moralists would
conscientiously have approved. He consequently remained silent; and Long
Ned, after a pause, continued:--

"You know my genealogy, my good fellow? I was the son of Lawyer Pepper,
a shrewd old dog, but as hot as Calcutta; and the grandson of Sexton
Pepper, a great author, who wrote verses on tombstones, and kept a stall
of religious tracts in Carlisle. My grandfather, the sexton, was the
best temper of the family; for all of us are a little inclined to be hot
in the mouth. Well, my fine fellow, my father left me his blessing, and
this devilish good head of hair. I lived for some years on my own
resources. I found it a particularly inconvenient mode of life, and of
late I have taken to live on the public. My father and grandfather did
it before me, though in a different line. 'T is the pleasantest plan in
the world. Follow my example, and your coat shall be as spruce as my
own. Master Paul, your health!"

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.