CHAPTER VIII.
Jusqu'au revoir le ciel vous tienne tous en joie.--Moliere.
I was now pretty well tried of Garrett Park. Lady Roseville was goingto H--t--d, where I also had an invitation. Lord Vincent meditated anexcursion to Paris. Mr. Davison had already departed. Miss Trafford hadbeen gone, God knows how long, and I was not at all disposed to be left,like "the last rose of summer," in single blessedness at Garrett Park.Vincent, Wormwood, and myself, all agreed to leave on the same day.
The morning of our departure arrived. We sat down to breakfast as usual.Lord Vincent's carriage was at the door; his groom was walking about hisfavourite saddle horse.
"A beautiful mare that is of your's," said I, carelessly looking at it,and reaching across the table to help myself to the pate de foie gras.
"Mare!" exclaimed the incorrigible punster, delighted with my mistake:"I thought that you would have been better acquainted with your propriaquoe maribus."
"Humph!" said Wormwood, "when I look at you I am always at leastreminded of the as in praoesenti!"
Lord Vincent drew up and looked unutterable anger. Wormwood went on withhis dry toast, and Lady Roseville, who that morning had, for a wonder,come down to breakfast, good naturedly took off the bear. Whether or nothis ascetic nature was somewhat mollified by the soft smiles andsofter voice of the beautiful countess, I cannot pretend to say; but hecertainly entered into a conversation with her, not much rougherthan that of a less gifted individual might have been. They talked ofliterature, Lord Byron, converzaziones, and Lydia White. [Note: Writtenbefore the death of that lady.]
"Miss White," said Lady Roseville, "has not only the best commandof language herself, but she gives language to other people. Dinnerparties, usually so stupid, are, at her house, quite delightful. I haveactually seen English people look happy, and one or two even almostnatural."
"Ah!" said Wormwood, "that is indeed rare. With us every thing isassumption. We are still exactly like the English suitor to Portia, inthe Merchant of Venice. We take our doublet from one country, our hosefrom another, and our behaviour every where. Fashion with us is likethe man in one of Le Sage's novels, who was constantly changing hisservants, and yet had but one suit of livery, which every new comer,whether he was tall or short, fat or thin, was obliged to wear. We adoptmanners, however incongruous and ill suited to our nature, and thuswe always seem awkward and constrained. But Lydia White's soirees areindeed agreeable. I remember the last time I dined there we were six innumber, and though we were not blessed with the company of Lord Vincent,the conversation was without 'let or flaw.' Every one, even S----, saidgood things."
"Indeed!" cried Lord Vincent; "and pray, Mr. Wormwood, what did yousay!"
"Why," answered the poet, glancing with a significant sneer overVincent's somewhat inelegant person, "I thought of your lordship'sfigure, and said--grace!"
"Hem--hem!--'Gratia malorum tam infida est quam ipsi,' as Pliny says,"muttered Lord Vincent, getting up hastily, and buttoning his coat.
I took the opportunity of the ensuing pause to approach Lady Roseville,and whisper my adieus. She was kind and even warm to me in returningthem; and pressed me, with something marvellously like sincerity, tobe sure to come and see her directly she returned to London. I soondischarged the duties of my remaining farewells, and in less thanhalf an hour, was more than a mile distant from Garrett Park and itsinhabitants. I can't say that for one, who, like me, is fond of beingmade a great deal of, that there is any thing very delightful in thosevisits into the country. It may be all well enough for married people,who, from the mere fact of being married, are always entitled to certainconsideration, put--par exemple--into a bed-room, a little larger than adog kennel, and accommodated with a looking-glass, that does not distortone's features like a paralytic stroke. But we single men suffer aplurality of evils and hard-ships, in entrusting ourselves to thecasualties of rural hospitality. We are thrust up into any atticrepository--exposed to the mercy of rats, and the incursions ofswallows. Our lavations are performed in a cracked basin, and we are sofar removed from human assistance, that our very bells sink into silencebefore they reach half way down the stairs. But two days before I leftGarrett Park, I myself saw an enormous mouse run away with my almondpaste, without any possible means of resisting the aggression. Oh! thehardships of a single man are beyond conception; and what is worse, thevery misfortune of being single deprives one of all sympathy. "A singleman can do this, and a single man ought to do that, and a single man maybe put here, and a single man may be sent there," are maxims that I havebeen in the habit of hearing constantly inculcated and never disputedduring my whole life; and so, from our fare and treatment being coarsein all matters, they have at last grown to be all matters in course.
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